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A Man's Age as Determined by a Trip to Home Depot
You are in the middle of some kind of project around the house .
Mowing the lawn, putting in a new fence, painting the living room or whatever.
You are hot and sweaty, covered in dust, lawn clippings, dirt or paint. You have your old work clothes on.
You know the outfit ...shorts with the hole in the crotch, old T-shirt with a stain from who-knows-what and an old pair of tennis shoes.
Right in the middle of this great home improvement project you realize you need to run to
Home Depot to get something to help complete the job.
Depending on your age you might do the following:
In your 20's:
Stop what you are doing. Shave, take a shower, blow dry your hair, brush
your teeth, floss and put on clean clothes.
Check yourself in the mirror and flex. Add a dab of your favorite cologne because you never
know, you just might meet some hot chick while standing in the checkout lane. And you went to school with the pretty girl running the register.
In your 30's:
Stop what you are doing, put on clean shorts and shirt. Change shoes. You married the hot chick so no need for much else. Wash your hands and comb your hair. Check yourself in the mirror. Still
got it. Add a shot of your favorite cologne to cover the smell. The cute girl running the register is the kid sister to someone you went to school with.
In your 40's:
Stop what you are doing. Put on a sweatshirt that is long enough to cover the hole in the crotch of your shorts. Put on different shoes and a hat. Wash your hands. Your bottle of Brute Cologne is almost empty so you don't want to waste any of it on a trip to Home Depot.
Check yourself in the mirror and do more sucking in than flexing. The hot young thing
running the register is your daughter's age and you feel weird thinking she is spicy.
In your 50's:
Stop what you are doing. Put on a hat; wipe the dirt off your hands onto your shirt.
Change shoes because you don't want to get dog crap in your new sports car.
Check yourself in the mirror and you swear not to wear that shirt anymore because it
makes you look fat.
The Cutie running the register smiles when she sees you coming and you think you still have it.
Then you remember the hat you have on is from Bubba's Bait & Beer Bar and it says,
'I Got Worms.'
In your 60's:
Stop what you are doing. No need for a hat anymore. Hose the dog crap off your shoes. The mirror was shattered when you were in your 50's.
You hope you have underwear on so nothing hangs out the hole in your pants.
The girl running the register may be cute, but you don't have your glasses on so you are not sure.
In your 70's:
Stop what you are doing. Wait to go to Home Depot until the drug store has your prescriptions ready, to go. Don't even notice the dog crap on your shoes.
The young thing at the register stares at you and you realize your balls are hanging out the hole in
your crotch.
In your 80's:
Stop what you are doing. Start again. Then stop again.
Now you remember you need to go to Home Depot. Go to Wal-Mart instead and wander around
trying to think what it is you are looking for.
Fart out loud and you think someone called out your name. You went to school with the old lady who greeted you at the front door.
In your 90's & beyond:
What's a home deep hoe? Something for my garden? Where am I? Who am I? Why am I reading this?
Did I send it? Did you? Who farted
You are in the middle of some kind of project around the house .
Mowing the lawn, putting in a new fence, painting the living room or whatever.
You are hot and sweaty, covered in dust, lawn clippings, dirt or paint. You have your old work clothes on.
You know the outfit ...shorts with the hole in the crotch, old T-shirt with a stain from who-knows-what and an old pair of tennis shoes.
Right in the middle of this great home improvement project you realize you need to run to
Home Depot to get something to help complete the job.
Depending on your age you might do the following:
In your 20's:
Stop what you are doing. Shave, take a shower, blow dry your hair, brush
your teeth, floss and put on clean clothes.
Check yourself in the mirror and flex. Add a dab of your favorite cologne because you never
know, you just might meet some hot chick while standing in the checkout lane. And you went to school with the pretty girl running the register.
In your 30's:
Stop what you are doing, put on clean shorts and shirt. Change shoes. You married the hot chick so no need for much else. Wash your hands and comb your hair. Check yourself in the mirror. Still
got it. Add a shot of your favorite cologne to cover the smell. The cute girl running the register is the kid sister to someone you went to school with.
In your 40's:
Stop what you are doing. Put on a sweatshirt that is long enough to cover the hole in the crotch of your shorts. Put on different shoes and a hat. Wash your hands. Your bottle of Brute Cologne is almost empty so you don't want to waste any of it on a trip to Home Depot.
Check yourself in the mirror and do more sucking in than flexing. The hot young thing
running the register is your daughter's age and you feel weird thinking she is spicy.
In your 50's:
Stop what you are doing. Put on a hat; wipe the dirt off your hands onto your shirt.
Change shoes because you don't want to get dog crap in your new sports car.
Check yourself in the mirror and you swear not to wear that shirt anymore because it
makes you look fat.
The Cutie running the register smiles when she sees you coming and you think you still have it.
Then you remember the hat you have on is from Bubba's Bait & Beer Bar and it says,
'I Got Worms.'
In your 60's:
Stop what you are doing. No need for a hat anymore. Hose the dog crap off your shoes. The mirror was shattered when you were in your 50's.
You hope you have underwear on so nothing hangs out the hole in your pants.
The girl running the register may be cute, but you don't have your glasses on so you are not sure.
In your 70's:
Stop what you are doing. Wait to go to Home Depot until the drug store has your prescriptions ready, to go. Don't even notice the dog crap on your shoes.
The young thing at the register stares at you and you realize your balls are hanging out the hole in
your crotch.
In your 80's:
Stop what you are doing. Start again. Then stop again.
Now you remember you need to go to Home Depot. Go to Wal-Mart instead and wander around
trying to think what it is you are looking for.
Fart out loud and you think someone called out your name. You went to school with the old lady who greeted you at the front door.
In your 90's & beyond:
What's a home deep hoe? Something for my garden? Where am I? Who am I? Why am I reading this?
Did I send it? Did you? Who farted
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A large jet plane has crashed on a farm in the middle of rural Kentucky, feared to be Air Force One. Panic stricken, the local sheriffs department has mobilized and descended on the farm in force.
By the time they got there, the aircraft was totally destroyed with only a burned hull left, smoldering in a tree line that bordered the farm.
The sheriff and his men entered the smoking mess but could find no remains of anyone. They spotted the farmer plowing a field not too far away as if nothing had happened. They hurried over to the man’s tractor. “Hank,” the sheriff yelled, panting and out of breath.
“Did you see this terrible accident happen?”
“Yep. Sure did,” the farmer mumbled unconcerned, cutting off the tractor’s engine.
Do you realize that is Air Force One, the airplane of the President of the United States?”
“Yep.”
“Were there any survivors?”
“Nope. They’s all kilt straight out, “the farmer answered. “I done buried them all myself. Took me most of the morning.”
“President Obama is dead?” the sheriff asked.
“Well,” the farmer grumbled, restarting his tractor, “He kept a-saying he wasn’t, but you know how bad that sumbitch lies.”
By the time they got there, the aircraft was totally destroyed with only a burned hull left, smoldering in a tree line that bordered the farm.
The sheriff and his men entered the smoking mess but could find no remains of anyone. They spotted the farmer plowing a field not too far away as if nothing had happened. They hurried over to the man’s tractor. “Hank,” the sheriff yelled, panting and out of breath.
“Did you see this terrible accident happen?”
“Yep. Sure did,” the farmer mumbled unconcerned, cutting off the tractor’s engine.
Do you realize that is Air Force One, the airplane of the President of the United States?”
“Yep.”
“Were there any survivors?”
“Nope. They’s all kilt straight out, “the farmer answered. “I done buried them all myself. Took me most of the morning.”
“President Obama is dead?” the sheriff asked.
“Well,” the farmer grumbled, restarting his tractor, “He kept a-saying he wasn’t, but you know how bad that sumbitch lies.”
My wife and I went to the Calgary Bull Sale & Agricultural Show and one of the first exhibits we stopped at was the breeding bulls. We went up to the first pen and there was a sign attached that said, 'THIS BULL MATED 50 TIMES LAST YEAR'
My wife playfully nudged me in the ribs ......smiled and said, 'He mated 50 times last year, that's almost once a week.'
We walked to the second pen which had a sign attached that said, ''THIS BULL MATED 150 TIMES LAST YEAR' My wife gave me a healthy jab and said, 'WOW~~That's more than twice a week ! ...........You could learn a lot from him.'
We walked to the third pen and it had a sign attached that said, in capital letters,
'THIS BULL MATED 365 TIMES LAST YEAR' My wife was so excited that her elbow nearly broke my ribs, and said, 'That's once a day ..You could REALLY learn something from this one.'
I looked at her and said, 'Go over and ask him if every time was with the same old cow.'
My condition has been upgraded from critical to stable and I should eventually make a full recovery.
My wife playfully nudged me in the ribs ......smiled and said, 'He mated 50 times last year, that's almost once a week.'
We walked to the second pen which had a sign attached that said, ''THIS BULL MATED 150 TIMES LAST YEAR' My wife gave me a healthy jab and said, 'WOW~~That's more than twice a week ! ...........You could learn a lot from him.'
We walked to the third pen and it had a sign attached that said, in capital letters,
'THIS BULL MATED 365 TIMES LAST YEAR' My wife was so excited that her elbow nearly broke my ribs, and said, 'That's once a day ..You could REALLY learn something from this one.'
I looked at her and said, 'Go over and ask him if every time was with the same old cow.'
My condition has been upgraded from critical to stable and I should eventually make a full recovery.
Jeez, imagine playing Pokemon Go high on mushrooms. I can tell you what's coming next. Fully immersive augmented reality. Instead of looking at your phone through the camera to see imaginary objects, you'll wear a headset that has a camera on it and you'll look through 2 separate eyepieces. You'll see fake objects in true 3D superimposed over the real world. You can have special software to make the walls look like they're breathing, if that's what you want.
Sounds like fun if you're a 20 something. Most grow up and out of such endevours...others become Democrats.
Yeah, being Republican sounds kind of bleak.