Agreed, they can kiss my ass as well. I may have some age on me but I am so far from dead.
They can have my Ukes when they pry them from my cold dead hands..... just the same for my firearms.
Good on you Ukecaster.
Agreed, they can kiss my ass as well. I may have some age on me but I am so far from dead.
They can have my Ukes when they pry them from my cold dead hands..... just the same for my firearms.
Good on you Ukecaster.
Like the song says "When I die, don't bury me... in a box in a cemetary...out in the garden would be much better...I can be pushin' up home grown tomatoes"
Like the song says "When I die, don't bury me... in a box in a cemetary...out in the garden would be much better...I can be pushin' up home grown tomatoes"
. . . when you encounter a great number of friends at funerals than at Wal-Mart.
. . . when you try to plan vacation/ holiday during time windows that won't conflict with doctor's appointments, only to learn that there are no such dates.
When the only invitations you get to eat out at a fine restaurant are from (1) some outfit that wants to show you how to grow your investments; (2) some other outfit that wants to sell you a hearing aid; (3) some sales people who want you to buy a condo in a retirement community; or (4) a “cremation society” that wants you to arrange for the disposal of your body while you’re still using it. (And they expect you to eat a meal during the discussion! Hey, anybody for dessert?)
When the only invitations you get to eat out at a fine restaurant are from (1) some outfit that wants to show you how to grow your investments; (2) some other outfit that wants to sell you a hearing aid; (3) some sales people who want you to buy a condo in a retirement community; or (4) a “cremation society” that wants you to arrange for the disposal of your body while you’re still using it. (And they expect you to eat a meal during the discussion! Hey, anybody for dessert?)
This conversation reminds me of one of my favorite John Prine songs. I'm still missing him badly.
Please don't bury me
Down in that cold cold ground
No, I'd druther have 'em cut me up
And pass me all around
Throw my brain in a hurricane
And the blind can have my eyes
And the deaf can take both of my ears
If they don't mind the size
Give my stomach to Milwaukee
If they run out of beer
Put my socks in a cedar box
Just get 'em out of here
Venus de Milo can have my arms
Look out! I've got your nose
Sell my heart to the junkman
And give my love to Rose
There they go again...I got another one. It's always later at night, after the Early Bird Special and a couple of bourbons have settled. It's uncanny, and unnerving...like someone, or some used uke dealer, is watching me.
