Today
at the drugstore, the clerk was a gent.
From my purchase this chap took off ten percent.
I asked for the cause of a lesser amount;
And he answered, "Because of the Seniors' Discount."
I went to McDonald's for a burger and fries;
And there, once again, got quite a surprise.
The clerk poured some coffee which he handed to me.
He said, "For you, Seniors, the coffee is free."
Understand -- I'm not old -- I'm merely mature;
But some things are changing, temporarily, I'm sure.
The newspaper print gets smaller each day,
And people speak softer -- can't hear what they say.
My teeth are my own (I have the receipt).
And my glasses identify people I meet.
Oh, I've slowed down a bit ... not a lot, I am sure.
You see, I'm not old ... I'm only mature.
The gold in my hair has been bleached by the sun.
You should see all the damage that chlorine has done.
Washing my hair has turned it all white,
But don't call it gray ... saying "blonde" is just right.
My car is all paid for ... not a nickel is owed.
Yet a kid yells, "Old duffer ... get off of the road!"
My car has no scratches ... not even a dent.
Still I get all that guff from a punk who's "Hell bent."
My friends all get older ... much faster than me.
They seem much more wrinkled, from what I can see.
I've got "character lines," not wrinkles ... for sure,
But don't call me old ... just call me mature.
The steps in the houses they're building today
Are so high that they take ... your breath all away;
And the streets are much steeper than ten years ago.
That should explain why my walking is slow.
But I'm keeping up on what's hip and what's new,
And I think I can still dance a mean boogaloo.
I'm still in the running ... in this I'm secure,
I'm not really old ... I'm only mature.
Sent by J
My
wife is fond of saying that my last words on this earth will be
something akin to "Well, I have out done myself once again. " No doubt
you will see this true story chronicled in a Lifetime movie in the near
future.
Here goes. . .
Last weekend I spied something at the pawn shop that tickled my fancy.
(Note: Keep in mind that my "fancy" is easily tickled). I bought
something really cool for my wife.
The occasion was our 18th anniversary and I was looking for a little
something extra for my sweet girl.
What I came across was a 100, 000-volt, pocket/purse-sized Taser gun
with a clip. For those of you who are not familiar with this product,
it is a less-than-lethal stun gun with two metal prongs designed to
incapacitate an assailant with a shock of high-voltage, low amperage
electricity while you flee to safety. The effects are supposed to be
short lived with no long-term adverse affect on your assailant, but
allowing you adequate time to retreat to safety.
You simply jab the prongs into your 250 lb. tattooed assailant, push
the button, and it will render him a slobbering, goggle-eyed,
muscle-twitching, whimpering, pencil-neck geek. If you've never seen
one of these things in action, then you're truly missing out--way too
cool!
Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two
AAA batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button. Nothing! I was
so disappointed. Upon reading the directions (we don't need no stinkin'
directions), I found much to my chagrin that this particular model
would not create an arch between the prongs. How disappointing! I do
love fire for effect. I learned that if I pushed the button, however,
and pressed it against a metal surface that I'd get the blue arch of
electricity darting back and forth between the prongs that I was so
looking forward to. I did so.
Awesome! Sparks, a blue arch of electricity, and a loud pop!
Yipeeeeee!
I'm easily amused, just for your information, but I have yet to explain
to her what that burn spot on the face of her microwave is.
Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it
couldn't be all that bad with only two AAA batteries, etc. , etc.
There I sat in my recliner, my dog looking on intently (trusting little
soul), reading the directions (that would be me, not the dog) and
thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and
blood target.
I must admit I thought about zapping the dog for a fraction of a second
and thought better of it. He is such a sweet pup, after all. But, if I
was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a
mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised. Am
I wrong?
Was I wrong to think that? It seemed reasonable to me at the time.
So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my glasses
perched ; delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand,
Taser in the other. The directions said that a one-second burst would
shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to
cause muscle spasms and a loss of bodily control; a three-second burst
would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish
out of water.
All the while I'm looking at this little device (measuring about 5"
long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference, pretty cute really, and
loaded with two itsy, bitsy AAA batteries) thinking to myself, "No
friggin' way! "
Friggin' way - trust me, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best.
Those of you who know me well have got a pretty good idea of what
followed. I'm sitting there alone, the dog looking on with his head
cocked to one side as if to say, "Don't do it buddy, " reasoning that a
one-second burst from such a tiny lil' ol' thing couldn't hurt all that
bad (sound, rational thinking under the circumstances, wouldn't you
agree? ).
I decided to give myself a one-second burst just for the hell of it.
(Note: You know, a bad decision is like hindsight-- always 20-20. It is
so obvious that it was a bad decision after the fact, even though it
seemed so right at the time. Don't ya just hate that? ) I touched the
prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and HOLY*********!
DAaaaauuuuuuMN! ! !
I'm pretty sure that Jesse Ventura ran in through the front door,
picked me up out of that recliner, then body slammed me on the carpet
over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal
position, nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, soaking wet,
with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position. The dog
was standing over me making sounds I had never heard before, licking my
face, undoubtedly thinking to himself, "Do it again, do it again! "
(NOTE: If you ever feel compelled to mug yourself with a Taser, one
note of caution. There is no such thing as a one-second burst when you
zap yourself. You're not going to let go of that thing until it is
dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor. .
Then, if you're lucky, you won't dislodge one of the prongs 1/4" deep
into your thigh like yours truly. )
SON-OF-A-***** ; that hurt! A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as
time was a relative thing at this point), I collected my wits (what
little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape. My glasses were
on the TV across the room. How did they get there? ? ? My triceps,
right thigh and both nipples were still twitching. My face felt like it
had been shot up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. give
or take an ounce or two, I'm pretty sure.
By the way, has anyone seen my testicles? I think they ran away. I'm
offering a reward. They're round, ! kinda hairy, and handsome if I must
say so myself. Miss 'em; sure would like to get 'em back.
Sent by Peter
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