Finishing their health kick, the geriatric crowd soon realizes it is a waste of time. The end result is no gain and lots of pain. They are on the backside of a mathematical curve, just like a power curve in aerodynamics. The more energy they supply on the top end of their life, the sooner they will crash. Waking up in the middle of the night, riddled with pains introduced by their fitness regime, they have no choice but to resort to pain medication in order to catch some zzz’s. When defeat is accepted, the losing battalion of battered bone creakers retreats to the couch and turns on the television to await further decay. Entrenched in a visual display of entertainment that was written by a kindergartner who was held back for lack of imagination, this wall hung nonsense dispenser is great for robbing people’s time of which they have little of. Revenge, murder, infidelity and vampires fill their evenings and basic human dysfunctionality rounds out the daytime programming. With very little human interest to entertain the viewer, because it is boring, the old ones start courting the Bleak Harvester, (the Grim Reaper). Their final years are immersed in rewatching the shows they viewed as they grew up. DEATH BY LASSIE. The last phase of this career as a geriatric gem, is the making it right with the offspring. Unable to give their children materialistic goods when growing up, the parents want to bestow a rather large heap of inheritance upon the brood. Unable to save this kind of financial gain during their working years, they now turn to the fastest way to make money: GAMBLING. Loaded up with pension checks, Social Security deposits and a big tank of oxygen, they’re off to the casinos to strike it rich. In time, the mathematics of chance rears its ugly head and the windfall blows away. No problem. That oxygen tank is full of their favorite booze concoction inside and that hose hanging out of their mouth is a flexible straw. They’re going down happy.