Who isn’t sad? Sadness comes with living long enough. Eventually, you loose everything. That’s why it’s good to eat. It reminds you that you love life. The last thing to go is the palate. People just don’t want to live if they can’t enjoy their food.
Some men drop dead with a hard-on. Their dick refuses to go. I’ve often thought of dying just as I was looking at some girl hailing a cab. There I am, gaping at some gam while the number 4 bus grinds me to a pulp.
My friend’s uncle copped a feel off his niece. This guy was 94, slumped in a wheelchair, drooling, barely able to move. The niece is finally coming to see her favorite uncle, who she hasn’t seen for three strokes, and she’s emotional. Everybody is amazed to see Uncle Stanley light up when he sees her. He lifts his arms, all shaky, and she rushes to hug him. Once he got a hold of her ass, he wouldn’t let go. Right up her skirt, he went.
I’m more like my other friend’s father, who was Irish. He died talking. He told me on his deathbed, where he stayed for quite a while, gabbing it up, that an Irishman was like an old shoe. The tongue is the last thing to go, he said. In my case, I’m just keeping my tongue busy while it waits for dinner.
