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.

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

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...