Senior Citizen Day

Hey, Heidy, and Howdy.  It’s me.  Harry Handy, your randy, dandy online DJ back again here at WOFT.  That’s right Old Farts radio, where the only thing older is Abe Vigoda.  

And guess what, gang?  It’s Senior Citizen day here at the Fart.  We give you a 10% discount for listening and everyone on the play list is a certifiable Medicare recipient. It’s hard to believe all the great musicians of the 1960’s are now late night infomercial fodder, but they are.  Whether you are on the throne struggling with that Ducolax dose, or in the garden with the petunias, sit back and enjoy the show.

Wait, I understand we have a special request from fellow Oldies DJ Myke.  Seems he can’t remember what he played last.  Maybe my list will help him through his moment.   

First up is the ultimate Rock and Roll senior.  He’s changed the game two or three times in his career and still puts on quite a stage show at age …., ah, who cares? Here is… Sir Paul McCartney

I had a friend who caught his show here in Atlanta and was convinced that was a body double lip synching the show.  But I digress.

The next senior group is still questions their balance.  Only they have pretty much chucked the road and stay in Las Vegas most of the time.  Something about walkers and tripping over stuff.  But at least they don’t have to Hoverround to get to the stage. So, let ride the See Saw.  

Yeah, I was pretty stoned when I first heard that, too.  But, it still better than that autotuned Beiber crap.  Hell, the only way you can tell one bad singer these days from the next is the color of their tattoos.  I guess the Studios have automated singer factories with quantifiable benchmarks for looks and sound.  Give me the older stuff from musicians who drank themselves into creativity. 

Maybe I should just get…

Speaking of which, these septuagenarians have lost a couple of members to excessive abuse and the rest of them will never have worry about being embalmed when they die.  They are already perfectly preserved.  Let’s let them shuffle on stage.

Finally, no good Medicare Special would be complete without the obligatory Sappy Love Song.  You know the ones your old ex girlfriend would play over and over again until your ears bled?  Of course there are lots to choose from, but this still is the ultimate in commercial schmaltz.  The beer and Kleenex are over on the table.

I could be doing this all night, but the Dead Head that produces my show says I’m out of time.

Until next time: If you can’t hear me, you’re dead.