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An elderly couple were sitting outdoors at a cafe when they noticed an old man who seemed to be having trouble crossing the street with an ungainly shuffle. The man said to his wife, "He surely has bad arthritis to walk like that."
His wife replied, "No, that's definitely old time rheumatism."
They couldn't agree so the man decided to ask the old man. He walked over to him and said,
"Excuse me, sir, but my wife and I saw you having difficulty crossing the street and I told her that you have arthritis but she insisted that you have rheumatism. Which one of us was wrong?"
The old man said,
"The three of us were wrong."
"Three of us were wrong? How so?" asked the man.
To which the old man replied, "You were wrong when you said I had arthritis, your wife was wrong when she said I had rheumatism, and I was wrong when I thought I just had to pass gas."
I'm the life of the party ... even when it lasts until 8 p. M.
I'm very good at opening childproof caps... with a hammer.
I'm usually interested in going home... before I get to where I am going.
I'm good on a trip for at least an hour without my aspirin, beano, antacid, etc.
I'm the first one to find the bathroom wherever I go.
I'm awake many hours before my body allows me to get up.
I'm smiling all the time because... I can't hear a word you're saying.
I'm very good at telling stories ... over and over and over and over.
I'm aware that other people's grandchildren are not as bright as mine.
I'm so cared for: long term care, eye care, private care, dental care...
I'm not grouchy, I just don't like traffic, waiting, crowds, children, politicians ...
I'm positive I did housework correctly before my mate retired.
I'm sure everything I can't find is in a secure place.
I'm wrinkled, saggy, lumpy... and that's just my left leg.
I'm having trouble remembering simple words like...
I'm now spending more time with my pillows than with my mate.
I'm realizing that aging is not for sissies!
I'm anti-everything now: anti-fат, anti-smoke, anti-noise, anti-inflammatory...
I'm walking more to the bathroom and enjoying it less.
I'm going to reveal what goes on behind closed doors... absolutely nothing!
I'm sure they are making adults much younger these days.
I'm supporting all movements now... by eating bran, prunes, and raisins.
I'm a walking storeroom of facts ... I've just lost the storeroom.
I'm a SENIOR CITIZEN and I think I am having the time of my life!!!
Now if I could only remember who sent this to me...
An elderly man constantly called his doctor at all hours of the day and night and would then keep him on the phone with a litany of imagined ailments. Finally the doctor could take it no longer.
"Listen, Mr. Becker. If you wake me up again in the middle of the night with another one of your tales about some made-up ailment, i am going to insist you go to another physician. Have I made myself clear?" And he hung up the phone.
A week later, the unfortunate man slipped and fell down a flight of stairs, breaking his hip, two ribs, en elbow, and suffering a concussion. He was rushed to the hospital and put in intensive care. An hour later, his doctor walked in on him, saw his condition, and beamed, "Now I think you're getting the hang of it!"
One Sunday, sitting on the side of the highway waiting to catch speeding drivers, a State Police Officer sees a car puttering along at 22 MPH.
He thinks to himself, “This driver is just as dangerous as a speeder!” So he turns on his lights and pulls the driver over.
Approaching the car, he notices that there are five old ladies - two in the front seat and three in the back - wide eyed and white as ghosts. The driver, obviously confused, says to him, “Officer, I don’t understand, I was doing exactly the speed limit! I always go exactly the speed limit. What seems to be the problem?”
“Ma’am,” the officer replies, “you weren’t speeding, but you should know that driving slower than the speed limit can also be a danger to other drivers.”
“Slower than the speed limit? No sir, I was doing the speed limit exactly! Twenty-two miles an hour!” the old woman says a bit proudly.
The State Police officer, trying to contain a chuckle explains to her that “22” was the route number, not the speed limit.
A bit embarrassed, the woman grinned and thanked the officer for pointing out her error.
“But before I let you go, Ma’am, I have to ask . . . Is everyone in this car OK? These women seem awfully shaken and they haven’t muttered a single peep this whole time,” the officer asks with concern.
“Oh, they’ll be all right in a minute officer. We just got off Route 119.”
The local news station was interviewing an 80-year-old lady because she had just gotten married for the fourth time.
The interviewer asked her questions about her life, about what it felt like to be marrying again at 80, and then about her new husband's occupation.. "He's a funeral director," she answered. "Interesting," the newsman thought... He then asked her if she wouldn't mind telling him a little about her first three husbands and what they did for a living.
She paused for a few moments, needing time to reflect on all those years. After a short time, a smile came to her face and she answered proudly, explaining that she had first married a banker when she was in her 20's, then a circus ringmaster when in her 40's, and a preacher when in her 60's, and now - in her 80's - a funeral director.
The interviewer looked at her, quite astonished, and asked why she had married four men with such diverse careers.
- She smiled and explained, "I married one for the money, two for the show, three to get ready, and four to go."
An old pensioner is hobbling his way home through the red light district.
“Hey, Handsome, how about it?”
“You’re joking,” says the 90-year-old, “I just can’t manage it any more.”
“Ah, come on,” says the whоrе, “it’ll be really nice.”
After a bit of humming and hawing, the pensioner goes along and when they finally get onto the whоrе’s bed he rides her like a fuскing god, giving her multiple real оrgаsмs and wearing her out. She can’t believe it when he finally shoots his load and gives her a break.
Wow, old man, says the whоrе, exhausted, that was such a great fuск. And you said you couldn’t manage it any more?
Oh I can still fuск, Honey, says the old geezer, it’s just that I can’t pay.
My mate works for the Royal Mail, and part of his job is to process all the mail that has illegible addresses. One day last week, a letter came to his desk, addressed in shaky handwriting, to Father Christmas. He thought he should open it to see what it was about. He opened it and it read:
Dear Father Christmas,
I am a 93-year-old widow, living on a very small pension. Yesterday someone stole my purse. It had £100.00 in it, which was all the money I have until my next pension money. In a couple of Sunday’s it is Christmas, and I have invited two of my friends over for dinner. Without that money, I have nothing to buy food with. I have no family to turn to, and you are my only hope. Can you please help me? I could really do with you delivering anything before Xmas Day.
Sincerely, Edna
My mate was touched so he showed the letter to all of the other workers. Each of them dug into his wallet and came up with a few pounds. By the time he made the rounds, he had collected £96.00, which they put into an envelope and delivered in the post the next day to the woman. He told me all of the workers felt a warm glow for the kind thing they had done. Then a few days ago, another letter came from the old lady, to Father Christmas again. All of the workers gathered around while the letter was opened. It read:
Dear Father Christmas,
How can I ever thank you enough for what you have done for me? Because of your gift of love, I am now able to fix a glorious dinner for my friends. I’m sure we’ll all have a very nice day and I’ve told my friends of your wonderful gift. By the way, there was £4 missing. I think it must have been those fuскin’ thieving ваsтаrds at the Royal Mail …
Sincerely, Edna
Sam and Abe, now in their late seventies, first met in the second grade in a school on the lower East Side of New York. Their relationship now is one of playing pinochle, playing jokes and making bets.
Sam calls Abe and says, “I got a bet for you: I bet you that mine is longer soft than yours is hard. A thousand dollars!” Abe says, “How can that be? If you knew anything about biology, you …”
Sam interrupts, “I called for a bet, not a lecture. Mine is longer soft than yours is hard, …one thousand dollars, …yes or no!!”
Abe says, “Okay, okay, I’ll take your bet! How long is yours soft?”
Sam says, “Eleven years!”
A hip young man goes out and buys the best car available: a brand new Ferrari 550. It is also the most expensive car it the world, and it costs him $500,000. He takes it out for a spin and stops for a red light. An old man on a moped (about 75 years old) pulls up next to him. The old man looks over at the sleek, shiny car and asks, “What kind of car ya’ got there, sonny?” …
…
The young man replies, “A Ferrari 550. It cost half a million dollars!” …
…
“That’s a lot of money, “says the old man. “Why does it cost so much?”
“Because this car can do up to 320 miles an hour!” states the young dude proudly.
The moped driver asks, “Mind if I take a look inside?”
“No problem,” replies the owner.
So the old man pokes his head in the window and looks around. Then sitting back on his moped, the old man says, “That’s a pretty nice car, all right… but I’ll stick with my moped!”
Just then the light changes so the guy decides to show the old man just what his car can do. He floors it, and within 30 seconds the speedometer reads 160 mph. Suddenly, he notices a dot in his rear view mirror. It seems to be getting closer! He slows down to see what it could be and suddenly, whhhoooossshhh! Something whips by him, going much faster!!!
“What on earth could be going faster than my Ferrari?!” the young man asks himself. He floors the accelerator and takes the Ferrari up to 250 mph. Then, up ahead of him, he sees that it’s the old man on the moped. Amazed that the moped could pass his Ferrari he gives it some more gas and passes the moped at 275 mph. Whoooooosh!
He’s feeling pretty good until he looks in his mirror and sees the old man gaining on him again. Astounded by the speed of this old guy he floors the gas pedal and takes the Ferrari all the way up to 320 mph. Not ten seconds later he sees the moped bearing down on him again. The Ferrari is flat out and there’s nothing he can do. Suddenly the moped plows into the back of his Ferrari, demolishing the rear. The young man jumps out, and unbelievably, the old man is still alive!!! He runs up to the mangled old man and says, “Oh my Gosh! Is there anything I can do for you?”
The old man whispers with his dying breath, “Unhook my suspenders from your side-view mirror.”
Something for you under 45’s to look forward to: …
Here’s how bad it can get… …
When I turned 55, along with my geezer discount for auto insurance and my free intro membership to AARP, my doctor suggested a range of medical tests. One of these was the inspection for polyps. I made an appointment for 8 am on a Monday morning. …
…
I turned up on time, leaving behind in my bathroom, a stack of empty Fleet bottles. (You over-50’s know what I mean.) The doc looked at me blankly and said, “Why are we here?” and I told him. “A colonoscopy.” …
…
He said, “Oh, Chr!st, I knew there was a reason I didn’t want to come into work today.”
The instrument is a long black hose about 1/2″ in diameter, a black box and a video monitor. A little Vaaseline, and in she goes. On the monitor, it looked like a pink subway tunnel; thankfully, clean as a whistle. Then the doc “pumped me up with air,” and I felt like a mylar party balloon. The tunnel on the screen gets really wide, and then we start to move again. After a few minutes, doc gets excited and says, “Wow! Sixty centimeters!” I know that means about two feet. I can feel this little parasite crawling around under my liver. Ultimately, he pronounces that I will not die soon, not of воwеl cancer anyway, and starts to withdraw Mr. Вuтт-cam.
Ten minutes later, I am waiting in the lobby for the elevator. I slowly realize that all that air that was pumped into me is preparing for its escape. The elevator shows up. There are ten or twelve people on it. … I get on. … The elevator is hot and crowded and I am squeezed between two heavy folk. The air begins to escape, not at all quietly.
People are trying to find an unoccupied corner of the elevator to escape the symphony from my bun tuba. … Panic is close. … There is no smell, since it was only air, but the noise more than makes up for it. One woman seems about to vомiт.
It took more than six hours, (in “subjective time units,”) to reach the ground floor. The door opens and the disgusted mob in the elevator flees with undignified haste. I walk from the elevator and hear a child behind me say, “Boy, did that man ever fаrт!”
“Shush, honey, he was just here to see the doctor about it. Don’t make fun of him. He’s sick.”
The rest of the way home, I am treated to a sphincterhorn concerto in the privacy of my own car. Key of G♭.
Be warned, those of you in your late 40’s. Someday you too will face the same embarrassment.