Clap along with this rap if you bought readers off the rack.
If you snore yourself awake from your afternoon nap.
Has your waist kept pace with your numerical age?
Crystal meth can’t get you back to your ideal weight.
Drowsy at the office, coffee halitosis,
Low T’s not my rap name, it’s my doctor’s diagnosis.
Lipitor, Rogaine, Ibuprophen for my pain.
Xanny bars soothe my brain; fiber pills, must I explain?
Cargo shorts your style,
can’t even run a mile.
Hair starts growing out your ears;
starved for sex, no volunteers.
Weekend comes; what to do,
Crossword puzzles, Sudoku.
Laundry loads and mowing lawns;
Law and Order marathons.
Traded in my ‘Stang for a soccer mom minivan.
Middle Age demands sacrificial lambs.
Don’t know how I got here, who the hell I am,
A middle-aged stranger in a middle-aged strange land.
Interest rates skyrocket,
Taxes pick your pocket.
Every week you come up short;
alimony, child support.
Had my prostate checked,
Got to get this off my chest,
No amount of study can prepare you for that test!
Brittle bones and silver strands,
kidney stones, arthritic hands.
My dreams done in by my wife’s demands.
The ghost of a man haunts this middle-age wasteland.
About the Creator
Chris Z
My opinion column garnered more reader responses than any other contributor in the paper's 40-year run. As a stand-up comic, I performed in 16 countries & 26 states. I've written 2 one-man shows, umpteen poems, songs, essays & chronologies.
A Failed Artist, A Disillusioned Poet, An Underpaid Game Show Host
I took my son and niece to Gori, a small town in Georgia where Joseph Stalin was born. They talked me into visiting the Stalin's Museum, the largest in the post-Soviet space. I had resisted going there because I just can't stand the monster and know enough about him, or so I thought.
By Lana V Lynx7 days ago in FYI
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