Sitting in their castles of corroding corpses, the Silver Hairs await the Uber Ushers to arrive in their long black hearses and cart their spent carcasses off to some prearranged cemetery. An occasional visit by a family member, peppered by some funky form of entertainment thought up by a 23-year-old, overachieving college graduate, constitutes a good month. At this age, clowns still suck. Boredom and a feeling of uselessness punctuate the day, pain and sleeplessness seal off the night. There is no one to listen to their accomplishments and their heirs, in the prime of their lives, cannot be bothered with the ramblings of a rigor mortis recruit. They are only there to ensure they get their slice of the pie. The Silver Hairs have had enough. Booking the Norwegian Cruise Ship, Harmony, with their offspring’s credit cards, 6,780 senior citizens showed up in Miami and embarked on a voyage of discovery. Just outside international waters, retired and former US Navy and law enforcement personnel overtake the bridge and place all employees in well supplied lifeboats. Adios. Destination: The Skeleton Coast of Africa. In a month-long journey of dancing and reminiscing amongst people from the same era, 19 extremely happy people died free. Amazingly, no one is out looking for the cruise ship. An elderly billionaire approached the Norwegian company and offered the full cost of the ship and remarked, “you’ll never have to put up with a barge load of budget-minded, bleating, bombed baboons again.” The check was cashed. Entering Namibia’s, Hoanib River, the retired Harmony has dropped its anchor permanently. The Silver Hairs of diverse backgrounds, including building trades, medical professionals, teachers, and farmers have arrived at their Plymouth Rock. The letter that sent them to their promised land was written by an 8-year-old boy of the Himba tribe, a poverty stricken, orphan laden, but proud people. Translated into English, it simply said, “WE NEED YOU!” 

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