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"Ouch!" Mrs. Molloy screams. Her support stocking's got stuck to a tree-branch. " Sugar!" she shouts to her Italian peer. "You've got to help me, don't you see, damn it!" Angelica Moderna immediately jumps to the rescue and frees Mrs. Molloy from the branch. Both ladies take up strategic positions in the small park, right in front of the European Central Bank.
Meanwhile things have got quite hectic over there. Security people are walking up and down, the world press are gathering and the first bankers have just arrived. This money pit of a spectacle is taking place to celebrate the launch of the Euro. Mrs. Molley spits. It makes her sick just thinking about it.
 Sleepless nights she's had over this Euro. Not that she gets much sleep anyway. Ever since Mrs. Molloy was admitted to nursing home "The Tunnel" life has become a lot less interesting. She hardly sees her relatives these days, most of her friends have either passed away or are unapproachable and the nurses seem to have less and less time. As a result she spends most of her days watching daytime telly. A few months ago she saw this item about the EURO 2002 information campaign. Apparently they intend to replace the strong Irish pound for this silly Euro. Until then she thought 'Euro' was something like internet. Some e-thing, that didn't concern her.
But no. Europe was going to get lumbered with a currency weaker than the average GI Joe. One currency! This would destroy everything her peers and her had fought for for so many years: national pride and independence. "We're going to have the same currency as Germany and Austria! Is that what we fought for all those years? What do those wankers think?" The feisty pensioner mumbles to herself. "Do they really expect me to get used to another currency at my age? How will I know how much pension I should get? Bloody hell!" Molloy has now raised her voice and spits again. Ms. Moderna can't understand a word of what Mrs. Molloy is saying, but feels the same way. "And everything will be more expensive. You can be sure of that. And who cares about the poor pensioners? No-one, that's who. Ungrateful pigs! Well, I'm not having it!"
 She's interrupted by a bleep. A text-message from HQ. Molloy hates modern technology, but today she's borrowed her grandson's Philips Fisio 820 as an exception. Morals will have to take a backseat, because this is her big day. Pensioners from all over Europe have gathered here today to stop this Euro nonsense. But they haven't come together as a group. There's a lot of competition between the different countries and individual pensioners. Who'll be the lucky pensioner that's going to rob the European Central Bank and make the history books? If it was up to Mrs. Molloy, she'd be the one: Pensioner of the Century. But there are more pensioners, all thinking the same thing.
Her wrinkly fingers tremble as she reads the message: "Pick up your weapons and fight!" Without a moment's thought Molloy picks up her late husbands double-barrel-gun and prepares to fight. As quickly as her old legs will carry her she walks over to the ECB-building. Everywhere old age pensioners are starting to appear from their hideouts (HQ must have used group sms) and the sound of guns being loaded is all around.
A moment later all hell breaks loose. Pensioners from all over Europe are shooting each other. Ms. Moderna is hit. Molloy ignores her and continues. She shoots one Belgian and two German pensioners in passing. "Move over, damn it. It'll be ME who destroys the Euro!!! ME, ME, ME…!!!" She screams. Who will it be? |
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