Years Of Bad Sex

A man and his wife of more than 50 years were rocking back and forth on the front porch. Slowly they rocked in rhythm, as this was their time to spend a few quiet moments and after years of practice they rocked to the same pace. Suddenly the wife stopped, grabbed her cane, and with a loud and hard WHACK hit her husband across the shins. His eyes watered and tears ran down his cheeks. When he finally caught his breath he gasped and asked, "What'd you do that fer?" "That's fer fifty years of bad sex," she said.  He nodded his head, but said nothing. Slowly they began to rock again. Again they kept pace. Back and forth, back and forth they rocked, until suddenly the man stopped, and picked up his cane.  He reached over and with a loud, sharp WHACK, he hit his wife across the shins. As soon as her eyes quit watering and she could speak she asked, "What was that fer?" "That," said her husband as he began to rock again, "is fer knowin' the difference!"

Parlor Trick

Q: How do you get a 90 year old lady to yell fuck?
A: Get another 90 year old to yell "BINGO!"

A Final Diagnosis

Thought I'd let my doctor check me, 'cause I didn't feel quite right. All those aches and pains annoyed me, and I couldn't sleep at night.
He could find no real disorder, but he wouldn't let it rest. What, with Medicare and Blue Cross, we would do a couple tests.
To the hospital he sent me, though I didn't feel that bad. He arranged for them to give me every test that could be had.
I was fluoroscoped and cystoscoped, my aging frame displayed. Stripped, on an ice cold table, while my gizzards were x-rayed.
I was checked for worms and parasites, for fungus and the crud, while they pierced me with long needles, taking samples of my blood.
Doctors came to check me over, probed and pushed and poked around. And to make sure I was living, they then wired me for sound.
They have finally concluded. Their results have filled a page. What I have will someday kill me; My affliction is old age.