Everyone will be dead in 10-20 years

Or so, at least in my demographic (69 to rotting on the bone).

So President Trump is way wrong about this. The Country is not full. It’s not even full of his favorite people, white people. The fact of it is, we the people who helped bring Trump to office by voting with our eyes welded shut will be shuffling off, either to heaven or hell or wherever, within a decade or so.

Even me! (No, I did NOT vote for Donald Trump) Madigan men, the record shows, generally succumb at about 87-89 years, excluding those killed in coal mines or wars or disastrous events. Give me a full run, and my race will be over at age 89. I believe this completely, which means I have like, 20 years to go.

That is NOT a bad run, in my book, as long as I stay relatively heathy, embrace regularity with a passion that would stun the Quaker Oats people and keep only positive thoughts in my head, which is the hardest part of the whole package. So my space will be available in about 20 years.

I have many older friends, God bless them, who will be heading off even sooner, so that’s more spaces. In fact, AARP aside from its suggestion everyone can be as robust as a movie star on the cover of its troubling magazine, is wrong about the optimism part of old age. If you didn’t do the wild stuff between 15 and 25, don’t try now. It’s too easy to get really messed up and spend your declining miserable years asking people to bring fibrous treats and back rubs.

While we are at it, about AARP and its hints you can live perhaps forever.

You can’t.

Everyone will die at some point and it would be much more helpful to have suggestions about how to make these coming years robust and jolly. But not by trying to roll back the clock.

Why?

There is no “there” there for many of us.

Sex? Well, you can eat Viagra until you break out in bumps but the problem remains the same as it was when you were 22: where to find the mate who will love you unconditionally and you can return the favor. But that’s not so much about sex later in life. It’s about patience. We all break down eventually, and it helps to have a patient mate who doesn’t just look back and say, “Hurry up,” when you are padding along behind her. For that reason, avoid joggers.

Wait a minute! Where am I going with this column. It was supposed to be more about Donald Trump and his ridiculous purges of the very people he put in place.

Shit!

Drifted off again.

I need to think more about this.

Later.

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