I Gifted My Grandma A Pair Of Pit Viper Sunglasses And Now She Won’t Turn Down The Darn Music

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I’m at the end of my rope with Grandma.

Before yesterday, she was your average stock photo grandmother—perm-rocking, landline-calling, hard candy-supplying, velcro shoe-wearing granny. A rowdy night for her consisted of a two Werther’s Originals and a sponge bath.

All that changed yesterday when I gifted her a pair of Pit Viper sunglasses for her 75th birthday.

I know, a curious gift for an elderly woman who’s had the same sorry specs since Nixon was in office, but I’m trying to nurture Grandma’s gardening habit and I need the assurance of military-grade durability and complete blockage of harmful UV rays. And yes, they do exude a strong vibe that harkens back to a time Grandma affectionately refers to as the ‘Mate-y 80s,’ which I’m still trying to forget.

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In any event, my plan backfired. Royally.

Grandma has not potted one damn Hydrangea, and instead is standing on the kitchen table in her Pit Viper 2000s headbanging to old Poison records at full blast.

As a migraine sets in, I motion to grab Grandma’s hand to escort her off the table, but can’t stomach killing her vibe, so I saunter off to the den to take a more passive approach.


A new gameplan is necessary, but it’s difficult to think over the visceral roar of Grandma echoing through her thin-walled ranch. Suddenly, the front door slams. It’s Beatrice, Mabel, and Bernadette, all wearing Pit Viper Double Wides and carrying their Prohibition-era libation of choice. Grandma, now frothing at the mouth and guzzling from the bottle, is in full turn up-mode.

As I reach for my phone to contact the authorities, I’m overcome with a debilitating sense of shame. What have I become? Grandma is not the first person to live without reservation under the possession of Pit Vipers, and certainly won’t be the last. Who am I to yuck on her yum? A narc, I am not.

After a moment of existential contemplation, I grab my own Pit Vipers, retrieve a dusty bottle of Brandy in the den cupboard, and stroll into the kitchen prepared to wreck some shit with Grandma and her three single friends.



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Matt Keohan Avatar
Matt’s love of writing was born during a sixth grade assembly when it was announced that his essay titled “Why Drugs Are Bad” had taken first prize in D.A.R.E.’s grade-wide contest. The anti-drug people gave him a $50 savings bond for his brave contribution to crime-fighting, and upon the bond’s maturity 10 years later, he used it to buy his very first bag of marijuana.