You know it’s time to stop driving when…

Police in Philadelphia want to speak with an elderly woman who took her Buick Century station wagon the wrong way down Interstate 95 Thursday at 50mph, causing four separate accidents. Here’s amazing video of it actually happening.

A driver on the proper southbound side of I-95 managed to film the woman, saying at one point she tried to waive him off and scuffed the concrete barricades with her faux wood paneling twice without stopping. No one was injured in the other accidents.



Just in case you weren’t feeling too old today – – –

The  people who are starting college this fall were born in  1991. 
They are too young to  remember the space shuttle blowing up. 
Their lifetime has always included  AIDS. 
The CD was  introduced two years before they were born.   
They have always had an answering  machine. 
They have always had  cable. 
Popcorn has always been  microwaved. 
They never took a swim  and thought about Jaws. 
They don’t  know who Mork was or where he was from.   
They never heard, “Where’s the Beef?”,  “I’d walk a mile for a Camel ,” or “de plane, Boss, de  plane.”
They don’t  have a clue how to use a typewriter.

Thanks Faye


That’ll be $5.37

“$5.37.” That’s what the kid behind  the counter at Taco Bell said to me. I dug into my pocket and  pulled out some lint and two dimes and something that  used to be a Jolly Rancher. Having already handed  the kid a five-spot, I started to head back out to the truck  to grab some change, when the kid with the Elmo hairdo said  the harshest thing anyone has ever said to me.
He  said, “It’s OK. I’ll just give you the senior citizen  discount.”
I turned to see who he  was talking to and then heard the sound of change  hitting the counter in front of me. 
“Only $4.68,” he said cheerfully. 

I stood there stupefied. I am 58, not  even 60 yet. A mere child! Senior citizen? I took my  burrito and walked out to the truck, wondering what was  wrong with Elmo. Was he blind? As I sat in the truck, my blood  began to boil. Old? Me? I’ll show him, I thought. I  opened the door and headed back inside. I strode to the  counter, and there he was waiting with a smile. 
Before I could say a word, he held up  something and jingled it in front of me, like I could  be that easily distracted! What am I now? A toddler? 
“Dude! Can’t get too far without your  car keys, eh?”
I stared with utter disdain at the  keys. I began to rationalize in my mind. “Leaving keys behind  hardly makes a man elderly! It could happen to  anyone!”
I turned and headed back to the truck. I  slipped the key into the ignition, but it wouldn’t turn.

What now? I checked my keys and  tried another. Still nothing. That’s when I noticed the  purple beads hanging from my rearview mirror. I had no  purple beads hanging from my rearview mirror. 

Then, a few other objects came into  focus. The car seat in the back seat. Happy  Meal toys spread all over the floorboard. A partially  eaten doughnut on the dashboard. Faster than you can say  ginkgo biloba, I flew out of the alien vehicle. 
Moments later I was speeding out of the  parking lot, relieved to finally be leaving this nightmarish  stop in my life. That is when I felt it, deep in the  bowels of my stomach: hunger! My stomach growled and  churned, and I reached to grab my burrito, only it was  nowhere to be found.

I swung the  truck around, gathered my courage, and strode back into  the restaurant one final time. There Elmo stood,  draped in youth and black nail polish. All I could think was,  “What is the world coming to?”
All I could say was,  “Did I leave my food and drink in here?” At this point I was  ready to ask a Boy Scout to help me back to my vehicle, and  then go straight home and apply for Social Security  benefits.

Elmo had no clue. I walked back  out to the truck, and suddenly a young lad came up and  tugged on my jeans to get my attention. He was  holding up a drink and a bag. His mother   explained, “I think you left this in my truck  by mistake.”
I took the food and  drink from the little boy and sheepishly apologized. 
He offered these kind words, “It’s OK.   My grandfather does stuff like this all the  time.”
All of this is to explain  how I got a ticket doing 85 in a 40. Yes, I was racing  some punk kid in a Toyota Prius. And, no, I told  the officer, I’m not too old to be driving this  fast.
As I walked in the front  door, my wife met me halfway down the hall. I handed  her a bag of cold food and a $300 speeding ticket. I  promptly sat in my rocking chair and covered up  my legs with a blankey.
The good  news was I had successfully found my way home. 

Thanks Faye