I am now either at or damned near the age I can start collecting social security which means nothing because there is no way in hell I can retire and keep on playing hard.
If I quit now I might as well just eat a shotgun because all I will be doing is sitting around in a rocking chair waiting for the Grim Reaper to show up and that would be as depressing as all hell.
I think that I am going to just plain keep working until I can't anymore, either that or until I just plain drop dead.
I see all of these ads for retirement villages and get somewhat nauseous because I can not picture myself living in one and playing dopey card games with a bunch of old people.
Worse yet is hearing the either lies about how wonderful their grandchildren are doing or having to listen to them regurgitate the lies they have been told about their grandchildren by their kids. It's as bad as the crap you have to listen to on a cruise ship.
Speaking of cruise ships, I do not fare very well on those, either. Some jerk really frosted my a$$ a while back when he said I ought to go to Arthur Murray Dance studios, brush up on ballroom dancing and take a retirement job dancing with matronly rich ladies on a cruise ship.
He came close to finding out that although I may be near the end of my career I can still swing a valve wrench.
Actually the best cruise I ever took was on the Alaska Marine Highway, the state ferry. I had a pretty good time there after the first breakfast I ate there.
There was this woman in the breakfast line that held the entire line up describing how she wanted her eggs. I piped up that this wasn't Royal Caribbean Cruise lines and that she was in nothing but a GI chow line and she had best move it or lose it.
The server called back to the cook who roared, "F*** her. She'll eat 'em the way I fry 'em!" Everyone heard it and howled gleefully.
She looked at her plate with outrage when it was handed to her and I told her to take 'em, eat 'em or don't eat 'em and move her fat butt. For this I was rewarded by the server with a huge helping of corned beef hash and a big grin.
She did, but complained to the purser who came looking for me to hear my side of the story. I told him to check with the server who witnessed the whole scene. He left and returned a couple of minutes later, shook his head and walked off smiling.
This gives me an idea. Maybe I could get a retirement job with the Alaska Marine Highway keeping the chow line moving. Get a nice set of khakis, a campaign cover and a cattle prod. Sounds OK to me.
Anyway, I don't see retirement in the near future. I don't think there is anything in it for me but an early demise.
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