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

Bob stood over his tee short on the 18th hole...
Bob stood over his tee short on the 18th hole for what seemed like forever. He'd waggle, look down, look up, but never start his backswing. Finally David, his playing partner, asked, "Why on Earth are you takingso long to make this shot?""My wife is up there watching me from the clubhouse, and I want to make this shot a good one," said Bob."Good Lord," said David, "you haven't got a chance of hitting her from here."