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

A missing person
Recently, a distraught wife went to the local police station, along with her next-door neighbor, to report that her husband was missing. The policeman asked for a description of the missing man.

The wife said, "He is 35 years old, 6-foot 4-inches, has dark eyes, dark wavy hair, an athletic build, weighs 185 pounds, is soft-spoken, and is good to the children."

The next-door neighbor protested, "Your husband is 5-foot 8-inches, chubby, bald, has a big mouth, and is mean to your children."

The wife replied, "Yes, but who wants HIM back?"