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Getting Old Ain't for sissies and other stuff

Public Journal
PUT ON YOUR BIG GIRL PANTIES AND....            
DEAL WITH IT!

WHAT IF...THE HOKEY POKEY REALLY IS
WHAT IT'S ALL ABOUT?

IF YOU DON'T TAKE CARE OF YOUR BODY.......
WHERE WILL YOU LIVE?

THE OLDER I GET...THE BETTER I WAS!

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Thursday, July 10, 2008
12:35:12 AM EDT

GETTING OLDER


THE OLDER I GET......

THE BETTER........

I WAS!!!!!!



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Saturday, June 28, 2008
1:14:13 PM EDT

THE HORMONE HOSTAGE



 
 
                                  THE HORMONE HOSTAGE

THE HORMONE HOSTAGE KNOWS THAT THERE ARE DAYS IN THE MONTH WHEN ALL A MAN HAS TO DO IS OPEN HIS MOUTH & HE TAKES HIS LIFE INTO HIS OWN HANDS!  THIS IS A HANDY GUIDE THAT SHOULD BE AS COMMON AS A DRIVER'S LICENSE IN THE WALLET OF EVERY HUSBAND, BOYFRIEND, CO-WORKER, OR SIGNIFICANT OTHER!

 

DANGEROUS:

SAFER:

SAFEST:

ULTRA SAFE:

WHAT'S FOR DINNER?

CAN I HELP YOU WITH DINNER?

WHERE WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO FOR DINNER?

HERE, HAVE

SOME WINE.

ARE YOU

WEARING THAT?

WOW, YOU SURE LOOK GOOD IN BROWN!

WOW!

LOOK AT YOU!

HERE, HAVE

SOME WINE.

WHAT ARE YOU

SO WORKED UP ABOUT?

COULD WE BE OVERREACTING?

HERE'S MY PAYCHECK.

HERE, HAVE

SOME WINE.

 

SHOULD YOU BE EATING THAT?

YOU KNOW, THERE ARE A LOT OF APPLES LEFT.

CAN I GET YOU A PIECE OF CHOCOLATE WITH THAT?

 

HERE, HAVE

SOME WINE.

WHAT DID

YOU DO

ALL DAY?

I HOPE YOU DIDN'T OVER-DO IT TODAY.

I'VE ALWAYS LOVED YOU IN THAT ROBE!

HERE, HAVE

SOME MORE

WINE.

13 THINGS PMS STANDS FOR:

1. PASS MY SHOTGUN

2. PSYCHOTIC MOOD SWING

3. PERPETUAL MUNCHING SPREE

4. PUFFY MID-SECTION

5. PEOPLE MAKE me SICK

6. PROVIDE ME with SWEETS

7. PARDON MY SOBBING

8.. PIMPLES MAY SURFACE

9. PASS MY SWEATS

10. PISSY MOOD SYNDROME

 11. POOR MEN SUCK

 12. PACK MY STUFF

& MY FAVORITE ONE

 13. POTENTIAL MURDER SUSPECT

 



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Tuesday, June 24, 2008
10:46:46 PM EDT

CRABBY OLD MAN


When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in North Platte, Nebraska, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.

Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.

One nurse took her copy to Missouri . The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the New s Magazine of the St. Louis Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.

And this little old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet.


Crabby Old Man

What do you see nurses?....What do you see?
What are you thinking.....when you're looking at me?
A crabby old man, ....not very wise,
Uncertain of habit ........with faraway eyes?

Who dribbles his food.......and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice.....'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice .....the things that you do.
And forever is losing ....A sock or shoe?

Who, resisting or not.......lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding ....The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking? ....Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse......you're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am .....As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding......as I eat at your will
I'm a small child of Ten.......with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters .......who love one another

A young boy of Sixteen....with wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now....a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty....my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows......that I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Five, now ....I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide ....And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty ....My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other .......With ties that should last.

At Forty, my young sons....have grown and are gone,
But my woman's beside me.......to see
I
don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, ....Babies play ' round my knee,
Again, we know children .......My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me .....My wife is now dead.
I look at the future .......I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing......young of their own.
And I think of the years....... And the love that I've known.

I'm now an old man.........and nature is cruel.
Tis jest to make old age....look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles......grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone........where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass .....A young guy still dwells,
And now and again .......my battered heart swells
I remember the joys.....I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living....life over again.

I think of the years all too few......gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact.....that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people ....open and see..
Not a crabby old man. Look closer....see........ME!!


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Thursday, June 12, 2008
11:33:42 PM EDT

THEFT PROBLEM....IMPORTANT MESSAGE FOR WOMEN OVER 50


 

 Theft Problem - IMPORTANT MESSAGE:
( Author Unknown)

 You've heard about people who have been abducted and had
 their kidneys removed by black-market organ thieves.

 
WELL

 My thighs were stolen from me during the night a few years ago. I went to
 sleep and woke up with someone else's thighs. It was just that quick.
 The replacements had the texture of cooked oatmeal. 
I spent the entire summer looking for my thighs.
 Finally, hurt and angry, I resigned myself to living out my life in jeans.

 And then the thieves struck again.

 My butt was next.  But,  these thieves are cruel. they attached 
my new butt  three inches lower than my original!  I realized I'd have to give up my jeans in favor of long skirts.

 Two years ago I realized my arms had been switched. One morning I was
 fixing my hair and was horrified to see the flesh of my upper arm swing to
  and fro,
 This was really getting scary -. What could they do to me next?

 When my poor neck suddenly disappeared and was replaced with a turkey
 neck, I decided to tell my story.

 Women of the world, wake up and smell the coffee! Those 'plastic' surgeons
 are using REAL replacement body parts - stolen from you and me!

 The next time someone you know has something 'lifted', look again - was it
 lifted from you?

 THIS IS NOT A HOAX.
 
This is happening to women everywhere every night.

 WARN YOUR FRIENDS!

 P. S.
Last year I thought someone had stolen my Boobs. I was lying in bed
 and they were gone! But when I jumped out of bed, I was relieved to see 
that they had just been hiding in my armpits as I slept.
 
Now, I keep them hidden in my waistband.

 Thought this was too 'important' not to pass on.




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5:25:18 PM EDT

A ROUTINE COLONOSCOPY...TOOOO FUNNY!!!


Dave Barry's Colonoscopy
(Dave Barry was a nationally syndicated humor columnist) 


A Routine Colonoscopy
I went in for a routine colonoscopy to check for the possible dreaded
diagnosis: cancer.  I was told that if it's early there is a good
prognosis that they can get it
all out, fingers crossed, knock on wood, and all that. And of course
they told me to tell my
siblings to get screened. I imagine they both have.

Um. Well. First I called my brother, Sam.  He was hopeful, but scared.
We talked for a while, and when we hung up, I called my friend Andy
Sable, a gastroenterologist, to
make an appointment for a colonoscopy.  A few days later, in his office,
Andy showed me a color
diagram of the colon, a lengthy organ that appears to go all over the
place, at one point
passing briefly through
Minneapolis.  Then Andy explained the
colonoscopy procedure to me in a
thorough, reassuring and patient manner.  I nodded thoughtfully, but I
didn't really hear
anything he said, because my brain was shrieking, "HE'S GOING TO STICK A
TUBE 17,000 FEET UP YOUR BUTT!" I
left Andy's office with some written instructions, and a prescription
for a product called "MoviPrep," which comes in a box large enough to hold a microwave
oven. 

I will discuss MoviPrep in detail later; for now suffice it to say that
we must never
allow it to fall into the hands of America's enemies.

I spent the next several days productively sitting around being nervous.
Then, on the day before my colonoscopy, I began my preparation.  In
accordance with my
instructions, I didn't eat any solid food that day; all I had was
chicken broth, which is basically water,
only with less flavor.  Then, in the evening, I took the MoviPrep  You
mix two packets of powder
together in a one-liter plastic jug, then you fill it with lukewarm
water.  (For those unfamiliar with
the metric system, a liter is about 32 gallons.)  Then you have to drink
the whole jug.  This takes
about an hour, because MoviPrep tastes -- and here I am being kind --
like a mixture of goat
spit and urinal cleanser, with just a hint of lemon.  The instructions
for MoviPrep, clearly
written by somebody with a great sense of humor, state that after you
drink it, "a loose watery bowel
movement may result."  This is kind of like saying that after you jump
off your roof, you may
experience contact with the ground. MoviPrep is a nuclear laxative.  I
don't want to be too graphic, here, but: Have you ever seen a space
shuttle launch?  This is pretty much the MoviPrep experience, with
you as the shuttle.  There are times when you wish the commode had a
seat belt.  You spend several
hours pretty much confined to the bathroom.  You eliminate everything.
And then, when you figure
you must be totally empty, you have to drink another liter of MoviPrep,
at which point, as far as I
can tell, your bowels travel into the future and start eliminating food
that you have not even
eaten yet.

After an action-packed evening, I finally got to sleep.  The next
morning my wife drove me to the
clinic.  I was very nervous.  Not only was I worried about the
procedure, but I had been
experiencing occasional return bouts of MoviPrep spurtage. I was
thinking, "What if I spurt on
Andy?"  How do you apologize to a friend for something like that?
Flowers would not be enough.

At the clinic I had to sign many forms acknowledging that I understood
and totally agreed with
whatever the hell the forms said.  Then they led me to a room full of
other colonoscopy people,
where I went inside a little curtained space and took off my clothes and
put on one of those
hospital garments designed by sadist perverts, the kind that, when you
put it on, makes you feel
even more naked than when you are actually naked.

Then a nurse named Eddie put a little needle in a vein in my left hand
Ordinarily I would have
fainted, but Eddie was very good, and I was already lying down.  Eddie
also told me that some
people put vodka in their MoviPrep.  At first I was ticked off that I
hadn't thought of this, but
then I pondered what would happen if you got yourself too tipsy to make
it to the bath room, so you
were staggering around in full Fire Hose Mode.  You would have no choice
but to burn your house.

When everything was ready, Eddie wheeled me into the procedure room,
where Andy was waiting with a
nurse and an anesthesiologist.  I did not see the 17,000-foot tube, but
I knew Andy had it hidden
around there somewhere.  I was seriously nervous at this point.  Andy
had me roll over on my left
side, and the anesthesiologist began hooking something up to the needle
in my hand.  There was
music playing in the room, and I realized that the song was "Dancing
Queen" by Abba.  I remarked to
Andy that, of all the songs that could be playing during this particular
procedure, "Dancing Queen"
has to be the least appropriate.  "You want me to turn it up?" said
Andy, from somewhere behind me. "Ha
ha," I said. And then it was time, the moment I had been dreading for
more than a decade.  If you are squeamish,
prepare yourself, because I am going to tell you, in explicit detail,
exactly what it was like.

I have no idea. 

Really.  I slept through it. 

One moment, Abba was shrieking "Dancing Queen!  Feel the beat from the
tambourine . . . and the next moment, I was back in the other room,
waking up in a very mellow mood.  Andy was looking down at me and asking
me how I
felt.  I felt excellent.  I felt even more excellent when Andy told me
that it was all over, and
that my colon had passed with flying colors. 

I have never been prouder of an internal organ.



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Tuesday, May 27, 2008
9:54:33 AM EDT

TRUE FRIENDSHIP


True Friendship 
 
None of that Sissy Crap 
 
 
Are you tired of those sissy 'friendship' poems that always sound good, but never actually come close to reality? 

Well, here is a series of promises that actually speak of true friendship. You will see no cutesy little smiley faces on this card- Just the stone cold truth of our great friendship.
 
1. When you are sad -- I will jump on the person who made you sad like a spider monkey jacked up on Mountain Dew. 
 
2. When you are blue -- I will try to dislodge whatever is choking you. 
 
3. When you smile -- I will know you are plotting something that I must be involved in. 
 
4. When you are scared -- I will rag on you about it every chance I get. 
 
5. When you are worried -- I will tell you horrible stories about how much worse it could be until you quit whining. 

6. When you are confused -- I will use little words. 

7. When you are sick -- Stay away from me until you are well again. I don't want whatever you have. 
 
8. When you fall -- I will point and laugh at your clumsy butt. 
 
9. This is my oath.... I pledge it to the end.

"Why?" you may ask, "because you are my friend".  Friendship is like peeing your pants, everyone can see it, but only you can feel the true warmth.. 

The original directions said to "Send this to 10 of your closest friends, then get depressed because you can only think of 4."
 


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Thursday, May 8, 2008
12:58:51 AM EDT

GRANNIES ON THE ROAD


Grannies on the Road


            Sitting on the side of the road waiting to catch speeding drivers,
a state trooper sees a car puttering along at 22 mph.
              He thinks to himself, "This driver is as dangerous as a speeder!"
              So he turns on his lights and pulls the driver over.

 
              Approaching the car, he notices that there are five elderly
ladies - two in the front seat and three in the back, wide-eyed and
white as ghosts.


              The driver, obviously confused, said to him, "Officer, I don't
understand. I was going the exact speed limit. What seems to be the
problem?"


              The trooper, trying to contain a chuckle, explains to her that 22
was the route number, not the speed limit.
              A bit embarrassed, the woman grinned and thanked the officer for
pointing out her error.


              "But before you go, Ma'am, I have to ask, is everyone in this car
OK? These women seem awfully shaken."


              "Oh, they'll be all right in a minute, officer........

 We just got off Route 127".



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Wednesday, April 30, 2008
8:54:43 PM EDT

A HISTORY LESSON...LIFE IN THE 1500's



LIFE IN THE 1500'S
The next time you are washing your hands and complain because the water temperature isn't just how you like it, think about how things used to be. Here are some facts about the 1500's:


Most people got married in June because they took their yearly bath in May, and still smelled pretty good by June. However, they were starting to smell, so brides carried a bouquet of flowers to hide the body odor. Hence the custom today of carrying a bouquet when getting married.

Baths consisted of a big tub f illed with hot w ater. The man of the house had the privilege of the nice clean water, then all the other sons and men, then the women and finally the children. Last of all the babies. By then the water was so dirty you could actually lose someone in it. Hence the saying, Don't throw the baby out with the Bath water.

Houses had thatched roofs-thick straw-piled high, with no wood underneath. It was the only place for animals to get warm, so all the cats and other small animals (mice, bugs) lived in the roof When it rained it became slippery and sometimes the animals would slip and fall off the roof. Hence the saying . It's raining cats and dogs.

There was nothing to stop things from falling into the house. This posed a real problem in the bedroom where bugs and other droppings could mess up your nice clean bed. Hence, a bed with big posts and a sheet hung over the top afforded some protection. That's how canopy beds came into existence.

The floor was dirt. Only the wealthy had something other than dirt. Hence the saying, Dirt poor. The wealthy had slate floors that would get slippery in the winter when wet, so they spread thresh (straw) on floor to help keep their footing. As the winter wore on, they added more thresh until, when you opened the door, it would all start slipping outside. A piece of wood was placed in the entrance way. Hence the saying a thresh hold.

(Getting quite an education, aren't you?)

In those old days, they cooked in the kitchen with a big kettle that always hung over the fire. Every day they lit the fire and added things to the pot. They ate mostly vegetables and did not get much meat. They would eat the stew for dinner, leaving leftovers in the pot to get cold overnight and then start over the next day. Sometimes stew had food in it that had been there for quite a while. Hence the rhyme, Peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold, peas p orrid ge in the po t nine days old..

Sometimes they could obtain pork, which made them feel quite special. When visitors came over, they would hang up their bacon to show off. It was a sign of wealth that a man could, bring home the bacon. They would cut off a little to share with guests and would all sit around and chew the fat..

Those with money had plates made of pewter. Food with high acid content caused some of the lead to leach onto the food, causing lead poisoning death. This happened most often with tomatoes, so for the next 400 years or so, tomatoes were considered poisonous.

Bread was divided according to status. Workers got the burnt bottom of the loaf, the family got the middle, and guests got the top, or the upper crust.

Lead cups were used to drink ale or whisky. The combination would sometimes knock the imbibers out for a couple of days. Someone walking along the road would take them fo r de ad and prepare them for burial. They were laid out on the kitchen table for a couple of days and the family would gather around and eat and drink and wait and see if they would wake up. Hence the custom of holding a wake.
England is old and small and the local folks started running out of places to bury people. So they would dig up coffins and would take the bones to a bone-house, and reuse the grave. When reopening these coffins, 1 out of 25 coffins were found to have scratch marks on the inside and they realized they had been burying people alive So they would tie a string on the wrist of the corpse, lead it through the coffin and up through the ground and tie it to a bell. Someone would have to sit out in the graveyard all nig ht (the graveyard shift.) to listen for the bell; thus, someone could be, saved by the bell or was considered a ..dead ringer..


And that's the truth..Now, whoever said History was boring ! ! !


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Wednesday, April 9, 2008
12:08:39 PM EDT

GETTIN OLD


This getting old period of my life is taking some adjustment.

I found out that my blood pressure is high.

Now, I am taking blood pressure medicine that makes me tired.

There was a time when I hated taking naps....now, I can't wait to lie down!

I take a med to help with one thing and it causes me to be tired and sleepy so...

I have gained weight.

Getting old....ain't for sissies!

ML



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Thursday, April 3, 2008
2:11:10 AM EDT

GETTING OLD


I never thought much about being old in all of the years before........

But it is approaching.......

And it is time to think!

 

ML



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