A story about the two stooges on the right.

Larry Fine squinted, revealing all his age lines, 427 to be exact, as he limped out of the car and up the front steps. Each step made pain shoot sharply through his 70 year old body. “Ow, ow, ow!” one of his many catchphrases echoed through his mind. He tugged at the bottom part of his pant leg, it was clinging to his socks, not only was it static, it was annoying as all hell. It was Christmas in L.A., 65 degrees and sunny, not that it mattered. Ask anyone and they will tell you that Larry Fine was soberly Jewish through and through. He had still retained his curly kinky hair, and in this light, it looked like two ragged tumbleweeds attached to the side of a perfectly decent bald head.

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