And we'll just wrestle Catspaw to the ground each night in the Jello pit and plaster a pair of Depends on 'im so he doesn't have to worry about the whiz-bowl. He'll forget about the diapers and just remember the wrasslin,' and he'll always think he WON...

And yes, Dave, I'll die in a fiery motorcycle crash at the age of 106 when my much younger boyfriend (say, 80) tries to feel me up as we're speeding up a winding mountain road. There will be much teeth-gnashing -- okay, gum-gnashing -- and general lamentation, but everyone will agree that it was a great way to go...

ww