Call us old-fashioned, but we remember a simpler time when elderly men were given great, whopping segments of television to kvetch incessantly about all the mysterious, newfangled things they overheard on the radio, wax rhapsodic over random gemgaws they found secreted away in their desk, and generally whinge about the loud and confusing modern world. Unfortunately, that era, like all eras that were markedly better, seems to have passed us, as tetchy tortoise Andy Rooney will slowly scuttle off into the sunset this Sunday, officially announcing his retirement from being your private complainer, a complainer for money, and any old music will do.
The move comes as something of a surprise, considering Rooney—at a spry and ornery 92 years—had until very recently maintained his seven-days-a-week work schedule, at least 6.75 of which were presumably spent sitting perfectly still and emitting a low, sustained whine. Alas, Sunday’s 60 Minutes will feature a retrospective interview with Rooney about all of his most important commentaries—such as that time he said he didn’t like that new thing very much, far preferring an older thing—followed by his 1,097th and final essay, which may feature Rooney pointing out the specific flaws of every single person in America until, finally drained of every splenetic humor, he vanishes in a puff of cinder.