You must have hated this moose…

August 31, 2009

There are many valid reasons why I plan to not be around well into my 70’s.  What?  It’s not going to be a morbid post.  Promise.  When have a ever let any of you down?  That’s right.  When I say I “bring the funny” well, I bring the funny dammit.  Even in posting about death, webie gal has a way.  Keep on reading…you’ll see.  And then you’ll leave a comment telling me all about how you doubted me at first and then found out that I wasn’t lying and this post was funny.

Now that we’re all good again, I’ll outline my not-at-all-irrational reasons why I don’t want to be around come 2050.

Let’s start with the blaringly obvious so we can get it out of the way.  Going to the shitter in your pants is bad enough when you’re a baby (all you non-parents out there need to trust me, diaper rash is AWFUL) but to do it in advanced age and after eating “adult food” has to be the single worst experience of someone’s life.  And not just the someone who has to look around with the face of “man, what smells so bad?” while Quaker Oats laced poo slowly creeps up their cheeks.  I’m also thinking about the people around them.  AND – let’s not forget the poor bastard who gets the honor of “doing the paperwork” and helping to clean the mess up.  Hell no.  Uh-uh.  Not gonna be me.

Next, there’s the little matter Social Security.  Never mind that I’ve been paying into the f*ck-ass system since I walked to my first part-time job at the tender age of 15.  I won’t see one cocaine-laced dollar bill in return.  Why?  A-HA my friends!  That’s for another post.  I promised you funny, and, let’s be honest…there is nothing funny about our current-state-of-our-economic-union.  Add the fact that my 401(k) has gone down faster than a call girl on a first date and you’re looking at an old woman eating cat food off store brand butter flavored crackers.  Hey, at least I like tuna.

Then there is the small matter of getting ugly.  I don’t fool myself.  I’ve seen pictures of me now and 10 years ago and I’m not hard of seeing.  I’d always hoped I’d age like a Sophia Loren or Ann Margaret but, it ain’t happening.  My eyes are baggy, my ass is saggy and my breasts are too gross to even discuss without a PG-14 rating.  Please God — take me while I still have a little something left (that isn’t dragging on the floor behind me).

Even with all of that, I still think losing my mind is the single biggest reason I have no interest in making it onto one of Willard Scott’s Smucker’s labels.  I pride myself on being quick-witted, sharp-tongued and ready for anything.  In my innocent hunt through my grandma’s closet this past weekend for Q-Tips, I came face-to-face with my worst nightmare: the woman is pushing 80 and has officially LOST HER MIND.  No words can do this justice and there is no simple explanation for what I’m about to show you.  All I can tell you is “I’m sorry”.  I’m sorry that now NONE of you will continue on with the delusion that you will escape the dreaded “getting old and crazy” that is coming for us all.  Our only hope is that we die while we’re still sane enough to recognize that —



*While I could find a reason to justify just about everything else the old lady had hanging in her oh-so-fancy-over-the-door-organizer (yes, that even included the shredder lubricant) I could not dig deep enough for this one.  I do have 2 possible explanations.  One is – bird flu.  The second one is – she’s coo-coo-pants.



  1. This made me laugh so loud that I had to excuse myself from my desk. You are the only person capable of bringing me to that point.

    • I cannot be held accountable for accidents in the work place. If you are unsure of my current policies, please go back and re-read the legal disclaimer.

  2. A true CLASSIC, Kels !!! I guess gram doesn’t “tweet” any more, huh ?

    • Sadly, no. And to think I was just getting good at harassing her with my crazy-lady hash tags. Boo.

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