Over the Hill, Old Age, Geezer, Getting Old, Old Folk, Senior Citizen Humor. Jokes, Retirement, Cartoons and Funny Photos, Baby Boomers.
Your Submissions...

 April 13, 2013


Old Age Home

Funny Videos
Old Age Bumper Stickers
Senior Chat (Arthur Ritis)
Celebrities Then & Now
Senior Entertainment
Best Senior Jokes
Photo Gallery
Cartoons (X-Rated)
Senior Fashion News
Senior Wisdom
Advertising Spoofs
Seniors In The News
Greeting Cards
Naughty Seniors (X-Rated)
Trip Down Memory Lane
Geezers In Office
Visitors Page
Best Senior Citizen Links
My Humor Blog
The Geezer Shop
Link To Us


 Random Funny Photo
 Cranky Old Doods
 Jokes Best
 Grumpy People
 Prune Juice Comics
 Agape LT Care
 The Sneaky Kitchen 
 Today's Senior
 Geezer Media Online
 Frank The Bum
 Suddenly Senior
 The Geezer Brigade
 Old Souls Station
 Joke of the Day TV
 Back When
 The Coprolites
 Eagle Emerg Card
 The Joke Exchange
 Best Funny Jokes


Wayne Kehl... March 2, 2010

Sent in by James Reid... June 29, 2009

A row of bottles on my shelf
Caused me to analyze myself.
One yellow pill I have to pop
Goes to my heart so it won't stop.

A little white one that I take
Goes to my hands so they won't shake.
The blue ones that I use a lot
Tell me I'm happy when I'm not.

The purple pill goes to my brain
And tells me that I have no pain.
The capsules tell me not to wheeze
Or cough or choke or even sneeze..

The red ones, smallest of them all
Go to my blood so I won't fall.
The orange ones, very big and bright
Prevent my leg cramps in the night.

Such an array of brilliant pills
Helping to cure all kinds of ills.
But what I'd really like to know...........
Is what tells each one where to go!

Senior Citizen Submitted, April 25, 2009
by: Hamish

I am a senior citizen, today I'm sixty five,
I have to watch my money, in order to survive.
I get up every morning shower, dress, and pee,
Fart a bit, take a shit, get down on one knee.
After saying a little prayer, to my kitchen I will walk,
Take my morning medicine, that tastes like fucking chalk.

Then I get my breakfast, bacon, eggs, and ham,
Coffee with no sugar, toast with diet jam.

Then I read the paper, the headlines are big and bold,
Improved health care system, to take care of the old.
Somehow I don't believe them, improvements cost big bucks,
They never do what they say, that's why our health care sucks.
When you reach your golden years, and your hair is thin and gray,
Watch out for the government, they'll screw you in some way.

The Computer Swallowed Granny
 by: Just Me IDA
Submitted, August 22, 2007

The computer swallowed Granny.
Yes, honestly its true!
She pressed 'control' and 'enter'
And disappeared from view.

It devoured her completely,
The thought just makes me squirm.
She must have caught a virus

Or been eaten by a worm.

I've  searched through the recycle bin 
 And  files of every kind;
I've even used the Internet,

But nothing did I find.

In desperation, I asked Jeeves    
My searches to refine.

The reply from him was negative, 
Not a thing was found 'online.'

So, if inside your 'Inbox,'
 My Granny you should see,
Please 'Copy,''Scan' and 'Paste' her
And send her back to me. 

Bob Makes Quite a Splash at his Reunion
By: Saralee Perel
Submitted, March 4, 2007

My husband, Bob, accepted an invitation to his high school reunion. He had no stereotypic concerns about weight, financial status or hair loss. Or so I thought. Until Sears delivered the weight set. “You look terrific,” I said later, putting an ice pack on his aching lower back. Then I cleaned the sink before the cat could lap up the Gray-Away gunk Bob had slathered on his head, arms, chest and heaven-knows-why, around his . . . well, you know. “You mean I look terrific for someone my age.” “No, honey. Well, yes.” “I was a nerd in high school.” “I’m not sure weight-training will change that.” “You mean I’m still a nerd?” “No, honey. Well"

By the day of his reunion, he lost 15 pounds and had grown a beard. I’ve learned that all men, upon attending reunions (or getting divorced) lift weights and grow beards. Now, I know you won’t believe the following really happened, but I promise you it did.

The informal reunion was at a classmate’s house. Bob brought 3 cases of soda. When we pulled up, he asked me to pile all 3 cases into his arms. “It’s too heavy,” I said, but he thought he’d look unmanly if he brought them in one at a time. I can still see him, trudging up the front steps with the mega-tons of soda. With each step he slowed down. He wobbled a little to the left and then to the right, sort of looking like Lucille Ball trying to balance a gigantic fruit bowl on her head in a MGM slapstick musical extravaganza. “I’ll help,” I said, but that was an unfortunate gesture on my part. Because as he approached the last step, he turned to me and said, “No thanks,” which resulted in him losing his balance. All 3 cases fell and exploded on the top cement step, after which gallons of soda cascaded down the stairs in a massive bubbling waterfall of fizz.

Somebody went to buy more soda as we all met for a backyard barbeque. Bob lit a huge mound of charcoal. It burned brightly – very brightly – too brightly. As a classmate ran to put the top on the grill to squelch the inferno, Bob took this opportunity for his pivotal manhood moment. Like a superhero, he dashed to find a hose then raced with it to the flames. But he hadn’t taken the time to notice that the hose was curled around the wrought-iron table that held hot dogs, hamburgers and basically everything we were supposed to eat. All I could think of to do was yell, “Bob! The hose!” but that didn’t do any good. In a display of fearless youthful masculinity, he called out to everyone, “I’ve got it!” I helplessly watched the hose tighten its grip around the base of the table as Bob sprinted toward the fire, nozzle in hand. And in ever-so-slow-motion, the table fell over, dumping food for 45 people – most of which landed in the swimming pool.

I learned some important things that day. 1. When everyone said to Bob, “You haven’t changed a bit,” they weren’t talking about his looks. 2. It doesn’t matter if we’ve put on a few pounds over the years. Who hasn’t? It doesn’t matter if we’ve become heads of businesses or our hair is thinning. What matters is that we’re happy. 3. Hot dogs float.

Award-Winning Columnist/Novelist, Saralee Perel, can be reached at sperel@saraleeperel.com/ or visit her on the web http://www.saraleeperel.com

Robert Levin, author of "On Turning Sixty" article.ON TURNING SIXTY
by Robert Levin
Submitted, January 15, 2007

Although it's brought me that much closer to transforming into worm food, I've found that turning sixty is not without its compensations.

While it's true, for example, that my member isn't getting a proper supply of blood anymore - and that I can no longer write my name in the sand and must settle for my initials - I can still have lots of fun with it. Thanks to a prostate gland the Museum of Humongous Prostate Glands has already put in a bid for when I buy the farm, my urine stream now bifurcates at the exit point. This means that I can whiz into the toilet and the adjacent bathtub at the same time - which is a kick. My urologist says that while he can make no promises, there's a good chance that in the not too distant future I'll be capable of TRIfurcating. This will enable me to whiz into the toilet, the bathtub AND the laundry basket simultaneously. I can't wait.

And by making it possible to legitimately ignore questions that have always annoyed the hell out of me ("Isn't it time you threw out those Smurf jars with the petrified flecks of premixed peanut 'n' jelly down toward the bottom?" is a persistent one that never fails to spill some really nasty chemicals in my brain), my newly developed hearing loss has a terrific upside as well. Not, to be sure, that its downside isn't just as major. I mean, how many invitations to lunch have I blown? How many people have said, "Let me buy you lunch," and I've said in reply, "But we still don't have Bin Laden."? (As thorny as this problem is, I've managed to ease it somewhat by saying, maybe a dozen times a day to people with whom I come into contact, "Thanks, I'd love to." Though probably 500 of them have looked at me in a very askance kind of way - and one, I'm not sure why exactly, punched me in the stomach - I've gotten six lunches doing this that I would otherwise have missed out on. Not to mention a free ticket to a Robert Goulet concert!)

But if the benefits and drawbacks of my hearing impairment more or less cancel out each other, the short-term memory loss that's accompanied my sexagenarianism has a plus side that actually outweighs its minus side. I'm speaking, of course, of the guarantee it can afford me that a movie I'm going to will be a good one. I'll notice, for instance, an ad for a movie and tell a friend about it. The friend will advise me that I saw the movie just a week ago. I'll ask him if I liked it and if he says, "Yeah, you couldn't stop talking about it," I'll think, hey, how often does a movie come with THAT kind of recommendation and I'll go immediately to see it. I'm told that I've seen "Pearl Harbor" eight times now.

(I might add here that being strictly of the short-term variety, my memory loss in no way affects my ability to remember the last time I had sex.)

But of the many compensatory rewards that turning sixty provides (and you'll agree they are not inconsiderable) there's one that I value above all others. Although I can still croak at a RELATIVELY early age I've been spared the embarrassment of expiring at a TRAGICALLY early age.

Your funny story here. Email: michael@pmcaregivers.com