A wizened old man, cursing and yelling for porno. What an image.

You know, in that same retirement home where my grandmother and Miss Effie were, there was an old man named Mr. Jordan. Pronounced "Jerdan" in the Southern way. During his lifetime, he was the sheriff and later the mayor. As a senile senior, he was completely lecherous, and he might well been the one who got Miss Effie started, now that I think about it. He'd creep around the halls and into old ladies' rooms when they were napping and reach under their covers and try and cop a feel. After he got where he couldn't walk anymore, he'd make his rounds in a wheelchair. My grandmother, who was also a genteel, well-mannered type, would occasionally wake up to feel a trembling old hand making its way up her leg. "What the hell are you doing in my room, Richard Jordan?" the ladies would ask . . . .

OK, enough nursing home stories. We already know the sorts of things we can look forward to in our golden years.