Three old men sat together on a squeaky bench in the corner of the nursing home lounge, sipping lukewarm tea and watching the pigeons outside the window. It was their daily ritual — a time to chat, grumble, and share stories from their younger days… and of course, complain about their aging bodies.
The first old man, George, let out a deep sigh and rubbed his knees. “You know, fellas,” he muttered, “I’d trade my entire stamp collection just to take a solid piss like I used to. These days, I stand at the toilet for five damn minutes, and all I get is a sad little dribble, like a leaky faucet with no pressure.”
The second man, Harold, nodded grimly. “You think that’s bad?” he said, leaning closer. “Try taking a proper dump. Every morning, I sit on the throne like a king with no power. I strain, I push, I beg my bowels — and after all that effort, all I get is a little plop that wouldn’t scare a fly.”
They both turned to the third man, Walter, who sat quietly with a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Well,” Walter said thoughtfully, “every morning at 5 a.m. sharp, I take a long, satisfying piss. Like clockwork. And then, at exactly 6 a.m., I have the biggest, most glorious dump you can imagine. No strain, no effort — just smooth sailing.”
George and Harold stared at him in disbelief. “Wait a minute,” George said, “Then why the hell are you even complaining?”
Walter scratched his head and said with a frown, “Because I don’t wake up until 7.”
😆 Getting old is no joke… unless you make it one!
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