Posts Tagged ‘age’

classified ad

A retired doctor decided his hometown could use the services of an additional medical provider, so he left retirement and hung out his shingle for the second time in his life. To drum up business, he took out an ad in the local paper announcing his return to the practice of medicine. The ad said “Experienced Doctor opening medical clinic in town, is now accepting new patients. ‘I Can heal any condition for only $300. Results guaranteed or I will give you $1000 cash back.'”

Eventually, one of the younger doctors in town started losing business to the older man. He decided to exact revenge on the older provider. He would pretend to be a patient, and fake an illness that the older doctor couldn’t heal. Then he’d, take his $1000 cash offer.

The young doctor went in and said, “Doctor, I’ve got an illness that no other physician has been able to cure. I have lost all sense of taste in my mouth, I can’t enjoy food any more.”

The older doctor called out, “Nurse, bring out a medicine dropper of Formula #2 and put three drops on the patient’s tongue.”

As the nurse placed the drops on the young doctor’s tongue, he screamed out, “Are you trying to kill me? That’s kerosene!!!”

The older doctor said, “Congratulations! You’re cured, that’ll be $300.”

A week went by and the young doctor returned.”Doctor, I have memory problems. I can’t remember anything.”

The older doctor asked, “How long has this been going on?”

“How long has what been going on?” replied the younger doctor, feeling mighty smug.

“I see,” said the elder.”Nurse, bring out a medicine dropper of Formula #2 and put three drops on the patient’s tongue.”

“No way!”, said the younger doctor, “‘Formula #2’ is kerosene.”

The older doctor said, “Congratulations! You’re cured, that’ll be $300.”

The younger doctor pouted for a week then decided to give the old man a final challenge.This time he would pretend to be blind. Donning dark glasses and a cane, he went to see the older physician. “Doctor, I’ve gone blind, I can’t see a thing anymore.” he said. After a series of inconclusive tests, the young man said, “Doc, just admit you can’t do anything for me and give me my thousand dollars.”

The older doctor says, “You’re right, I may have been a little ambitious. Here’s your thousand dollars,” He counted out loudly: “$100 – $200 – $300 – $400…” as he placed ten $10 bills on the examination table.

“Hey, that’s not a thousand dollars,” objected the younger doctor, “that’s only a hundred. What are you trying to pull?” To which the elder replied, “Congratulations! You’re cured, that’ll be $300.”

Now, about that Hearing Aid

Posted: November 15, 2015 in Family, Food, Men vs Women, Old Age
Tags: , , , , , ,
older man with younger girl

Oh, to be young!

Morris, an 82 year-old man in spry condition, went to the doctor for his annual physical. For the most part, the man was very healthy, although the doctor did notice an irregularity with the man’s heart. Concerned that physical stress might worsen his heart’s condition and possibly threaten the man’s life, the doctor warned him against any heart-strenuous activities.

A few days later, the doctor saw the older man walking down the street with a gorgeous young woman on his arm, and from the way they were acting, it was obvious the man had ignored the doctor’s advice and found himself a sexual playmate. Now, Morris had been a patient of the doctor’s for years, and had always followed the doctor’s advice. The doctor considered Morris a friend, and was hurt that he ignored this piece of crucial advice.

A couple of days later, the doctor’s concern outweighed his annoyance, and he called Morris.

“Morris, you and I have been friends a long time, haven’t we?” the doctor began.

“Why, yes,” Morris replied.

“and you’ve always followed my advice,” he continued.

“Why, yes,” Morris replied.

“and because you have followed my advice, you’re really doing great, aren’t you?” he asked.

“well, certainly, Doc,” Morris said, and added, “I’m not sure what you’re gettin’ at…”

The doctor let him have it full-force: “Well, Morris, You came into my office the other day and I saw something that concerned me, so I gave you some advice and you just totally ignored me. The other day, I saw you with some hoochie-girl and it’s clear that you are in a very physical relationship.”

Morris replied, “But I am following you advice, Doc. You said, ‘You get a hot mama, pursue strenuous physical activity, especially sex, and you should be cheerful.'”

The doctor said, ‘I didn’t say that.. I said, ‘You’ve got a heart murmur, and pursuant to strenuous physical activity, especially sex, and you should be careful.”

Remembering Ice Cream

Posted: November 15, 2015 in Family, Food, Men vs Women, Old Age
Tags: , , , ,

ice-cream-strawberries

Ice cream with strawberries.


   A Couple in their nineties are both having problems remembering things. During a check-up, the doctor tells them that mentally, they’re fine. He advises them that if they’re having trouble remembering things, they might want to start writing things down.

Later that night, while watching TV, the old man gets up from his chair. ‘Want anything while I’m in the kitchen?’ he asks.

‘Will you get me a bowl of ice cream?’

‘Sure.’

‘Don’t you think you should write it down so you can remember it?’ she asks.

‘No, I can remember it.’

‘Well, I’d like some strawberries on top, too. Maybe you should write it down, so as not to forget it?’

He says, ‘I can remember that. You want a bowl of vanilla ice cream with strawberries.’

‘I’d also like whipped cream. I don’t want you to forget that, so write it down.’ she says.

Irritated, he replies, ‘Dang it, woman, I don’t need to write it down! I can remember it: Vanilla ice cream with strawberries and whipped cream – I got it, for goodness sake!’

Then he ambles into the kitchen and she hears him getting out bowls and flatware. After about 20 minutes, the old man returns from the kitchen and hands his wife a plate of bacon and eggs. She stares at the plate in disbelief.

‘I told you, you should have written it down, she quips, ‘You forgot the toast.’

A Server at Taco Bell

“$5.37.”

   That’s what the kid behind the counter at Taco Bell said to me. I dug into my pocket and pulled out some lint, two dimes and an old Jolly Rancher. Having already handed the kid a five, I started to head back out to the truck to grab some change when the voice from behind the counter said the harshest thing anyone has ever said to me. He said, “It’s OK. I’ll give you the Senior Citizen discount.”

   I turned to see who he was talking to. Then I heard the sound of change hitting the counter in front of me. “Only $4.68” he said cheerfully. I stood there stupefied. I am 48, not even 50 yet, still a young man! Did he really call me a Senior citizen? I took my burrito and walked out to the truck. What was wrong with that kid. Was he blind?

   I sat in my truck. I got more and more angry. “Old? Me? No, he’s not getting away with this,” I thought. I got out of my truck and went back inside. I walked up to the counter, and there stood the little twit, waiting with that stupid smile. Before I could say a word, he held up something and jingled it in front of me, as if he could distract me from my mission!

   “You can’t get too far without your car keys, can you, Sir?” he chuckled. I stared with utter disdain at my keys he was dangling like a toy before a dog. I began to rationalize the scenario in my mind. “Leaving your keys behind hardly qualifies a man as elderly!” I said in a raised tone, “It has nothing to do with age!” I turned and headed back to the truck.

   Now I was shaking, I was so angry. I slipped the key into the ignition, but it wouldn’t turn. Now what? I checked my keys and tried the valet key. Still nothing. That’s when I noticed the purple beads hanging from my rear view mirror. I don’t have purple beads hanging from my rear view mirror. Then, I noticed a few other things: Happy Meal toys in the floorboard; a partially eaten doughnut on the dash. A half-empty soda in the cup holder.

Whoever’s truck that was: I was only in it less than two minutes, and I didn’t take anything.

   Moments later I’m speeding out of the parking lot, relieved to finally leave this nightmarish burrito stop. That’s when my stomach growled at me. Hunger! My stomach growled and churned, and I reached across the seat to grab my burrito, only it was not there. I swung the truck around, gathered my courage, and headed back into the restaurant one more time. There he stood, draped in youth and mockery. He still had his stupid smile.

   “It just isn’t your day is it?” he said as he held out my burrito and drink. That’s all he said, but I know what he was inferring: “Why don’t you get a Boy Scout to help you back into your vehicle so you can go and apply for Social Security benefits, old man?”

   I went back out to my truck. From nowheere, a young guy came up and knocked on my window to get my attention. He was holding up my wallet. He explained, “I think you dropped this over by my truck by mistake.” I took my wallet back and offered to pay him $20 for its safe return. He said to me, “Naw, keep your money. My grandfather loses his stuff like this all the time.”

I drove home.

   I walked in the front door, I went straight to my recliner-rocker, covered my legs with a blanket, turned on Jeopardy!, and ate my burrito. The good news was, I had successfully found my way home.

A young checkout girl at WalMart can influence a man's clothing decisions.

   Human Psychology says that what clothing a man wears is very dependent on the reward he expects to receive in return for any extra effort it takes to look a little better. In other words, the greater the potential of reward, the better a man will dress. However, there is a conflicting theory that says as a man grows older, he couldn’t care less what he looks like, regardless of the potential of reward.

   Let’s look at an example. Given the potential to enter into a relationship with the pretty girl (pictured at left), and the effects of aging, here are my observations on men dressing:

The Situation:

   You are in the middle of some kind of fix-up project around the house, such as mowing the lawn, putting in a new fence, painting the living room, or whatever. You are hot and sweaty, covered in dirt or paint. You have your old “work clothes” on, and you know exactly the outfit I’m talking about: that old Boy George and the Culture Club t-shirt with yellowed armpits, the shorts with the hole in the crotch, and an old pair of white tennis shoes, the toes of which are grass-stained green.

   Right in the middle of the most crucial part of your home improvement project, you realize you need to run to WalMart to get something to complete the job. Depending on your age, and the potential to have to inter-act with people, you will do one of the following:

   You stop what you are doing. Take a shower. Shave. Blow-dry your hair. Brush your teeth. Floss. Gargle. Put on neat, clean, leisure-lifestyle clothes. You check your face and your abs in the mirror and flex your biceps. You add a splash of your cheap cologne Aunt Margaret bought you for your birthday. You never know, you just might meet some hot chick while standing in the checkout lane. Actually, it turns out you go to school with the pretty girl running the register.

   You stop what you are doing, put on clean shorts and polo shirt. Change your shoes. You married the hot chick who worked the WalMart register, so there’s no need to be prowling around. Wash your hands and comb your hair. Check yourself in the mirror. You still got it. To cover the smell of sweat, you add a shot of your AXE cologne – which you can afford now that you have a job. The cute girl running the register is the younger sister to someone you went to high school with.

   You stop what you are doing. You put on a sweatshirt that is long enough to cover the broken zipper of your shorts. Put on different shoes and a hat to cover your mussed hair. Wash your hands. Your bottle of Brute cologne is almost empty and you don’t want to waste any of it on a trip to WalMart. Check yourself in the mirror and do more belly-sucking-in than flexing. The spicy young thing running the register at WalMart is your daughter’s age and you feel kind of creepy for just talking to her. You wonder how many guys think your daughter is just as spicy.

   Stop what you are doing. Put a hat on to cover your hair loss, wipe the dirt off your hands onto your shirt. Change shoes because you don’t want to track dirt into your brand new sports car. Check yourself in the mirror. Swear not to wear that shirt anymore because it accentuates your man-boobs. The cutie running the register smiles when she sees you coming and you think you still have what it takes. What you don’t realize is that the T shirt you have on is from your buddy’s bait shop and it says, “I Got Worms.”

   Stop what you are doing. Realize that you need to go to WalMart to get something you’ll need to finish the job. Don’t bother with your face or your shirt — why would you? You haven’t bothered to check yourself in the mirror since you turned 58. There is no need for a hat anymore, either. Hose the dog poop off your shoes. As you drive to the WalMart, you remember there’s a hole in your shorts and you hope you have some underwear on.

   Forget what you are doing. Remember what you were doing. Start doing it again. Remember why you stopped the first time. You decide to wait to go to Walmart until you go in the house and get your prescriptions so you can have them filled at the same time. Don’t see, smell, or even care that there is dog poop on your shoes. The young thing at the register smiles at you because you remind her of her grandfather who recently passed away.

   Stop what you are doing. Rest. Start again. Then stop again. Rest. Now you remember that you need to go to WalMart for something to finish the job. Go to WalMart and wander around trying to remember what it was you came for. Fart out loud and turn around because you think someone called out your name. Leave streaks of dog poop off your shoes from the front to the back of the store. Stop to talk to the decrepit, crotchety old lady that greeted you at the front door and discover that she went to school with you.

   The very vain middle-aged woman sat down at her dressing table and was beginning to go through her morning beauty ritual — but she didn’t like what she saw. Right at the corner of her eyes, an ‘age crease’ had developed during the night. Looking very tired and all strung out, she worried what was her next feature that would go wrong.

   As she furiously attempted to cover the offending crease with concealer, she lamented to her husband, “John, just look at me. When I woke up this morning, I looked at myself in the mirror, and I don’t like what I see. My my hair is all twisted and frazzled up, my skin is pale and dry, my face is starting to wrinkle, my lips are thin and sallow, my eyes are bloodshot from worry, my chest is sagging where it should be perky, and I’ve put on at least an extra twenty pounds.”

   Her husband looks her over for a couple of minutes, then calmly says: “Well, at least there’s nothing wrong with your eyesight….”

How old do I look?

You look mahvalous!

Sometimes, I feel like I'm as smart as Albert Einstein. Other times, I only feel as old as Mr Einstein

    As I get older, it is dawning on me that maybe my memory is not as good as it used to be. My wife says that I lose my car keys, my medicines, my glasses, or my false teeth on a regular basis. But I really can’t remember the last time I lost one of those items.

On the other hand, I find myself thinking about the hereafter a lot more; I walk in to a room and think, “What am I here-after?”

   Well, they say there are three sure signs of old age:

  1. Gray Hair
  2. Loss of Memory

I can never remember the third one.

   Well, I decided to do something about my failing memory. I was talking to a group of friends, and I wanted to know what they thought about a Memory Seminar coming up.

“Hey, I’m thinking about going to the Memory Loss Treatment Seminar,” I told them.

“Yeah? Where is it?” one of them asked.

“It’s at… it’s at…” I couldn’t think of the name!

“What’s the yellow stuff that bees make?” I asked.

“Honey?” Gene replied.

“Yeah, that’s it.” I continued, “… Honey, what’s the name of that place holding the memory seminar?”

My loving wife replied, “It’s being held at the University of Tennessee.”

   So I went. What a total waste of time. I hadn’t been there 20 minutes when I realized that I had attended the same seminar with the same speaker at the same location last year.

So I went home.

   But I couldn’t remember where my house was. I drove around and around the neighborhood looking for a familiar residence. I didn’t recognize any of the street names, the cars in the driveway, the mailboxes, nothing. It started to get dark. So I stopped and asked this group of teenagers hanging out on the corner, “Hey, do any of you know where Mr Lawson lives?”

One of the girls, about 15 years old, pointed to a brick rancher and said, “That’s our house right there, Dad.”