You throw your back out on the toilet.
You shave your ears.
Your second wife calls your first wife “ma’am.”
You're genuinely excited when your prescriptions arrive in the mail.
You read the obits in the newspaper to check the ages of the dead people.
You read a newspaper.
You're bummed out that the smokin’ hot chick from Body Heat now looks like William Shatner in drag.
You say “bummed out.”
Women your age have real breasts and artificial hips.
Masturbation leaves you winded.
You try to amuse the kid hooking up your Blu-ray player by telling him about Betamax.
You pee in morse code -- dots and dashes -- and have to look down to see when you’re done.
Your car radio is set to “classic rock” so you have something to switch to during NPR pledge drives.
Your doctor says things like, “that’s normal for a man your age” and “consider yourself lucky.”
Beneath your chin is what appears to be a neck skin hammock.
Beneath your penis is what appears to be two ping pong balls hanging from a flesh-colored bolo tie.
You choose your new car because it offers great lumbar support and convenient cup holders.
Watching “The Who” perform at the Superbowl made you inconsolably sad.
You wonder if the orgasm you're about to have will actually end your life.
Your doctor tells you a new medication will reduce the amount of semen in your body and your only response is, “so what.”
Your car radio is set to “classic rock” so you have something to... oh, wait, I already did that one.
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