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
Buy machine factory
An American manufacturer is showing his machine factory to a potential customer from Albania. At noon, when the lunch whistle blows, two thousand men and women immediately stop work and leave the building.
"Your workers, they're escaping!" cries the visitor. "You've got to stop them."
"Don't worry, they'll be back," says the American. And indeed, at exactly one o'clock the whistle blows again, and all the workers return from their break.
When the tour is over, the manufacturer turns to his guest and says, "Well, now, which of these machines would you like to order?"
"Forget the machines," says the visitor. "How much do you want for that whistle?"
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