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I recently read that ten heads explode everyday from not reading at least three Meme’s per day. It’s a fact; I’ve already gone back in the bathroom and checked on that wall again. However, there’s no mention about the size or shape of the Meme-that’s troublesome.



To compare me to what I once was you’d simply have to have a very good memory and a bunch of mirrors. Looking back, my fellow employees once asked if they should nominate me for Survivor. Now, that show might consider me if they needed a drift wood prop.

Often, learning a bit of history can teach an ear -full.

Once, there was this guy….

I'm saving my expanding hand made paper hat we bought in the Bahama's for tomorrow....

None of this should be allowed…WTH happened?

(In case you missed the lead up..this post from 2010 is funny-promise. …

Decaying, ruinated, defunctafied, squishated, flatasided, finishatored and donered-that’s me at 67 going on 100. If my asthma gives me a breath, my splitting fingers still find the sharp end of a hook. My eyes can’t see the stairs I fell down and my bursitis-afied knees feel almost better for the fall. I’d duck to see this all coming-as if. This bent over twig of a frame of mine would snap in two at the thought. Then there’s my center of gravity belly issue-what the hell is that? Some alternate dysfunctional bizzaro universe has landed upon me and absorbed the middle of me.

wife pointing to he middle of the problem

wife pointing to the middle of the problem

Thought may be the worst problem of all, if I could remember one?  Somewhere in my house is a drawer full of dusty, moldy ol’ thoughts that are completely deadified. But there’s a bright side for those who are not yet 67: you’re not yet 67, end of story…*

Oh, I’m not bitter about being this old. Please don’t get me wrong. Harsh, haggard, burnt to beyond crispy, horrified by old pictures, I used to wear turtlenecks not be them, a craggy, draggy,  bottomed butt roast with skinny chicken legs, a funny mole farm with no hair, no grip but ton’s of gripes, a loose cannon of dropping balls and feet that wouldn’t feel a rhino step on them, yes, I’m all that ,but not ever bitter. Bitter would be way extreme.

Turkey neck for took two to hold me up for the shot....

Turkey neck for sale….it took two to hold me up for the shot….

So all you new fangled people under 67-don’t say I didn’t write on the wall-check the three-way bathroom stalls-it’s all there. Simon once wrote, “It’s all happening at the zoo.” There’s a sense of humor for ya. My zoo is sorta centralized like my weather report-hazy, foggy, unwanted precipitation, cold, hot, random gusts of flatulence accompanied by belching sounds all out of tune with my ringing ears.  Head’s-up! Those ding-dong sounds on the T.V. are actually words-go figure.

It really isn’t that bad; once you’ve lost about everything, then your mind goes. What’s to worry when every day’s a new day and every face, place, word, thought, fart or burp is  new, too! Greetings to my old friends who ever the hell you are! Let’s party, dance, maybe romance (try to remember those kinds of September) or maybe, just party-skip the dance- or sit on the couch to talk before we need the potty, or even better, let’s nap. Yes, stay home and nap at 67-it’s easier than trying to recall how to dress.

I remember being able to tie my shoes and stuff

I remember being able to tie my shoes and stuff( Lake Bonaparte.) I could even go out in a boat and make it back by myself!

Example: I once knew a guy (me) who went to the beach, like three days ago, and pulled down his shorts to go swimming before recalling  he meant to wear his suit under his shorts….if only. Fortunately, there were no witnesses who didn’t see.  Remember those dropping balls I mentioned? I signed autographs most the afternoon-no wait, were those police and lawyers/ I forget-**


Me! In another life with a big fish.

Me! In another life with a big fish.

*Of course, I couldn’t leave turning sixty out……enjoy-

** Okay, I did have my boxer’s on so even asking to sign autographs didn’t work. People are soooo demanding these days.


No slick-trick words here. I’m freakin’ sixty-five.

In truth, sixty-five feels ancient to me.  I see what I see and trip over the rest. Oh fart, sixty-five. WTHeck?!?! Great, I need softer seats and a truck lift to get me up out of them.

I didn’t start this way……

That's me towing my sister and brother.....

That’s me towing my sister and brother…..

And, who put my feet way down there? People really need to have expanding arms for pickin’ up stuff or for tying shoes? What was God thinking? And speaking of God, it’s no secret I’m a Peter Pan sort of fellow. Enough already with the aging crap, splat, whoops, zonk-hit my head again, wham didn’t see that branch, lost my remote, keys, wallet, address book, bills, where’s my coffee cup? If I find my glasses on top of my head one more time…..And now my mind is going, maybe, but how would I know?

Here’s a tip: 65 is ,like, twice as old as 32 and 1/2.

Dang, my life has either gone by quickly, or so slowly my childhood seems like four lifetimes ago. Of course, I remember everything about my life, but for what I’ve forgotten. Here’s a challenge for you if you are over fifty….or not. Try to remember everyone you’ve kissed! Ha! I took that challenge and spent several days remembering people I’d forgotten about when I’d first started making my list! I finally stopped when I got to number 3, whew!!!!To be fair, I left out teachers, girls who I’d tackled first, then kissed, all my pets and my sister’s dolls. So the number could be much larger, anyway….

This isn't me, and the shot has no business being in this blog, but for hte fact that this guy's holding a perch, a fish rarely seen on our lake in the past twenty years.....

This isn’t me, and the shot has no business being in this blog, but for the fact that the guy’s holding a perch, a fish rarely seen in our lake during the past twenty years…..

Okay, this is me, hoping to catch a perch about twenty years ago, before I knew I'd stepped off Never Never land.

Okay, this is me, hoping to catch a perch about twenty years ago, before I knew I’d stepped off Never Never land.

Since I’m dyslexic, I could be 56, not 65; that would be better. Or, as my wife pointed out, when caught doing 65 MPH in a 55 MPH zone just tell the cop that 65 is the new 55. That should do it. Trouble is, I’d still get the ticket and people still say I’m 65! I don’t have regrets; I’ve lost them, too. I wander late at night from room to out in the street then back to my room looking for them-gone! Like my PJ’s!

Here’s another thing. At twenty I knew ton’s of stuff. Now, I could make a turnip look smart*!* Example: at twenty I walked(marched) for a program called, Food for Peace-one that promised to drop tons of food for starving South Americans, missing the people of course, and why not!?!?! Wheat was stored by the tons beneath America’s Midwest in salt tunnels while hard-working people were starving! It all seemed so simple!!! Turns out, I read that the food drop happened. It bankrupt the local farmers by supplying free food. The farmers in turn started raising pot as a cash crop-what else could they grow? Then, they got sprayed with paraquat by our government.  Perfect; right?

“Before I got married I had six theories about raising children; now, I have six children and no theories.”
― John Wilmot

Some things weren't as simple as I'd thought.

Some things weren’t as simple as I’d thought.

So at twenty I knew what was right. Now, at sixty-five, I’m not certain there is a right but for FOX News, the Republican PR channel.

I guess, to be fair, I can say this picture looks right..(thanks for it , Dale)

I guess, to be fair, I can say this picture looks right..(thanks for it , Dale)

I spent many times last year, during my 64th year, thinking about the Beatle song, When I’m Sixty-Four. It’s hard to say how many times I performed that song, the hours of practice it took to get it right-  there’s no way to calculate the poundage of pot I smoked with my buddies listening to the tune back in the days I can’t remember. Thing is, I do remember thinking back then that sixty-four was near the end, a dead ringer year for what old age would be. That age was so far off I couldn’t imagine what had prompted the Beatles to write about failing eyesight, people who miss their face with their spoon or slobber on about grandchildren. Sixty-four year olds had more than one foot in the grave, their entire being was dumped in the hole. Those old people clutched with both hands to the lip of their grave hoping the digger’s shovel would break.

To sum up, there isn’t a single year under sixty-five that is as old. Not 35, 45, 52 or even 64. Nope, all of those years are younger than this squat ol’ sixty-five in your face year.

Personally, as I’ve mentioned to my wife many times, I don’t intend to age at all. People have sometimes said, “Grow up!” to me. I say: fu*k you, but in a very nice tone of voice and in different words like, “nah, I like being, acting and thinking young.”  I figure there’s plenty of time for rigamortis to set in while we’re in the grave, why push that up into the living years? Or maybe I know a quote to use as an answer:

“The worst old age is that of the mind.”

William Hazlitt (1778-1830) British essayist. Blah, blah blah….

I try to remember this whenever I make a jack-ass out of myself by acting 18 at 65….

“It takes a long time to become young.”

Pablo Picasso (1881-1973) Spanish painter.

Hey, the quotes about staying stupid in old age could go on forever, why can’t I go on forever? There’s got to a be a loop-hole somewhere in this aging screw-up called life.  So here’s to 65! You take it , please!! I’m staying twenty-five. Okay, eighteen-would you give me sixteen?

16 was a very good year.

16 was a very good year.

I’m off—marching/sailing towards never land, hopefully.

Someone's in the know

Someone’s in the know

Have a good one, whatever year it is!


(Pssst- someone added a comment from their own blog with this link-–it is very the play button..enjoy!)

*!*This is a quote from book three of the Avatar Magic series I’m writing. Book one, Avatar Magic and book two, The Code of Avatar Magic are both on kindle now.

Book one:

Book two:



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