Emma lived on her own until the staggering age of 110 when, I guess, she no longer had the strength to poke with a fork those relatives attempting to cart her desiccated old carcass off to the old folk’s home. Apparently Emma never smoked or drank and was powerfully religious; seeing as I am zero for three on that score, I doubt I’ll be threatening Emma’s record for tenure on this planet. I heard she was still lucid most of the time up until her death, and enjoyed many engaging hobbies such as explaining where things didn’t used to be, and complaining about how much things cost nowadays.
The oldest person ever fully documented was Jeanne Louise Calment (2/21/1875-8/4/1997) out of France, whose ticket got punched when she was a mind-numbing 122 years old. Jeanne makes even me look practically bed-ridden, as the old broad took up fencing at age 85 (in case of pirate attack, I guess) and could still ride a bicycle when her odometer rolled over 100. I doubt I could even ride a bicycle more than 100 yards now without a few sips off an oxygen tank.
I’m sure a great many of you out there are scrunching up your still-taught faces and saying, “Well I don’t want to live that long, good God.” For those of you who belong to this camp, I simply cannot understand your philosophy. I can only guess you’ll be singing a different tune when Death himself is breathing his fetid breath upon your craggy old neck. Hell, I’d sign up for immortality if I could; there’s just so much to do here! Yeah, yeah, you watch friends and family die, boo-hoo. I’d gladly watch the Grim Reaper pick off my nearest and dearest if it means I can stop a bullet with my face and be right as rain in time for lunch. Between cancer and being The Highlander, I’ll take the latter, thanks.
There can be only one.
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