Anyone Can Be Young

Anyone can be young. The hard part is being old and the grudge match battle we all have with finitude.  Finitude and entropy to be specific two sunzabitches who don’t give a rat’s ass about god or country. And why should they? It is certainly not in their personalities.

Spoiler alert: This is the great problem for all carbon based life forms. We're all gonna die...yet my youthful exuberance of mind is directly opposite my stage one decrepitude.

I used to be a stud. At 19 I had the response time of a riot baton and could knock off 3 women like I used to do with those 3 milk bottles at the carnival and a well-placed fastball.

Now, I am 60. It happened so fast I got windburn.. Sixty years old! My response time is more like waiting for a cop after a VCR has been stolen. I need serious cajoling, wheedling, threats of bodily harm, gunpoint, and maybe a little pharmaceutical cantilevering especially at 3 am when I’m at the Toot and Scoot working an angle on the little hard belly clerk who’s tighter than James Brown’s horn section. If I know it’s on because of a badly disguised “tell”, her tongue making rhythmic thrusts to the inside wall of her mouth, I’ll speed dial my drug dealer Dirty Sanchez for some “poke”…street name? Viagra!

Q: And what would you like on your hotdog, sir?

A: How about a young girl?

If you are planning a trip to the Grand Canyon, the northern rim is much more majestic than the southern rim just like on a woman…

These are clearly fantasies of a dying man. Now when I get aroused it sounds more like a rusty drawbridge going up or the first hill of a wooden roller coaster…clickety clack, clickety clack, clickety clack…clickety clack…

Bengay is not an aphrodisiac.

My focus and concentration is not the same as it used to be. Sometimes, I think I’m pushing a heavy piece of furniture across the bedroom floor, skooching it into a tight corner with a few violent hip checks.

I woke up this morning to a lot of coughing and wheezing…it was my cock!

The older I get the more body hair I grow. When I get out of the shower I look like I’m rooting for Princeton in 1922.  Do the words “gray Brillo pad” mean anything to you?

My wife bought me a manhole cover to cover my manhole.

I miss the days when I used to be able to fantasize about having sex with young girls.

I should get a job checking IDs to see what being young used to look like.

Soon, I will be fitted with a hydraulic, piston driven mono-cock that does the work of 10 porn stars.

Knowing full well that sleep is not in his immediate future, our hero lies in bed every night shaking his head back and forth for 8 hours.

He’d kill for a solid bowel movement. So when his gastroenterologist turned up dead…