Will you still need me, when I’m 64?

I had to get in the right frame of mind to even be approved to see “The Expendables,” the double-dose of testosterone featuring action film caves from ap the last few decades.

Stallone, Lundgren, Li, Stathem, even Willis and Schwarzenegger pop by for maximum flex appeal.

So I gathered two of my manliest male friends, went to the gym for a some squats, deadlifts, and various other weight training execercises designed to sculpt our frames into The Situation-approved slabs of beefcake. We followed up with a protein shake, some raw eggs, a round of small firearms training, then a 10-mile dead sprint to the theater, where we arm-wrestled for the best seats in the house.

We were pumped and ready to relive our childhood with the cast of “The Expendables.” All the muscle-clad men of our youth were going to lay waste to perhaps continents of bad guys armed with steady streams of heavy artillery, heavily oiled torsos, and an arsenal of witty one-liners while staring in the face of death.