Ode to My Brother’s Retirement


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.


Getting Old Is No Fun


For as long as I remember I have been bad. Nearly expelled from a Catholic elementary school I had punched a nun in the stomach.  She hit me first.  Making up sins to tell the priest in confession–my penance was so long I pissed while kneeling at the altar.  For doing this I may not go straight to heaven.  At school lunch I would take other kids’ food. This lead to weight gain since I mostly took cookies. I was obsessed with girls bodies, always picturing in my mind what they looked like naked. This was not a learned behavior. It came to me naturally.

As I have gotten much older, I still have bad thoughts–I just don’t act on them. Getting old is no fun.



An old man went into the sperm bank and says to the nurse, “Miss, I want to make a contribution.”
The nurse laughs and says, “Get out of here, old man!”
He says, “Please, nurse I can do it.”

Cocking one eyebrow, she hands him a jar and says, “Go in that room. You have 15 minutes.”

Exactly 15 minutes later, he comes back with an empty jar.
He hands it to the nurse and says, “Nurse, I twisted and I pulled, but I just couldn’t get the lid off the jar.”

My Old Girl


For years I carried a condom in my wallet. Then, when I finally needed it, I opened it up, and it looked like a bunch of shredded rubber bands.
I met this woman. We dated, and she was always asking me for money. Twice I caught her going into my wallet. She was cold-hearted and never wanted sex.
That’s when it occurred to me:
this woman was just like my old condom–always in my wallet, never on my wiener.



I’m cooking on Christmas.
The new girl is twenty, blond and built like a super model. She is my server.
I’m trying to make her laugh, and when I mashed potatoes, I flexed my biceps.
She was not impressed. She never stopped looking at her cell phone.
How depressing. First I have to work on Christmas, then this young beautiful super model obviously thinks I look like an old elephant.