At times like this, I wonder: was my Grandpa thinking ahead when he married my Grandma? Because she's kind of a fuggo now. I wouldn't do her, and even with my mind's anti-aging software, fifty-five years still doesn't make her doable. But maybe that's because she's my Grandmother, Even with the juvenating plug-in for my mind's eye's Photoshop there's no "Make Grandma Fuckable" automation.

There are also a lot of unknowns. Like, was my Grandma hot back in the day? Did my Grandpa anticipate advances in medical technology that would prolong the average lifetime? To play Devil's advocate-if I was a 21 dude living in the 1940s, I would probably think that the world was going to be torn to hell because of war, and even if it wasn't there were a hundred thousand things that could knock my ass dead before I turned 60, so I better try and have as much fun as i can. Hell, if I marry a girl she's got all the same odds to get offed as me.

All of these questions eventually lead me to an unchanging conclusion. It's the same thing that I sort of believed without rationalizing before tonite, but now there's some good support. There's no telling what the future will hold, so you've got to get down while you can get down.

Get down, Grandpa. Get down.