Humor: Danger Lurks

After extensive anecdotal research (that means shooting the bull with my buddies), I’ve concluded that my Medicare card has been contaminated (probably by an alien force from an alternate dimension – the same conspiracy that produced spiked hair and facial piercings). The card itself looks ok, and I haven’t been able to detect any forensic evidence of actual contamination, but I can find no other explanation for all the weird things that seem to be happening. I can’t prove it, but I believe the card somehow warps the time-space continuum for several feet around me. Ok, that statement sounds highly technical, and maybe scary, but you can expect no less lofty a conclusion from the profound discussions that occur when a bunch of geezers gather over cocktails. I’m pretty sure that my buddies and I are on the right track here.

How else could you explain the following? First, the gravitational field around me has been distorted - gravity is now crooked. A lifetime of experience has convinced me that gravity is supposed to pull straight down. But, as soon as I put that Medicare card in my pocket, everything began to change. For example, ladders became less steady, roofs became steeper, and ice and snow became slipperier. Obviously, I’m not the only one affected. Old guys fall on their ass all the time, and their wives are constantly yelling at them to “stay to hell off that ladder!” Furthermore, while you’re laying on the ground nursing your sore ass, you come to the sad realization that you no longer bounce nearly as well as you used to – proof positive that the damned Medicare card doesn’t only affect gravity, it weakens your body as well.

Worse, the effect increases with time. Before long you’re stumbling, tripping and falling on your ass even though you’re not even in the vicinity of a ladder, roof, or ice. As if that’s not embarrassing enough, the resulting huge ass bruises spread all over, take forever to heal, and morph themselves into colors and shapes that apparently resemble fruit and vegetables – my wife has described the colors of my various bruises as lime, persimmon, peach, and even egg plant, for God’s sake.

And there’s more humiliation to come: doctor’s visits, prescriptions, pills, and countless new ailments. Finally, the ultimate tragedy: instead of the high level discussions that once graced geezer cocktail hour, you find yourselves comparing ailments, prescriptions, injuries, and operations. God help us - the Medicare card – it’s gotta be that damned card!