Poetry Month or Potty Mouth?

My eyesight's getting questionable. Even worse than my early-morning typing. Lately I've misread a lot of things on the first pass, which evokes some initial surprise and lots of yukking when my focus comes back.

Here are some lines I got lately, I'll let you fill in what I saw in the first go-round.
"You're a little curt today."

"My pens broke right in half!"

"It was an old-fashioned funk party."

And then there are the simple typos that cause a double-take:
"I balled all night when she died."

"He pissed over me."

"She's nine and never saw Beauty and the Breast before."

"Still no tomstone." (talking about my brother Tommy's grave)

So just as I was starting to bitch about how unfunny life has gotten and how nobody's bantering or has a sense of humor anymore, Mother Nature shows hers. Growing older has its redeeming qualities.