Retirement is when you write your memoirs.
When you sum up what you've learned.
Don't stab yourself in the head, like a scorpion.
Avoid fires. If you burn up, the muscles contract.
Where else would the stinger go? Plus, you're going to die
anyway. Might as well do it by your own hand.
Ask Hemingway about electric shock treatments.
Memory loss. The IRS. Leaving your legacy in the hands of
Mary, a woman you had viciously mistreated. A drunken harridan.
A mean drunk. A golddigger. She gets to be the editor, and she has
a trunk full of your unpublished manuscripts. She has a pair of scissors.
She remembers every slight. She's Irish.