It's sad to see impotence take hold, especially in those aging Uncle Henry types. You know Uncle Henry, the one your parents kept you away from when you were young.
In a sense, they age like football players, before their time. Only their knees go, not from running, but all the peep show booth frivolity of their youth. When you look at them, you're left with a sense of someone who is lucky to have a few old friends - some few to remind them to keep their nose hairs in check, perhaps.
Flatulent and, depending on your perspective, over or under-blown, they wind up musty, frittering away their time raising cats and cat fights with folks you sense they either somehow admire, or long to be with, but can't understand.
Though to be fair, I suspect they're really just lonely pussy cats in the end.
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