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
7 Word Obituary
A woman from the deepest, most southern part of Alabama goes
into the local newspaper office to see that the obituary for
her recently deceased husband is written. The obit editor
informs her that the fee for the obituary is 50 cents a
word.
She pauses, reflects and then says, "Well, then, let it
read, 'Billy Bob died'."
Amused at the woman's thrift, the editor says, "Sorry ma'am,
there is a
7 word minimum on all obituaries."
Only a little flustered, she thinks things over and in a few
seconds
says, "In that case, let it read, 'Billy Bob died - 1983
Pick-up for
sale.'"
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