An ode to old age
There's quite an art to falling apart as the years go by,
And life doesn't begin at 40. That's a big fat lie.
My hair's getting thinner, my body is not;
The few teeth I have are beginning to rot.

I smell of Vick's-Vapo-Rub, not Chanel # 5;
My new pacemaker's all that keeps me alive.
When asked of my past, every detail I'll know,
But what was I doing 10 minutes ago?

Well, you get the idea, what more can I say?
I'm off to read the obituary, like I do every day;
If my names not there, I'll once again start -
Perfecting the art of falling apart

Bad Couch Trip
I've been feeling down for so long that I finally decided to
seek the aid of a psychiatrist.

I went there, laid on the couch, spilled my guts then waited
for the profound wisdom of the psychiatrist to make me feel
better.

The psychiatrist asked me a few questions, took some notes
then sat thinking in silence for a few minutes with a puzzled
look on his face.

Suddenly, he looked up with an expression of delight and
said, "Ummmmm, I think your problem is low self-esteem. It is
very common among losers."