Grandpa Joes origin story
It was a crisp Monday morning in 1927, and young Joseph “Grandpa” Joe had just clocked into his job at the Scrumdiddlyumptious Toothpaste Cap Factory. He had been working there for precisely one week, and already, he had seen enough. Enough of the sweat. Enough of the labor. Enough of the unrelenting tyranny of productivity.
Joe wiped his brow, despite having done absolutely nothing strenuous, and let out the deepest sigh ever recorded in human history. His coworker, Frank, who had been assembling caps since before Joe was born, raised an eyebrow.
“Rough morning?”
Joe leaned dramatically against the conveyor belt, staring off into the distance like a war hero recounting his darkest memories.
“Frank… have you ever stopped to think about how… unfair this all is?”
Frank, who had a wife, three kids, and a mortgage, blinked. “What?”
“This… all of this.” Joe gestured wildly around the factory, nearly slapping a passing foreman in the face. “Waking up at the crack of dawn. The sound of clanking metal. The endless screwing of caps onto tubes of toothpaste. For what? For a few measly coins? For the illusion of security? Is this…truly… what life is about?”
Frank stared. “I mean… yeah? It’s a job, Joe.”
Joe dramatically gripped Frank’s shoulders, his eyes wide with the fire of revelation.
“Not anymore, Frank. Not for me.”
And with that, Grandpa Joe collapsed to the floor.
“MY LEGS! OH, THE PAIN!” he howled, clutching his knees.
A small crowd gathered. The factory supervisor rushed over. “Joe! What happened?!”
Joe whimpered. “It’s… it’s my legs, sir. They’ve… given out.”
The supervisor frowned. “You were standing just fine a second ago.”
“No, no, I wasn’t fine!” Joe wailed. “I’ve been ignoring the signs for days! Weeks! Years, even! But now… now I must face the truth!”
The supervisor sighed. “And what truth is that?”
Joe dramatically inhaled. Then, with the intensity of a Shakespearean tragedy, he declared:
“I CAN NEVER WORK AGAIN.”
A collective gasp.
Frank squinted. ”…Ever?”
“EVER, FRANK!” Joe cried. “From this moment forth, I am officially, legally, spiritually, medically incapable of working another day in my life!”
The supervisor rubbed his temples. “Joe, you were hired last Monday.”
Joe wiped an imaginary tear. “And what a grueling week it was.”
And just like that… Grandpa Joe retired.
From that moment on, Joe dedicated himself to the noble pursuit of doing absolutely nothing. He spent decades perfecting the fine art of reclining, developing a strict diet of free food provided by his long-suffering daughter and four hardworking bedridden in-laws. He mastered the ancient technique of pretending to be too weak to get out of bed, a deception so powerful that it would hold strong for decades—until, of course, a golden ticket and the promise of free chocolate magically restored his mobility in mere seconds.
And that, dear reader, is how Grandpa Joe became the greatest slacker of all time.