After sixty years, I finally have everything I wanted as a teenager.
No more school or work obligations—I receive a monthly allowance, have my own place, and enjoy the freedom of no curfew.
I possess a driver’s license and my own car. My friends aren’t worried about teenage pregnancy, and thankfully, I no longer have acne.
Life is wonderful.
I even replaced my car horn with gunshot sounds; it seems to make people move out of the way much quicker.
Gone are the days when girls cooked like their mothers; now, they drink like their fathers.
I missed going to the gym today, marking five years in a row. I’ve also stopped calling the bathroom “John” and renamed it “Jim.” It feels much better to say I went to the Jim this morning.
Old age is arriving at the worst possible time.
As a child, I thought “nap time” was a punishment, but now it feels like a mini vacation.
The biggest lie I tell myself is, “I don’t have to write that down; I’ll remember it.”
I don’t have gray hair—I have “wisdom highlights”! I’m just very wise.
If God wanted me to touch my toes, He’d have placed them on my knees.
Last year, I joined a support group for procrastinators. We haven’t met yet.
Why do I have to press one for English when you’re just going to transfer me to someone I can’t understand anyway?
Of course, I talk to myself. Sometimes I need expert advice.
At my age, “getting lucky” means walking into a room and remembering why I went in there.
I have more friends I should send this to, but I can’t remember their names right now.
Now, I’m wondering… did I steal this meme from you, or did you steal it from me?
The guys were all out at deer camp, sharing cabins
The guys were all out at deer camp, sharing cabins.
There was just one problem: no one wanted to room with Carl.
Why?
Because Carl didn’t just snore—he shook the drywall.
They decided to take turns bunking with him.
First night: Steve draws the short straw.
Next morning? He stumbles into breakfast with hair like a haystack and eyes like two road flares.
“Dude, what happened to you?”
“I didn’t sleep a wink. Carl sounded like a chainsaw fighting a blender. I just sat there and watched him all night.”
Second night: Mike’s turn.
He shows up the next morning looking like he’d been hit by a truck.
“Man, you okay?”
“Carl’s snoring rattled my fillings. I gave up and stared at the ceiling till sunrise.”
Third night: Big Frank steps up.
Ex-linebacker. Doesn’t scare easy. They figure he can handle it.
The next morning, Frank strolls in—refreshed, hair combed, sipping coffee like he’s on vacation.
Everyone’s jaws drop.
“Wait… you look great! What happened?”
Frank grins.
“Well, when we got into the room, I tucked Carl in, fluffed his pillow, and gave him a little kiss on the forehead. He stayed up all night watching me. Slept like a baby.”
—
Caption idea:
There’s more than one way to stop a snorer.
