I'm in the 36-to-50 age group, so I'm close

It turns out that you really are only as old as you feel. As evidence, this week I received my first solicitation to join the AARP, just four months shy of my 38th birthday. The handsome, official-looking packet delivered to my house by government courier* included a flattering come-on, a sturdy plastic temporary membership card with my name on it, and a business-reply envelope so I could send back my enrollment at no cost to me (except the $12.50 membership fee).



I was a little confused as to why AARP Executive Director William Novelli had signed my membership card -- shouldn't I do that? I mean, my driver's license has my signature, not Chet Culver's -- but the matter was quickly forgotten as I read up on all the fantastic services and discounts I could get by joining: 18% off worldwide air ambulance and "medical repatriation" services! 10% off at Best Western! Huge discounts on rental cars! Plus, I remembered what Alan Simpson, the former Republican senator from Wyoming and one of my all-time closet heroes, said about the AARP:

"33 million Americans bound together by a common love of airline discounts and automobile discounts and RV discounts; they're a monstrous organization. ... They're selfish, greedy. They don't care about their grandchildren a whit."

When am I ever going to get another opportunity to join a monstrous organization that guarantees me 25% off at Alamo Rent-A-Car? I mean, al-Qaeda sure as shit isn't going to get me a free upgrade to a full-size car when available, and the damn KKK can't even get the adopt-a-highway to let them pick up trash; no way they're going to offer me prescription benefits.

So I'm going to join this thing. The fine print says I have to be 50 years old, but I'm sure that's just a technicality. I already have my membership card!

Now git them fuckin kids off my lawn or I'm callin the police.

*Mailman