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A little girl was sitting on her grandfather’s lap as he read her a bedtime story. From time to time, she would take her eyes off the book and reach up to touch his wrinkled cheek.

She was alternately stroking her own cheek, then his again. Finally she spoke up, “Grandpa, did God make you?”
“Yes, sweetheart,” he answered, “God made me a long time ago.”
“Oh,” she paused, “Grandpa, did God make me too?”
“Yes, indeed, honey,” he said, “God made you a little while ago.”

Feeling their respective faces again, she observed, “God’s getting better at it, isn’t he?”

There was a nice old lady that was a little old fashioned. She was planning a weeks vacation in Florida at a particular campground, but she wanted to make sure of the accommodations first. Uppermost in her mind were toilet facilities. However, she could not bring herself to write ‘toilet’ in a letter.

After considerable deliberation, she settled on “Bathroom Commode”, but when she wrote that down it still sounded too forward so she rewrote the letter to the campground and referred to the bathroom commode as the ‘BC’.

Upon reading the letter, the campground owner was baffled by the inquiry for a BC. He showed the letter to several campers but they couldn’t decipher it either. Finally, the campground owner figured she must be referring to the local Baptist Church. And so, he sat down and wrote the following:

“Dear Madam:

I regret very much the delay in answering your letter, but I now take the pleasure to inform you that a BC is located just nineteen miles north of the campground and is capable of seating 250 people at a time.

I admit, it is quite a distance away if you’re in the habit of going regularly, but no doubt you will be pleased to know that a great number of people take their lunches along and make a day of it. They usually arrive early and stay late.

The last time my wife and I went was six years ago and it was so crowded we had to stand up the whole time we were there. It may interest you to know that right now there is a supper being planned to raise money to buy more seats. They’re going to hold it in the basement of the BC.

I would say it pains me very much not to be able to go more regularly. There is surely no lack of desire on my part. As we grow older, it seems more of an effort particularly in cold weather.

If you decide to come down to our campground, perhaps I could go with you the first time, sit with you, and introduce you to all the other folks. Remember, this is a friendly community.”

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.

Grandpa and Grandpa were sitting in their porch rockers watching the beautiful sunset and reminiscing about “the good old days,” when Grandma turned to Grandpa and said, “Honey, do you remember when we first started dating and you used to just casually reach over and take my hand?”
Grandpa looked over at her, smiled and obligingly took her aged hand in his.
With a wry little smile, Grandma pressed a little farther, “Honey, do you remember how after we were engaged, you’d sometimes lean over and suddenly kiss me on the cheek?”
Grandpa leaned slowly toward Grandma and gave her a lingering kiss on her wrinkled cheek.
Growing bolder still, Grandma said, “Honey, do you remember how, after we were first married, you’d kind of nibble on my ear?”
Grandpa slowly got up from his rocker and headed into the house.
Alarmed, Grandma said, “Honey, where are you going?”
Grandpa replied, “To get my teeth!”

The Golden Years have come at last -
I cannot see; I cannot pee;
I cannot chew, I cannot screw.
My memory shrinks, my hearing stinks;
No sense of smell: I look like hell!
My body is drooping; got trouble pooping.

The Golden Years have come at last.
But the Golden Years have turned to BRASS.
If you ask me -
The GOLDEN YEARS…
Can kiss my ASS!



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