Wild Irish Rose

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She is Irish, a beauty with red hair.  I say, “You are the prettiest flower in this garden,” as I look around the clinic with 20 more women milling about.

“Thank you, that was nice.”

Last week she told me that she was going through a nasty separation.  I think she might be rich. I have a girlfriend, but I always keep my options open.  I am not the man I once was, but I am as good once as I ever was.

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My Only Friend, The End

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In April I will turn 60. Hell, I am still waiting for puberty to wrap up. I have loved–it was mostly for animals–humans and dogs.  When I was younger I smelled fresher, but now PU.

If my health insurance gets canceled that’s it.  I am going to take 40 Ambien, sixteen shots of Tequila, eat 1 lb of bad sushi, then eat two whole Dominos large pizzas with extra cheese and four toppings.  If that doesn’t kill me nothing will. I just hope I don’t wake up from that.

Ode to My Brother’s Retirement

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Bob, your job is done.

Time to relax, have some fun!

 

Try to be young, young at heart.

Try to forget: you are an old fart.

 

The bills will be due.

The tax man is lurking.

No worries–Marybeth is still working

 

Why work? What’s the point?

If it was me, I would smoke a joint.

 

Try to relax!

You and wifey can talk…

until she says, Bob please take a long walk.

 

Don’t get old, heavens above!

Stay the same:

The man we all love.