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I am the Old Fart I Used to Make Fun Of

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I am the Old Fart I Used to Make Fun Of

Now how'd that happen?

It seems I’m the old fart I used to make fun of,  

tutored from the start by the ol’ man I’m the son of, 

for it’s a common fate due to a natural trait;

of patience we’ve had little to none of.


I’ve had my own era of ‘Go fast or go home!’

by yellin’ at slowpokes, “Hey, when in Rome!”

But I’ve had enough close calls to tighten my own balls 

and now I drive more like a gnome.


I’ve gotten to where when I’m walkin’ on ice

because gravity sucks, it makes me think twice.

So I plant every footfall like it might be my end-all

if I don’t somehow get it precise.


What is it about fear that makes us feel older

and pine for the days we were a hell of a lot bolder.

But now that I’m sixty, most everything seems risky,

leaving my ego to sit here and smolder. 


I used to party on weekends and sometimes in the middle

and heal up quick ‘cause I weren’t so dern brittle

but lately it seems I can’t even handle my dreams

without havin’ to get up to go piddle.


And speakin’ of sleep, it seems I’m never replete

‘cause my back wakes up screaming for heat.

But that doesn’t matter for my bladder grows sadder

and soon gets me up on my feet.


From my gluteus groups that’re pitchin’ a fit

all the way to my traps in a sympathy snit,

my back wants to quit but I can’t let it forget 

that without it I’m suckin’ hind tit!

I’ve gotta keep movin’, that’s all there is to it.

My back’s been a mess since the day that I blew it.

But the right exercise, I’ve come to surmise,

is never gonna quite redo it.


I’ve little chance left to make a good showing

and one of them certainly won’t entail slowing,

but unless I make changes to my physical ranges

I’m bound to hear something else blowing!


So I work on my posture and stretch all my muscles

while working out some of life’s little tussles.

I can’t give up now, I still have to buy chow

and keep up with the hustles and bustles.


I ain’t lackin’ devotion, just range and some motions

that I can augment with lotions and potions.

Though what’d probly be best in this physical quest

is to rebuild my muscular erosions.


But is that even possible, let alone likely

by workin’ out mornin’, noon and almost nightly?

Leaving so little room to fully exhume

the pride I was holding so tightly.


The solution, as I see it, is to just stay inspired

and not let this get me down where I’m mentally mired.

But learn some new tricks that I can stir into the old mix

‘till my workin’ days have all transpired.

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Author info

Scott Clawson Scott Clawson No, he's not the electrician, he's the OTHER Scott Clawson, who's a quality builder when he's not busy busting a gut while writing his humor column for the first issue of each month, or drawing his Acres n' Pains cartoons.

Tagged as:

aging, Scott Clawson, Acres n Pains

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