Utopia in our lifetime if we hurry

Most retirement facilities suck. They were designed by the same guy who calls Bingo on Wednesdays.

To hell with them. Let’s put our heads together and see if we can come up with something fun and practical, if not entirely legal.

First, let’s get a truck load of like-minded people who know how to have fun. Specialty retirement homes (golf, fishing, bare naked, etc.) have blossomed in the south. Don’t hold your breath until a home for snow shovelers opens in Minneapolis. Ice fishing, maybe.

Location. Location. Location. I want to live across the street from the heart hospital, the pharmacy, Krispy Kreme, IMAX and a liquor store. Every evening, the Wine Boy will cruise the facility two hours before prescriptions are dispensed.

On weekends, a charter flight will land with Tex/Mex for everyone. If we want to fly in Cooper’s BBQ from Llano, this will require a special assessment.

The physical therapy staff will be so good looking that everybody will think naughty. Good for the blood pressure. Improves nimbleness. And is a proven way to discern who is still completing synapses.

The Gift Shop will sell T-shirts that say, “Do Not Resuscitate” and big calendars that can talk to you: “Today is Friday, not Thursday.” Birthdays and holidays will be marked with those special brownies.

Matching clothing will be strictly forbidden. On the other hand, you can wear a glove.

Going commando requires a note from your social worker.

To limit debate, strong diuretics will be issued to residents before they can enter the political salon. Unless they are incumbents, in which case none will be necessary.

No exceptions. Children will not be allowed until they have read the complete works of Shakespeare or Bacon, whichever comes first.

Each resident will be issued a “Beware of Dog” sign unless theirs is a yapper. In that case, “Beware of George” will be your first warning.

Throw in a view of the mountains and the Mystery Woman is packed.