[FONT=Times New Roman][size=2][b]Latter Years[/b] I knew an Old Man oncewho at his old age had developed prostate problems and several otherurinary tract complications. At first, he used to run to the bathroomanywhere from three to ten times a night.When he no longer managed to holdit for the few seconds since he opened his old eyestill he opened his pant fly his wife (a lovely, caring woman indeed with problems of her own)set a tin pot by the side of his bed before he fellasleep, and emptied it out in the morning before the Old Man woke up. (he never pissed too much) At around that time, she moved tothe guest room and slept alone.The Old Man's health worsened with every day as he approached death. [i]Surgery is your only hope Mr. B---, [/i]said his doctor, [i]We'll need some samples,go here and here and there...[/i]The Old Man's wife took him by thehandand led him over there and there and here where the flashy nurse took over. His blood flowed strong and the sample filled up quick. Oh, bitter ironythe Old Man could not piss when he had to.He tried and squeezed and drank water by the gallons;nothing.Weary, tired, and bloated the Old Man and hiswife left the clinic in silence. Barely reaching the cornerthe Old Man began to piss all over himself uncontrollably his bowels roared and he soiled his pants. Hiswife laughed and laughed and laughed sohardthat she pissed herself as well cursing life and God and all.That night, as she lay alone in the guestroom bed,she wept and wept and wept sobitterlythat she wept away her soul and died.The Old Man awoke with a jerk andupon getting up tripped over the tin potfull of piss and fell down on the floor with a thud. He yelled for help.He yelled and yelled and yelled soloudthat he ran out of breath and decided to give up. He closed his eyes and, as it goes,pissed no more.[/size][/font]