Poetry to make you smile at stupidy rampant at present.

Utopia. My motorway is crumbling, With an enforced fifty limit, and what is even more humbling, Is there are speed traps in it, Still I use extra petrol, Paying more tax as a result, Vainly seeking for a reason, Behind latest congestion fault, Taking solace from my car, As it could have been train, Better to just be delayed, Than never be seen again, And stagger home as ever late, To find a letter in hall, From a burglar who is suing me, Over a dangerous interior wall, That coupled with TVs weight, Caused serious damage to his spine, So he cant get out now to burgle,

On Turning Sixty

Although it's brought me that much closer to transforming into worm food, I've found that turning sixty is not without its compensations. While it's true, for example, that my member isn't getting a proper supply of blood anymore—and that I can no longer write my name in sand and must settle for my initials—I can still have lots of fun with it. Thanks to a prostate gland Museum of Humongous Prostate Glands has already put in a bid for when I buy farm, my urine stream now bifurcates at exit point. This means that I can pee into toilet and adjacent bathtub at same time—which is a kick. My urologist says that while he can make no promises, there's a good chance that in not too distant future I'll be capable of TRIfurcating. This will enable me to pee in toilet, bathtub AND laundry basket simultaneously.

I can't wait.

And by making it possible to legitimately ignore questions that have always annoyed hell out of me ("When are you getting a job?" is a persistent one that's never failed to spill some really nasty chemicals in my brain), my newly developed hearing loss has a terrific upside as well. Not, to be sure, that its downside isn't just as major. I mean, how many invitations to lunch have I blown? How many people have said, "Let me buy you lunch," and I've said in reply, "But we still don't have Bin Laden"? (As thorny as this problem is, I've managed to ease it somewhat by saying, maybe a dozen times a day to people with whom I come into contact, "Thanks, that's great." Though probably 500 of them have looked at me in a very askance kind of way—and one, I'm not sure why exactly, punched me in stomach—I've gotten six lunches doing this that I would otherwise have missed out on. Not to mention a free ticket to a Robert Goulet concert!)