I’M so Mad ‘Bout Get’N Old, I Could Die

By Tommy L. Gardner

My book gives you a great chance to add a little humor to your life and the chance to go back to a happier time in life by remembering some of your stories that may relate to ones within the book.

The stories came from real-life experiences, along with some that will tickle your funny bone or bring you to remember some of your own.

The book is intended to show you how you can make the most of unfair or bad experiences. It will also help you leave the problems of the world behind for a while and enjoy some great stories about things you may or may not have thought of in years.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 20, 2005
• ISBN: 9781463475925

Tommy L. Gardner

The author, although being older than he’d like to admit, remains young-at-heart by keeping a positive attitude about life, work and a good sense of humor.   He realizes and has experienced some of life’s hard knocks and problems, but he’s found a sensible way to deal with them and help others to do the same.   His life-long experiences with management responsibilities and working with people and enjoying his family has made him appreciate life and all it offers, good or bad.   He believes a day without laughing is a day wasted, and he practices what he preaches by trying to keep humor at the top of his daily life.

Book preview

I’M SO MAD ‘BOUT

GET’N OLD, I

COULD DIE

by

TOMMY L. GARDNER

Title_Page_Logo.ai

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

© 2005 TOMMY L. GARDNER. All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 01/12/05

ISBN: 1-4208-1715-9 (sc)

ISBN: 1-4208-1716-7 (dj)

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

DEDICATION

INTRODUCTION

WHERE WERE THE GALL BLADDER DONORS WHEN I NEEDED THEM?

I’M SO MAD ‘BOUT GET’N OLD, I COULD DIE.

STAY OUT OF PLACES LIKE THAT.

WILL THE REAL BICYCLIST PLEASE STAND UP?

DO THE PANTS STILL FIT AFTER THE WEDDING?

DO COWBOYS EVER GET SADDLE SORES?

ROLL DOWN THE WINDOW, AND SEE WHAT YOU SMELL.

SLOW DOWN TO 40, AND I’LL GET OUT.

I WON’T IF YOU WILL.

FOUR VOTES AND TWO GRAND WILL GET YOU THREE WISHES.

PRAISE THE LORD, AND PASS THE BUCKET.

IF I’M LYING, I’M DYING.

HOW FAR WOULD YOU GO FOR A GOOD BREAKFAST?

I DIDN’T KNOW I HAD IT IN ME.

DID OLD MCDONALD EVER LIVE ON THE FARM?

I’M NOT WEARING ANYTHING WITH LACE.

AFRAID OF NOTHING, BUT TOO SCARED TO SAY SO?

HOW MUCH WOOD CAN ONE PERSON CUT?

DOES ANYONE WEAR REAL TENNIS SHOES?

IT’S ABOUT 2000 MILES, RIGHT AROUND THAT CURVE.

HOW MANY PULLEY BONES CAN ONE CHICKEN HAVE?

MARRIAGE IS LIKE TAKING A BATH.

WHAT DID CAVE MEN DO WITH THEIR SPARE TIME?

TAKE YOUR MEDICINE. IT WILL HELP YOU.

PUSH HIM A LITTLE DEEPER, PARSON. HE AIN’T QUIT LYING YET.

IF YOU’RE A VIRGIN, HOW DO YOU KNOW SO MUCH?

WHY IS IT FARTHER FROM THE HOUSE AFTER DARK?

CAN THOSE THINGS REALLY BE PLAYED?

THEN THERE’S THE ONE ABOUT THE SNAKE.

ONLY A GENTLEMAN LEAVES THE OCEAN TO TINKLE.

I JUST FLEW IN, AND MY ARMS ARE KILLING ME.

IF ONLY A GOLF BALL COULD TALK.

WILL THE REAL ALIEN PLEASE STAND UP?

ONE FOR THE ROAD, AND ONE FOR WHEN I GET HOME.

WHAT IF THE VINE IS LOOSE ON BOTH ENDS?

WE, THE DEFENDANTS, FIND THE JURY GUILTY.

WHAT WILL THE KIDS DO IF WE DIE HERE?

EVERYBODY KNOWS I LIVE RIGHT OVER THERE.

LET’S GET TO THE BOTTOM OF THIS.

I KNOW I’VE SEEN IT SIX TIMES. GO TO BED.

YOU DON’T SWEAT MUCH FOR A FAT GIRL.

ALL BIRDS DON’T FLY.

USE THE STOPWATCH, COACH, NOT A CALENDAR.

WHERE MOTH AND DUST DOTH CORRUPT.

HOW FAR CAN A DOG RUN INTO THE WOODS?

THE NEXT TIME I MOVE, I AIN’T.

DOES THE POPE HAVE A SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER?

DO ALL THESE KIDS BELONG TO US?

TAKE THE BALL, AND RUN WITH IT, MY BOY.

I’M TOO NEAR DEAD TO WORK TODAY, BUT I’LL BE IN TOMORROW.

SO IT HAS A TRUNK, BUT DOES IT EAT PEANUTS?

JOKES AND QUOTES ABOUT GETTING OLD.

REASONS YOU KNOW YOU’RE GETTING OLD

AS I AGE:

I WANT TO GO BACK TO THE TIME WHEN---

BE PREPARED

I’M OVER THE HILL.

ODD/INTERESTING SAYINGS & QUOTES

CONCLUSION

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my wife, Cherrie, who has listened to all my jokes and stories over the years, and still lives with me in spite of it.

INTRODUCTION

As surely as the day starts, and you suddenly realize that you’re a day older, you hurry into it before nature changes her mind.

We constantly dwell on our younger days, telling everyone we meet our most unforgettable stories, and sometimes filling in with a joke or two. Most people don’t want to hear our tales of woe and adventures, but it gives them time to either remember or dream up one of their own to tell you.

Some stories and jokes make you laugh immediately. Some hit your funny bone later. Don’t forget the ones you had to laugh at and still don’t understand. Some require head motions, hand signs, eye and mouth communications and a voice you never used before.

As we grow older, let’s don’t forget those stories of our childhood and mid-life. When you tell them, blend in a little humor and stroke in a related joke for color. That recipe will be well done and badly needed food for thought as we convince ourselves that we don’t get older, just better.

WHERE WERE THE GALL BLADDER DONORS WHEN I NEEDED THEM?

Surgeons can do almost anything with the human nose except keep it out of other people’s business. I’ve ever heard a doctor can deliver triplets and still go home and be happy to see his children. What about those doctors who won’t tell you how bad you are but ask you to pay in full when you leave?

I rarely needed a doctor when I was in my childhood. Well, maybe only when I had to have my lip sewn up, head patched, ribs taped up, or other small things like that. The serious stuff didn’t come until later, after I turned 40. Before that, I thought I could uproot trees, jump from bluffs and work about 20 hours a day.

Have you ever had hepatitis? Don’t. It’ll not only ruin your day, but quite possibly the next few years. I worked until I was down to super low gear. My eyes turned to a shade of yellow. My face turned a golden color. My body was the color of my face. Instead of going to China to fit in, I did something no real man does. I went to a doctor. He gave me the news and quarantined me in a hospital room. The cleaning lady would come in dressed like a Ninja warrior and stare at me the whole time she cleaned the room, like I was to spring from the bed and attack her. I didn’t have the strength to attack Miss Georgia. As a matter of fact, everyone who peeped into my room looked at me as if I was levitating from the bed.

After being treated for stomach ulcers for a while, I was told that my gall bladder was packed with stones and didn’t need to be a part of me any longer. That was after a scan was made and a 9" needle was pushed down into the gall bladder tract. I still scream like a deaf mute when I think of it.

I always had a horror of being operated on. That only happened to other people. The night before the surgery, I was left alone to sleep and dream of being put to sleep. If I had known what would take place the next morning, I would have hidden in an elevator for a few days. That night on television, Carol Burnett was playing as the mother of Tommy Smothers, who was to have an operation the next morning. All she could talk about was that her baby was going under the knife. That didn’t calm me down at all.

The next morning came much too quickly. Nurses came in and out, doing weird things to me. You don’t think they were weird? They took my drawers, put on a shower cap, and gave me a don’t-care shot. You’ve got to be kidding. I cared and cared and cared. Then I saw family members I hadn’t seen in years. Did they know something I didn’t?

Like a curtain being drawn for the opening act, time came for me to be pushed down the hall to a room full of others ready for similar acts of terrorism. I think there were 14 of them, and they all were looking at me. I didn’t know if they were scared or scared of me. A nurse came to me and told me I was going to surgery. I told her I knew that. She said, You’ve had a don’t-care shot. I said, I do care. That brought a few chuckles and groans from those other zombies in there with me.

I could even remember asking why they couldn’t wait for me to be put to sleep before taking my drawers. I then worried that they would get us mixed up and take away something I really needed. With the shower cap on, we all looked alike. I was probably more nervous than the others. That all ended soon. I didn’t even get to see their faces as they pulled the sheet from my body and I no longer had secrets from these strangers around me.

Later, I awakened in the recovery room to see a lot of bodies on tables, all covered with white sheets. It was unusually quiet in there. Then a pretty lady in white came toward me, and I yelled, Oh no, oh no. She laughed and told me that I wasn’t dead, and neither were the others.

As I was pushed back to my room, I saw relatives staring at me as if I couldn’t see them. My wife, Cherrie, said I reminded her of the old movie, The Fly, as I very quietly whispered, Help, me. Help me.

My uncle Sammy was an angel of mercy as he put a tiny piece of ice on my tongue. That was as good as a giant chocolate shake.

I slowly looked at the 12" cut in my mid-section and prayed it wouldn’t burst open. The staples looked like the cut around the head of Frankenstein.

The next day, the nurses told me I had to get up and walk. I told them I’d do that when horses flew. I couldn’t move anything but my eyes, very slowly. In about one fifth of a second, they had me out of the bed and standing in the floor. I was holding my breath, waiting for my lungs to burst.

The next few days brought lots of first-time events. I couldn’t wait for shots I didn’t want. I used five pillows to get comfortable before the next shift nurse came in and took four of them, leaving the other one where It wouldn’t do any good.

As ironic as it may seem, my first night home brought Carol Burnett back on television. She was acting as if she had a popcorn hull hung in her mouth. She was in a movie theater, trying to be discreet about getting it out. That brought on spontaneous laughter I couldn’t control or end. That may not seem funny to you, but try laughing when you can’t stoop, bend or move in any direction. I laughed so hard I cried, not because of the pain, but because the picket fence was now bleeding into my pajamas. Cherrie was in the kitchen, peeping around the corner at me and hoping I understood that the television had been turned off.

I remember the x-ray process very clearly. I weighed about 230 pounds. The gown they gave me covered 142 pounds. You can guess what 88 pounds didn’t get covered. The technician had me to remove anything with a snap or a button. That’s why I now wear jockey shorts. I won’t get caught again with my pants off.

I was sent to the last room on the right at the end of the long hall for my x-rays. While I walked sidestep, my rear to the wall I was spoken to by people who actually pretended I didn’t look like someone who had just escaped from a padded cell. The x-ray table was very cold, about 42 degrees. I know that because when I lied down, the gown covered only 35 pounds of flesh. The technician laughed, and I was hoping she was only laughing at the look on my face instead of the part of me I didn’t know wasn’t covered. I turned to suck that chalky stuff which caused my bowels to lock up for a few days before the blush went away.

I also remember sitting in that doctor’s office waiting room with about 30 other people. They were coughing, wheezing, and all suffered from all sorts of maladies. I felt like getting up and telling them I would go home and die a natural death.

If your gall bladder yells out in the middle of the night to be yanked out, remember to wear 2 pairs of drawers to the hospital, and get out of that bed by yourself before those nurses throw you out. Keep your gallstones for a reminder. I remember plenty. I have a bottle with 317 of those little rocks in it. Sticks and stones may break your bones, but your gall bladder can kill you, not to speak of the fact that your doctor charges about $15,000 a pound to remove it.

I’M SO MAD ‘BOUT GET’N OLD, I COULD DIE.

Old! It’s probably one of the most undesirable words in our vocabulary. The only way it can become worse is if you change it to older, or if you let it quit you before you’re ready to quit.

Webster says the word old means: having existed long, aged, made long ago, ancient, much worn by age or use. But wait. He also defines it as: mature, having much experience. I’ll accept the latter if you don’t mind.

Let’s face it. The only way top cease getting older is to die, and you can’t stop getting older if you don’t. Then it’s that short time between birth and death that counts.

You believers of reincarnation can come back as anyone you wish. I’ll just accept those pains in my elbow and knees as minor and plow right on into that unknown they call the future, and grab all the gusto I can get.

I used to jump out of bed, slap my knees together, and greet the day with a whoopee. Now I crawl out of bed, slap my knees to get them started, and cry out ohhh instead of whoopee. Then it occurs to me that I got out of bed, and I’m actually going to meet the world head on again.

I’ve heard it said that we don’t realize we’re getting older than other people. Well, when the young girls at the bank or grocery store say sir or call me Mr. Gardner, it somehow gives me a hint that I’m indeed old to them. I guess that’s why I like to talk to old people, those who call me son.

Let’s get back to Webster’s definition of old again. The word is mature. It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? We get mature by doing. You don’t have to be smart to be mature, but time also brings on that word old. You see, life is a see saw. Everything has to be balanced out by something else.

If we sit around waiting for our hair to turn gray or fall out, or legs to pull a strike on us, or wrinkles to make us look more mature, we’ll do just that. But if you let those wrinkles be the result of laughs, and agree that bald is beautiful and gray is sophisticated, it’s a whole new ball game. To worry about getting older could kill you before any wrinkles appear or your hair turns gray. It’s much better to get old than no to get old, right? It’s not very hard for me to decide.

I live by that famous saying, Don’t worry about things you can’t change. As a child, I drank from the Fountain of Youth at St. Augustine, Florida. I was certain I would become even younger. Then I decided that maybe I just wouldn’t get any older. Obviously, neither worked.

Striving to get younger won’t work, no matter how many facelifts you have, how much hair dye you use, or how much exercise you get. Tomorrow always comes around. The trick is to be what you are, make the most of it, and maintain the idea that you’re just more mature and experienced. Even the Fountain of Youth can’t take that away from you.

Did you hear the one about the young operator of a mortuary standing in front of his business one morning? A very, very old man walked by and spoke to the young man. The young man asked the old guy how old he was. The old man said he was 96. The young guy said, "It’s hardly worth