There's quite an art to falling apart as the years go by,
And life doesn't begin at 40. That's a big fat lie.
My hair's getting thinner, my body is not;
The few teeth I have are beginning to rot.
I smell of Vick's-Vapo-Rub, not Chanel # 5;
My new pacemaker's all that keeps me alive.
When asked of my past, every detail I'll know,
But what was I doing 10 minutes ago?
Well, you get the idea, what more can I say?
I'm off to read the obituary like I do every day;
If my names not there, I'll once again start -
Perfecting the art of falling apart.
My daughter called me at work to say I had received a call from "Josh" at the bank regarding my account.
Returning the call to my bank, the operator asked what Josh's last name was. I explained that he hadn't left his last name.
Then she asked for his department, and I said that I didn't know that either.
"There are 1500 employees in this building, ma'am," she told me rather sharply.
So I asked her for her name.
"Danielle," she said.
"And your last name?" I asked.
"Sorry," she replied, "we're not allowed to give last names."
Whoever said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results, has obviously never had to reboot a computer.