The next ten years of my life are sure to be my decayed years. (Pronounced in this case dec-AID – as in decade. Decayed Decade or DD.)

Tomato. Tomato.

I’ve already laid out my game plan for when I actually turn seventy years old. So I have established my reward for getting there.

I’m working on my plan to reach my reward.

In the meantime, some significant changes will occur. I’m trying to anticipate them so I can work them into my plan for the DD.

My Million Dollar 20 year term-life insurance will expire. Looking over my shoulder will be imperative. What do food tasters go for these days? Are spouses informed of firearms purchases?

I will be a patient in the hospital. That’s scary. I think it will be a physical ailment. I haven’t been in a hospital overnight since I was twenty-something. That will change during this DD. Previously, I was in a car wreck and spent a couple months in bed in traction because this is all they had to treat a splintered femur.

UPDATE: Done – had a knee replacement. Two nights in horspital.

I also had a head injury (duh!) and had to wear a jerry-rigged thing-a-ma-bob. The docs figure I punched myself in the forehead and caved in my sinuses.

So think of head gear for braces, except the wire went thru the bridge of my nose and attached to a plaster cast with a coat-hanger hook poking out the front.

TMI. We have a boomer friend who just became and R.N. I may hire her to stay with me. Unless I can’t wipe myself, at which time I will just die.

I will get in a fender-bender with a twenty-something and have to prove I am not too feeble to drive. Have you seen how young cops are these days? I know the punk and the pig will gang up on me and swear that I was tailgating the punk at 40 mph. Which will be correct, but still… Why aren’t there old patrol cops anymore? Hemorrhoid disability pay kick in?

I will collect the last nineteen cents left in Social Security. President Gomez-Gonzales will give me a large Publisher’s Clearing House-type check. He will then whisper, “don’t deposit this right away.”

Technology will finally get the best of me. I will break down and buy a cell phone and obsessively check for text messages. I will not be able to answer because my old man shaky hands will make every response incomprehensible: LOJ, TTFO, LMCM, 309J. The only message I will send successfully everytime is 4Q.

Steve Jobs will have me arrested. It will be a felony charge, so I won’t be able to vote anymore. After all the years of calling Bill Gates a Prick and using Macs, it will be Jobs that will Job me. My time in the county-hooscow will enable me to make great connections for HGH, so it will be time well spent. My candidates never won or Nancy and I canceled each other, so no biggie on the voting rights loss.

Wal-mart will stop hiring old farts as greeters. There will be no more Wal-mart, it will be Google-mart ™ and they will not hire anyone over 21. Sergey and Brin will no longer exist as homo-sapiens.

The company mantra will be “Do Evil. F*ck ’em.”

I will adopt their mantra, and live until my 70th birthday.