Damn it!
I've been an exercise and health food freak all my life.
But the other day, I saw myself in the mirror outside, the sunlight illuminating every nook and cranny of my face and I said,
“Who the Fuck Are You?
And now I know why age is pictured as FATHER Time.
Because as a man ages, his wrinkles are 'character lines, and he looks 'distinguished'.
A woman has wrinkles and looks extinguished.
Everyday I Rage, Rage against the dying of the light, and all I hear in return are yawns.
The relentless march of time is merciless – and humiliating.
The everyday experience of grooming involving a mirror causes many exclamations of 'What the Hell?????
Like hair - growing at the speed of light, in all the wrong locations.
If left unchecked, I could sell hair extensions.
Growing from my NOSE!!
Hair has also appeared on either side of my mouth.
As I studied my face, I realized with sick fascination that I could grow a decent Fu Manchu.
For men, though, the gravity induced Going South action of Old Age should be the true definition of obscenity.
At a restaurant, I overheard one old gentleman bragging to his friend about his cockmanship.
He then sadly admitted that at his age, teabagging now meant his balls hanging in the toilet water marinating along with his brown trouts.
So - you youngins out there
Don't let youth be wasted on the young.
Strut your Stuff!
Not because you have the looks that are the flavor of the month or year,
But because you're YOUNG!!!
And, if I go down on a plane with a bunch of women and no razor or tweezers, and you pass by our island,
I'll be the one with the magnificent Fu Manchu, jumping rope with my braided nose hairs!


www.ithinkibloggedmypants.com
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Real history is disgusting, back stabbing, cowardice trumping courage, and totally fascinating.
When you find out the real facts, it's obvious that history books are written by out of work screen play writers and spin doctors.
(And speaking of spin doctors, good ol' Teddy Roosevelt is the emperor of all spin doctors – he turned the islands of the Philippines into a shooting gallery for the military who 'sanctioned' 250,000 Filipinos, specifically boys nine years and older, and he's on Mt Rushmore!)
But! - to get back to the nitty gritty details that is REALLY the stuff of life.
Even above Sex, the TURD (echo chamber, please) – especially the lack of it– is the real mover and shaker of this planet.
One of the proofs of this theory was Martin Luther, who was a passionate, VERY constipated priest in the 1500's and disgusted with the Catholic Church. (The Pope, who had blown all his money on partying, was selling front row seats to Heaven called indulgences.)
After TWO WEEKS of not taking a crap, when he finally let loose, he created the new religion of Protestantism.
Another result of the power of the Turd was the Battle of Waterloo.
Not only was Napoleon another constipated guy, but he was a strainer.
His hemorrhoids were so massive his doctor applied leaches to suck them flat so he could mount his horse.
When his doctor forgot his leaches at the Battle, the doctor had to administer opium.
Doped out, and pounding those huge hemorrhoids - you gotta forgive the poor guy for losing the battle.
I don't know about you, but when I go a couple of days of not making a deposit in the porcelain throne, I become mean as a snake.
You and I just torture others in our tiny worlds when we feel 'shitty', but it makes you wonder how many constipated world leaders have their fingers on that red button?
I'm surprised that some imaginative lawyer hasn't successfully used the Constipation Defense.
Your Honor, my client is not guilty because he had a 10 pd turd up his ass.
It could work.
A recent news article about a visiting Shah in London proves that a creative lawyer and a client with a lot of money can win.
The Shah invited a dense young lady up to the entire floor he was occupying who somehow didn't get it that the price tag was sex.
She accused him of rape.
His defense against rape was that his dick just happened to be hanging out and he tripped and it fell into her.
He won.
????????
So, folks, I hope in the pursuit of world peace, you splash down many a brown trout.
And, as my sicko boyfriend says, eat some corn so it has yellow eyes.

I just paid attention to an often aired commercial about Lyrica, discretely mentioning a bunch of horrible side affects, one being skin sores.

I had a vision of these sores appearing on a users face and the poor person chasing after people yelling, Stop, I don't have leprosy! I'm just taking a drug for diabetic pain!

I swear the drug commercials have some powerful subliminal mind control going on.

Imagine.

You're sixty. Still looking handsome.

But your once throbbing love hammer is now just hanging there.

So you pay attention to the commercial about daily Viagra.

You watch the commercial featuring beautiful older people giving each other that sexually suggestive look. Beautiful scenery and music.

Then you hear the side effects.

-Possible loss of vision.

You have a quick flashback of your mother catches you doing the 'M' thing and telling you you'll go blind.

-Loss of hearing.

-4 hour erection.

Finally! Something good!

-Possible stroke.

You suddenly see yourself.

You're in a wheel chair with those black blind glasses on, and a thick blanket on your lap making a tent from the four hour erection that won't go away unless the doctors cut off your weiner. The grandchildren are playing around you in your wheelchair, going, what's wrong with Grandpa, and why can't we sit on his lap? You don't care because you can't see or hear them, although you ARE pissed off because they had to tie your hands to the wheelchair because all you want to do is play with your giant erection.

What else is there to do?

Your old lady now sleeps in another locked room, because she can hardly walk.

You jerk out of your reverie.

Come on, a lot of the guys at work use it and they're fine.

Time to check with your Doctor.

You tell him what's going on and he tries not to smile since he gets a kickback from the drug company.

You express concern as to the side effects.

The doctor reassures you, has to leave for a second and has you watch the commercial again. Only this time it features a hot looking Scandinavian chick giving the, 'it could be you look.'

You think of the smug looks on the guys face at work, you think of your half mast flag, and that hot woman at work that might be available if your wife isn't up to it.

The doctor returns with the prescription.

He wouldn't give you something that would harm you, right?

The Physician's Vow – Do No Harm.

They should just get real and put funeral homes next to the hospital.

The best job in the world has got to be the judge of a food reality competition.

Did the dream of this job start with OgOg saying to DimDim ,Lets go the cave of EmeRil!?

You don't have to chew the meat a million times to swallow, and it's got this cool tasting water in it!

Just the shape of a human's teeth would have have convinced the Puritans, if they had dental knowledge, that the fueling process of the human body was meant to be pleasurable, which blows the hell out a God that requires denial.

Most of our teeth have little bowels in them to savor the flavor while you grind it up. Animal teeth are long and sharp like a knife to slice and swallow.

We are designed to be food critics.

I usually hate reality shows, but the cooking contests feature mad scientist chefs that throw around food atoms in combinations that creates wonderful culinary madness.

I'd like to jap-slap a lot of those poker snotty faced judges, though.

People that like to cook and go where no chef has gone before, are creating food that makes your million taste buds realize that this food is almost as good as sex!

But these critics on shows like Iron Chef munch away at food with an impassive face that I would sell my soul for.

That's why it's great to see the actors or sports figures eat the offerings and have uncontrollable culinary orgasms.

The jaw dropper of these cooking shows is the one which features – get ready – 7 to 13 year olds who made complicated dishes that an Iron Chef would be proud of.

It was interesting seeing foul mouthed Gordon Ramsey astonished and incredulous by these children. You could tell he wanted to tell some of these kids, You little wanker! You'll probably have my job in a few years!

And very few of these kids came from chef parents.

Where did these abilities come from?

Obviously, by utilizing the theory of Occam's Razor these little people have cooked in many lifetimes, in the courts of the likes of Henry the Eighth, and the Courts of Versailles.

Don't believe me?

Watch these sweet young children that should be playing with gender approved toys, command their kitchens like four star generals.

I'm glad that the room has no flies in it while I watch, because they would find an available landing pad in my open mouth.

I would love to hypnotize one of the kids and regress them to one of these lifetimes and ask a question I have always wanted answered.

The chefs in the middle ages were required by kings to create culinary 'curiosities' that better please the royal palette.

One of them was a pie that when sliced, a flock of birds flew out.

Here's my question.

Did the king EAT the pie that had to be full of bird shit from these scared birds?

I stole some of my roommates honey roasted peanuts.

See, the reason I use the word, stole, is that I try to eat healthy. His idea of time off is to eat so much that he can hardly breathe. So, my abduction of these peanuts was sheer hypocrisy.

I rag the shit out him because he is 360 pounds, a roommate that karma stuck me with,

and seeing him drop dead from a heart attack is not on my bucket list!

So now, I not only hate my roommates' guts for eventually dropping dead in front of me, but I loved, loved, loved those damned peanuts! I could have eaten truck loads of them!

And that's why the philosophy that he represents scares the hell out of me!

In our bullet proof attitude that accompanies ripe young flesh, the wonderful drives of youth and discovery are predominate.

Yeah, buddy. The way it should be!

But come on former Dudes and Dudettes. The mortal coil starts looking damn shitty as times rolls by, and in the process leaves the rolls on you.

Another karmic joke. I try to eat to live, and he eats to set a record to see how he can cram in.

First course, a big bar of chocolate and donuts, then velveta cheese and ham and bread and potato chips, then ice cream. Oh, yeah. Half a shaker full of salt at every meal.

I don't want to know any of this.

Now, he has to sit in the living room to eat, because he has fed the cats, against my advise, part of his meal where he eats and they are now mafia kittens, wanting their cut before they leave him alone.

So he has to eat in the living room.

I swear, God of Karma, I try not to judge him.

I'm in the living room using the wonderful genie to speed past the boring commercial, so there is silence until the show is resumed.

Filled with the sound of never ending crunching of potato chips. He was pounding them. A more dedicated cruncher would be hard to find.

I told myself, different strokes for different folks.

I think the show runs at least 10 minutes until the next commercial.

He's still eating in a dedicated manner.

I read that in concentration camps that the inmates hated each other worse than their captors.

I couldn't understand until....THE ROOMATE!

After much self examination, I realized the horrible truth.

Part of me wants to be Jabba the Hutt just like him. Gorging like him. Eating till you explode!

I mean with Monsanto, Chemtrails, for sure economic collapse, big pharma, Isis, etc, etc, what's to live for?

When the first looters show up to take his stuff, he'll just have a heart attack.

Guess everyone should have a plan, right?