When I'm an old lady

When I'm an old lady, I'll live with my son,
and make his life happy and filled with such fun,
I want to pay back all the joy he's provided,
returning each deed. Oh, he'll be so excited
. . . when I'm an old lady and live with my son.

I'll write on the wall with red, white, and blue;
and bounce on the furniture wearing my shoes.
I'll drink from the carton and then leave it out.
I'll stuff all the toilets and oh, will he shout!
. . . when I'm an old lady and live with my son.

When he's on the phone and just out of reach,
I'll get into things like sugar and bleach.
Oh, he'll snap his fingers and then shake his head,
and when he is done I'll hide under the bed.
. . . when I'm an old lady and live with my son.

When my son's wife cooks dinner and calls me to meals,
I'll not eat my green beans or salads congealed.
I'll gag on my okra, spill milk on the table,
and when she gets angry, run fast as I'm able.
. . . when I'm an old lady and live with my son.

I'll sit close to the TV, thru the channels I'll click,
I'll cross both my eyes to see if they stick,
I'll take off my socks and throw one away,
and play in the mud until the end of the day.
. . . when I'm an old lady and live with my son.

And later, in bed, I'll lay back and sigh,
and thank God in prayer and then close my eyes;
and my son will look down with a smile slowly creeping,
and say with a groan, "she's so sweet when she's sleeping,"
. . . when I'm an old lady and live with my son.
***
A very elderly gentleman (mid-nineties), very well dressed, hair well-groomed, great looking suit, flower in his lapel smelling slightly of a good after shave, presenting a well looked-after image, walks into an upscale restaurant. Seated at the bar is an elderly looking lady (mid eighties). The gentleman walks over, sits alongside of her, orders a drink, takes a sip, turns to her and says, "So tell me, do I come here often?"
***
This is old, but I always enjoy seeing it again.
An elderly Italian man who lived on the outskirts of Rome went to the local church for confession. When the priest slid open the panel in the confessional, the man said, "Father, during World War II, a beautiful woman knocked on my door and asked me to hide her from the enemy. So I hid her in my attic."

The priest replied, "That was a wonderful thing you did, my son! And you have no need to confess that."

"It's worse than that, Father. She started to repay me with sexual favors."
The priest said, "By doing that, you were both in great danger. However, two people under those circumstances can be very tempted to act that way. But, if you are truly sorry for your actions, you are indeed forgiven."

"Thank you, Father. That's a great load off my mind. But I do have one more question." "And what is that?" asked the priest. "Should I tell her the war is over?"

Cyndy Lu …No offence but you seem to be living proof that a person can survive a drug induced comma and then remember it as a real experience. But I love ya anyway, it’s just that I’ve never done drugs.

L>T…. More on the subject you love to get bored with, spiritual sex. Lets get real here being as I don’t do any drugs. Being spiritual with another person during sex with them does involve looking into each others eyes, some, but not every moment. It’s just looking at each other and sharing spirit, "Hi spirit, my spirit loves your spirit, wanna get it on friend? You kiss my breasts and I’ll close my eyes and enjoy while you make them happy." Hey, nothing wrong with happy breasts. :-)

The lady I lived with before moving here would climax right away, then she liked to raise her head up and watch me sex her while I enjoyed myself. I always thought that was a little weird and it spooked me just a bit. But looking back on it at this point in time, maybe that was spiritual to her.

I was enjoying sex so much one time, she was on top, that I closed my eyes and was surrounded by blue light for a few moments. And no, I wasn’t on drugs or drinking, it was in the morning. Keep it real people, all that other crap that others dream up is nonsense. Maybe some can do that with drugs but as I said, I don't drugs.

Look, a couple on a spiritual journey with each other has to see the spiritual part as they see and experience it sexually. Books can’t tell them what that journey should be. Those idiots writing those books are making money writing about crap that they made up and have never experienced unless it was in a drug induced state. But that doesn’t make their experience true. No one should bother reading them. And before you people take your brains out to play with them you have to wash your hands first or the oil off the fingers fucks them up.

And if you’re not into spiritual sex but you are happy with your sex life, so what? Ignore it and go with what works for you.

Why is it such a stretch for people to accept that they are God in evolution? It’s not like they are expected to become perfect overnight. That’s why its evolution.

Ask yourself, what might be the two things that God, and Mrs. God are interested in, as far as humans go that is. Peace and sex is the correct answer. And just where is Mrs. God? Her voice on the Internet that is. I haven’t came across a blog that seems to be her voice. But there are a lot of blogs out there, and some are delusional anyway even if the author is claiming to be the voice of Mrs. God. I’m not going to assume of course that such a blog would be authored by an American woman, especially a white American woman. It may be in a language that I can’t read. But if anyone thinks they have spotted a blog that seems to be the voice of Mrs. God I would like the address.

I was talking to a good friend and telling him about how I had basically spent much of my life trying to kill myself with all the stupid things I’ve done, and he said that only meant that I’m bad at killing myself. Good point, it’s usually someone else that does it. But not until I’ve started some chain reaction.

Caller ID. People with caller ID are just kind of weird. Ring, ring, "Hello Bill" Hey, how do you know this is Bill, this may be a figment of your imagination. Or the hooker, the FBI, the people cleaning up the crime scene. It could be anyone, why assume it is Bill just because it’s his number. Caller ID is just plain stupid, for paranoid people.

Have you ever noticed that kittens like to have their faces rubbed as if they are going through a birth canal? Or for you to cup your hand over their head? Why? I’ll tell you why, it’s the last safe place they knew.