When I’m Sixty-Four


I have ambivalent feelings about turning old. Like 60 years old. Part of me has no doubt that I won’t even make it – dumb luck can only carry you so far. However, what if I do? Then I can look forward to going senile – not that it’ll be a long trip. I look forward to that. I’ll be able to say and do anything with total impunity! The only downside is that I may not realize what power I have. It’s like being a baby: you don’t realize what you have until you’re too old to use it to you full advantage. Except, instead of tiny and cute, I’ll be medium-sized and wrinkled. If I make it.

Hopefully, by the time I’m sixty-four (the new forty, really), matter transporter thingies will be commonplace. Why such a vested interest in this technology, you ask? Well, a couple of weeks ago, this article popped up in my Gmail links bar. If this technology hits the mass market, whenever I please I’ll be able to nip over to Germany for a little midday romp in the hay, 50% off that is.

It’s all good and dandy for an old fart like myself – I’m sure as hell not getting any (in this scenario, I am not married). I get to take full advantage of Germany’s aging population, and thus growing niche market, and get to diddle some 20 year old. That would be awesome. Old guys always date young, pretty girls. In this case, however, I won’t have to worry about poison in my drinks. Heart attack from physical exertion notwithstanding, this seems to be a sweet deal all around. It assuages all the politically correct (read, intellectually mundane) people who believe everyone should have everything. The old guys are getting some. The owner of the brothel just tapped into an penetrated market. The only people who lose, really, are the 20 year old hookers. But, who cares about them? They’re marginalized, young women whose lives are dictated by the great dick-tator: their pimp.

I can’t even imagine what these girls must think when an old lump of flesh hobbles into the brothel. First of all, people who frequent brothels aren’t the most upstanding bunch of individuals the planet has to offer. Second, these people are old. Third, if they didn’t go to the brothel before the discount, you know that they’re taking advantage of cheap sex, which somehow sullies even the most noble of the intentions. I’ll bet that the discounted brothel is like the discounted airlines: no frills. No foreplay, no talking, no lights, and definitely no happy pills.

Apparently the website promotes this new tactic by proclaiming that “life begins at 66.” I wouldn’t ride these old guys too hard – we don’t want Germany’s infant mortality rate to skyrocket.



One Response to “When I’m Sixty-Four”

  1. Anonymous Says:


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