tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43574084294319545082024-03-17T23:02:42.441-04:00Sparks IgnitesOfficial Vince G. Sparks : Writer • Blogger • StorytellerSparksIgniteshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476684890675739692noreply@blogger.comBlogger106125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357408429431954508.post-78254409061322983902024-01-16T15:31:00.004-05:002024-01-16T15:31:43.308-05:00Big Holiday Blowout! <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI7V-GoSOVFyrlETjHrbWtlT2p-7J9H5J4J3NI9xdLHA75mT_Kn8sMC30ZrEqzdqGLCsbwqw32Rik-iy0OONPMqQrpDYtf6Iv_8JQLrHnkrUkBlyPJL6P09Uh7kEZhiQTO2fVkNhMyDQ3YmKOymoLQnHkjr_mpH-J0XWluCg1FAaMLwPSm20z6axIvBhNS/s630/yard-inflatables%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="420" data-original-width="630" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI7V-GoSOVFyrlETjHrbWtlT2p-7J9H5J4J3NI9xdLHA75mT_Kn8sMC30ZrEqzdqGLCsbwqw32Rik-iy0OONPMqQrpDYtf6Iv_8JQLrHnkrUkBlyPJL6P09Uh7kEZhiQTO2fVkNhMyDQ3YmKOymoLQnHkjr_mpH-J0XWluCg1FAaMLwPSm20z6axIvBhNS/w640-h426/yard-inflatables%202.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">I experienced a holiday first this year. I spent the night in lockup at the county jail. It wasn’t so traumatic. It only added extra octane to my celebrations. I got to drink eggnog from a tin cup and harmonize “Jingle Bells” with a pickpocket Santa</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">The jolly criminal was incarcerated because he Fleeced Navidad’ed shoppers in the mall and pulled cash from Victoria’s Secret drawers. Cellblock Santa was a merry old soul who smelled like peppermint with a base note of Hickory Farms Summer Sausage.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">I guess you’re wondering what happened. It’s a festive story filled with holiday splendor and action-film stunts. It happened because I’m a Christmas connoisseur– a purist when it comes to outdoor decorations.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">I grew up when the lights du jour were C9 bulbs. The big type that screwed into heavy cords. They got scorching hot when lit. So, you hung them on your house and shrubbery and then flipped on the power to see what you’d created. You waited for the smell of ozone to waft in the air and your shrubs to sizzle. The house would be bathed in red and green, or your favorite choice of colors. The look was completed with a wreath on the front door. The house had a simplicity of festive design.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">It was a tradition to jam into the family car and view all the light displays. I became an official drive-by judge while in 3</span><sup style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">rd</sup><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">grade. In my little town, holiday light decorating was not a talent. It was more of Twas the Blight Before Christmas. Houses looked like a Picasso painting during his Adderall period. There was never a coherent theme. Strings of lights didn’t match and they could be strung anywhere. They circled old tires left on the lawn, a discarded sofa, a TV antenna or a child who got stapled to the porch while daddy was attempting to decorate.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Improvisation never worked. I remember a nativity scene that included a pink flamingo, Teddy Ruxpin, a Keebler elf as a wise man and a Cabbage Patch Doll as the holy infant. There’s nothing like the gift of gold, frankincense and Fudge Stripes. This family couldn’t boast the best decorations on the street, but they could claim they had the birth certificate of sweet baby Jesus.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Technology and the digital age changed holiday lighting. There are icicle lights, projection lighting, pixel displays and the utter abomination of holiday decorations– lawn inflatables. I always thought plastic blow molds were the Frankenstein of lawn décor. But now, they’re like comparing Adele to Milli Vanilli.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Please, bring back the big phallic candles and the nativity where Jesus glows like he was born in Chernobyl. Blow molds are kitschy and retro now. If used correctly they can add a flair to your decorations. I just saw a giant Christmas tree made out of blow molds. It was bold and artistic unlike the inflatable monstrosities staked out in neighbors’ yards. If you really want a brightly colored bag of hot air on the lawn, Trump’s available.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">The new millennium began with the spread of Mad Cow Disease, the West Nile Virus and the manufacture of yard inflatables. I assume they’re the illegitimate spawn of the crazy waving tube people on car lots. They don’t exude the festive feeling of the most wonderful time of the year. There’s no creativity involved when your decorations are bags of nylon inflated and lit into shapes that shouldn’t represent the holiday.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Look around, there’s a T-Rex wearing a Santa hat with a package in its mouth, Sponge Bob Square Pants with a candy cane and crabs, Unicorns with horns that need Viagra, My Little Pony with a glandular problem and Minions on sleds, singing carols, and popping out of boxes.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">A Minion is a little yellow, freakish lab experiment that speaks in gibberish. Holiday commercialism is so bad, anything with holly stuck on it or donning a red cap is now a Christmas decoration. My traditionalist brain tells me giant punching bags are not acceptable décor.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">I understand most people buy them because they have children. They think it’s creating a Disney World on their property. I say buy airline tickets to Florida or move the manic menagerie behind the house. Situate the fifteen-foot Frosty so he’s staring into little Susie’s bedroom window and see how long she’s enchanted by the peeping snowball.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">If people choose to deck their lawns, at least keep them inflated. Turned off, they’re piles of colored nylon. Nothing says “Happy Holidays” more convincingly than the re-creation of a landfill.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Every time I pass a lawn with inflatables, I’m tempted to mow them down with my car. I feel like Martha Stewart being asked to hang crepe paper for a bridal shower. I keep my cool but in my head, the lawn is left in tatters with bits of Minions in my tire treads.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">My trip to the big house began with a power outage. It was several evenings before the big “C” day. I was basking in the light of my decorations. My tree sparkled and my fireplace crackled. Mariah was belting out her song for the one millionth time when I was plunged into darkness. I spilled my eggnog all over my</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><i style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Elf </i><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">onesie and knocked over my “12 Days of Christmas display.” Ten lords leaped right into my fireplace.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">I was not happy. But, I did have candles and emergency lanterns. I hummed “I’m Dreaming of an Electric Powered Christmas.” Two hours into the blackout, I checked with the electric company for an estimated power restore and it indicated 3 PM the next afternoon. From the map, it was only my street without power.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">I’m willing to go with a little inconvenience. This was much more than that. The room temperature began to drop as mine began to rise. What was the cause of the outage? There were no storms or tornadoes. I called a friend of a friend whose uncle’s, sister-in-law’s, cousin’s adopted son’s birth father worked for the electric company – word to the wise, “it pays to know people.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">A transformer had blown when a 15-foot inflatable nutcracker became tangled in power lines. I lost consciousness for a minute while visions of hydrogen plums detonated in my head. An inflatable had caused the winter of my discontent. I’m not a vindictive person during the months without an “R” in them. So, let the revenge begin.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">I knew where the rogue nut sack came from. Two blocks away, this toothy monster presided over a gaggle of gas bags extolling “Oh Holy Nightmare.” I prayed this nylon terrorist had fried when it knocked out my power. I wanted to see its charred remains sticking out of a dumpster. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">The next day with power restored, I drove to the house of hot air horrors. What to my wondering eyes should appear? But, the 15-foot demon and its maniacal leer.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> He sported a patch where there was a singe spot. My brakes squealed and I jumped from the car. “You’re going down Nutzilla!” I screamed.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">I flung myself at the decoration. My arms and legs grasping like I was scaling a giant redwood. I climbed toward the toothy grin intent on performing an extraction. What the nutcracker possessed in height he lacked in balance. His tethers pulled from the ground and I began riding him like a whale at SeaWorld.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">I struggled attempting to pull his plug and cutoff the airflow. The fight continued as we rolled across the lawn. An audience of fellow inflatables cheered us on. Santa driving a tractor waved</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">and a polar bear on an iceberg nodded. “Go for the patch.” I told myself. I grabbed for his roasted nuts when I heard a police siren.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">In that moment, I knew there was a line to cross. Either perform an Olympic-style dismount or deflate my Christmas nemesis. The police pulled me from a pile of fabric that would no longer threaten the neighborhood power grid.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">As they lead me to the patrol car, one of the officers told me a 911 call came in about a crazy man trying to have sex with a large yard inflatable. I explained, between fits of laughter, it was a moment of passion, but of destruction not love. Officer O’Malley understood and said, “I don’t like the blowup things either.” I had one person on my side.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">I was charged with trespassing and destruction of private property– lewd behavior was dropped. The judge was fair. Since I’d been a law-abiding citizen until my ‘smacker with the cracker,’ he expunged my record. My punishment was buying a replacement decoration for the one I’d snuffed out. Also, there’s a restraining order filed against me in effect between Black Friday and New Year’s Day every year.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">I regret I lost my cool and acted irrationally in the light of day. Every good sleuth knows you hit your target under the cloak of darkness. Now that I’ve battled a giant inflatable, I have a lust for punctured nylon.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">The birth of Mr. Bust-A-Lawn has taken place. You won’t see me coming, I’ll be hidden behind a tree, under a bush, inside your recyclable bin with my trusty hatpin. As soon as the blowers turn on, I’ll pop, drop and roll on to my next house– ready to take the hot air out of the holidays.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>SparksIgniteshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476684890675739692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357408429431954508.post-71434022828980499682023-12-24T11:54:00.000-05:002023-12-24T11:54:01.260-05:00Christmas Mania - The Gift That Keeps On Giving <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv7hV_I8qGEXMc2fK7nCRaq1dPVKNIH-nQZnAdWeVhpb7uhnGVum5PQjIU971ubrRzSlPFbdlcFkuS3LnSAXZADXAkl_m5OhIvNjw044iVbcTcuP0UDkTTx_JwNksusjLrRQQeLdZM7HhO70StO_ktjlTV_9_du_UZUFzLhqwrmZm3YPdAItfPpSlEMxRj/s785/b358ac5ce9895542f59d24f6158bff18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="785" data-original-width="564" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv7hV_I8qGEXMc2fK7nCRaq1dPVKNIH-nQZnAdWeVhpb7uhnGVum5PQjIU971ubrRzSlPFbdlcFkuS3LnSAXZADXAkl_m5OhIvNjw044iVbcTcuP0UDkTTx_JwNksusjLrRQQeLdZM7HhO70StO_ktjlTV_9_du_UZUFzLhqwrmZm3YPdAItfPpSlEMxRj/w460-h640/b358ac5ce9895542f59d24f6158bff18.jpg" width="460" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Six weeks ago, I awoke to find myself stuck to my living room floor covered in pine sap and tinsel. Two squirrels were giving me the stink eye and clutching their nuts. I felt shock and awe when I realized I’d ripped my neighbors pine tree out of their yard and brought it home to decorate. I’d never sleep walked before, so a major concern was my neighbors would follow the trail of dirt from the hole in their garden to the front door of my house.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Several nights later, I was startled awake by the smoke alarm blaring. My head was stuck in a mixing bowl of cookie dough and there was an oven mitt on my foot. Evidently, I was baking cookies in my sleep and a timer was not part of my stupor. With singed eyebrows, I doused the fire and threw out the charcoal briquettes I’d lovingly baked.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Over a mug of hot chocolate and sixteen sugar cookies, I put on my Nancy Drew thinking cap and tried to figure out what was happening. My Christmas mojo was in extreme overdrive. “I’m holiday unhinged,” I told the deranged Dough Boy staring back at me from my bathroom mirror. My face was covered in flour, raisins, and chopped nuts. If I didn’t get help the Pillsbury Sanitarium had a bed with restraints ready for me.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">My partner insisted I call my doctor when he woke to find a wreath around his neck and holiday lights strung across the headboard. “I’m just overly excited about Christmas.” I said while dousing myself with Gucci Claus cologne. Several days later, blackouts during the day hours started. I tried to kiss a random woman in Bed, Bath and Beyond just because she was holding some plastic mistletoe.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Later that evening, I found myself wandering aimlessly in a Christmas Tree lot. I already had my stolen tree so why was I trying to tie a Douglas Fir to the top of my car. The police called my sister to remove me from City Hall when I demanded to know when the Christmas Festival, caroling and ice sculpture contest was taking place. The town council had nothing planned so I threatened the mayor with a shank of ribbon candy.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Warm egg nog baths and $3,000 worth of purchases to Balsam Hill was the sugar cookie that broke the elf’s back. I was rushed to Urgent Care and soon found myself sitting on an examining table atop that thin sheet of tissue like an unwrapped gift. Blood was drawn, x-rays were performed and there were extensive questions asked.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Some of the inquiry didn’t seem relevant. Like did I have cable and had I used my DVR? The doctor looked at me knowingly and informed me my condition was serious but not terminal. I was suffering for Hallmark Holiday Hysteria (HHH). I had entered the Countdown to Christmas and it was driving me into a festive frenzy. My blood sugar level had risen to near diabetic levels from all the overblown sweetness I was consuming. It’s a comfortable numb – like being fed a candy canes with anesthesia. How easy it is to become addicted.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif; font-size: medium;">The day after Halloween the holiday movies start rolling off the assembly line as quickly as cotton candy from Willy Wonka’s factory. One taste and you're hooked on the simple story lines, the explosion of holiday decorations and the festiveness oozing in high definition. It’s the finest Christmas crack you can get. Just like Russian State TV, the Hallmark station is all I can watch.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">My DVR is loaded with all the of the 2023 premieres. Binge watching is what leads to HHH. Being able to fast forward through commercials is mainlining to the yuletide center of your brainstem. They require little concentration because they’re all formula movies – same situations but different towns and pretty twentysomething people.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Each movie is like an encounter with a friendly drug dealer. You know what to expect and you’re always high after the visit. The doctor told me I needed a Snow Globotomy. It involved a rigorous twelve-step program. I needed to stay twelve steps away from my TV remote. I must turn my holiday addiction over to a higher power– the parental control on my cable. Block Hallmark and enjoy the holiday without a candy cane crutch.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">I felt pain in my Christmas balls knowing I had to say goodbye to Lacey Chabert</span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">and all the new movies I’d scheduled on my DVR. Goodbye Christmas Joy, Christmas Love, Christmas Peace, Christmas Lane. Do you see a pattern here? It’s not an original Hallmark film without the holiday in the name. There’d be no more quaint towns with names like Holly Cove, Cozy Creek or Poinsettia Port. My Norman Rockwell visions were feed to a shredder. I’d have to survive without fake snow, the trips to the tree lot and the all-important kiss that ended every movie.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Tears were shed for characters I admired and would not see, like the attractive Advertising Executive who leaves her seven-figure salary in the big bad city and returns to Kringle Ville to work part-time in a used bookstore. She discovers her true Christmas spirit living in a studio apartment, making minimum wage and falling madly in love with the owner of the tree lot.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">I wanted to lead such a wonderful life. How can I survive not curling up on the sofa and spending my weekend in holiday heaven? The doctor told me to avoid holiday programming, so I decided to watch CNN. There’s the frustration of news that is constantly breaking, and the mood deflator of stories coming out of Washington. No Jingles Bells here, but wait a minute, Wolf Blitzer has a reindeer name and looks like a news anchor Santa. All my filters are tinted red and green.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">“Oh, Hallmark! What did you do to me?” They rang the bells of Christmas and I “Fa la la la la” followed. The sleep walking and blackouts need to go away, so I’ll try the steps through the twelve days of Christmas. Peppermint Schnapps in my hot chocolate helps with withdrawals, and my urge to book a flight to the North Pole is dwindling. I’m learning to relax and just let my yuletide flow. No more hyperdrive to December 25th. I’ve taken down my<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><em style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Carol of the Smells </em><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">sign in the bathroom and returned the missing reindeer to the zoo.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Just when I was ready to give my candy cane boxers to Goodwill, I realized my silver lanes were all aglow again. Not every addict can get the elf off his back the first time. A real Christmas miracle had happened. Don’t dare tell my doctor, but I</span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> discovered the Lifetime Channel. There’s a whole lineup of holiday movies I haven’t seen. My remote finger is twitching and wassail is bubbling in my veins. So what if I stumble off a few steps? There are Lindor Truffles to cushion my fall. I’ll worry about the relapse in January. You know, the month right before the “Countdown to Valentine’s Day.” </span></p>SparksIgniteshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476684890675739692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357408429431954508.post-91297191865444760382023-12-19T20:24:00.000-05:002023-12-19T20:24:23.358-05:00Celebrity Skin is In <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7V-fx_99g9MpWsuvuzoWA7odudc1wIp5JdWv5W3cMoD_57zNoDfyO5G0iWlJVrextgDHZyhAHkztXTBFQuNK7dSKGL4V0ZaHklrqru8BBSV7AS1gZvjf792Sdq8nP0l8bogs_RkTlEbUINH2tGozk1mTSWicaVBMsUKUYpVbjBopjJKoSkmP6I3i8zuKP/s1280/treatment-3106609_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7V-fx_99g9MpWsuvuzoWA7odudc1wIp5JdWv5W3cMoD_57zNoDfyO5G0iWlJVrextgDHZyhAHkztXTBFQuNK7dSKGL4V0ZaHklrqru8BBSV7AS1gZvjf792Sdq8nP0l8bogs_RkTlEbUINH2tGozk1mTSWicaVBMsUKUYpVbjBopjJKoSkmP6I3i8zuKP/w640-h426/treatment-3106609_1280.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">In Hollywood, beauty is not skin deep. It’s lays on the surface where it’s been pulled, tucked, plucked, plumped and botoxed. Adoring fans don’t look at a star and say she has a kind personality. It’s more of, “look at those cheekbones and perky nipples.” Her face is a relief map of silicone and her nipples designer branded.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">With so many bits of epidermis nipped away each year, celebrity skin has accumulated to the point that a Frankenstein-style entertainer could be pieced together. Celebrities are a commodity so everything about them has value–– from public appearances, autographs, clothes that have touched their bodies to the extra skin they’ve discarded.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Instead of disposing the by-product of a new imagined beauty, a corporation, Dermatron, has been born. This company sells the excess skin of the stars to patients in need. “There’s suddenly a huge demand for well-known flesh. We’re going to change the complexion of reconstructive surgery techniques,” advised Aretha Alopecia, CEO and founder of Dermatron.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Located in Simi Valley, CA, the headquarters for Dermatron, nicknamed <i>Skin City</i>, stores and distributes epidermis, dermis and hypodermis around the globe. “We’re the only company supplying award-winning tissue to the general public. We have real skin in the game.” Vince Vitiligo, Marketing Manager, told reporters.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“Hospitals and medical practices on the cutting edge of technology are requesting inches of skin everyday,” Vitiligo said.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Procedures using the high-profile product have been very successful. Although, some unusual circumstances have followed.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Addie Poser, from Elbow’s Bend KY, suffered a third-degree burn after her deep-fried Thanksgiving Butterball exploded. In the burn unit, she was given the brochure for Dermatron and selected a pound of Dolly Parton.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“I was beyond thrilled to know the skin graft had once been attached to my idol Dolly,” Addie said. “It was a miracle to see my arm looking as good as Dolly’s face. The weird thing is two weeks after the surgery I ordered a banjo from Amazon and started playing “Jolene.” </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Addie now performs every weekend at Pappy’s Country Lounge in Nashville. “I couldn’t sing a lick before and now I’m a strumming and a singing.” Addie performs under the stage name Betty Jo Butterball in honor of the turkey that brought her and Dolly together.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Wilhelmina Whitehead, heiress to the Whitehead whitefish fortune, lost the sole of her foot in a tragic pedicure accident and received skin retrieved from Meg Ryan. A month later Ms. Whitehead was arrested after breaking into the home of Tom Hanks. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“I wake up thinking Mr. Hanks has got mail for me and I must rush to him.” He just gets under my skin,” Wilhelmina explained. Whitehead has completed two months of community service and has a restraining order issued against her. “I know I’ll meet Tom one day. I’m at the top of the Empire State Building every Valentine’s Day.”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Helen Hiveson, from Poughkeepsie, received tissue from Madonna for breast reconstruction surgery. Six weeks after, she was banned from Saint Ignatius of the Mentally Weak Catholic Church. She wore a leather thong to Easter services and exposed her new boobies to the parish priest. She said her breasts were shiny and new and needed to be touched for the very first time.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Linda Lyme, told reporters that her mother’s skin cancer surgery ruined their relationship. Annabelle Lyme required a graft after cancer cells were excised from her cheek. “Mom requested a batch of frozen Joan Rivers. Two days after the surgery she kept calling me asking, “Can we talk?” After seventy-calls in one hour, I blocked her phone and I’ve changed my number.”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Linda said she was hoping her Mom would get over the Joan mania but last week Annabelle began selling jewelry on HSC.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Renowned Plastic Surgeon, Matthew Melanoma, published an article in the New England Journal of Medicine about the bizarre behaviors related to celeb skin. Dr. Melanoma said talent lies in the DNA and these blue-collar patients are absorbing characteristics of their famous donors.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“We need to focus on the bits and scraps of D-List personalities like contestants from Dancing With the Stars and Celebrity Big Brother. Weak DNA should settle things down,” Alopecia said.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">But like Addie’s story, everything isn’t negative. Dan Dandruff, a giant Fanilow, received several yards of skin from Barry Manilow for his groin surgery. Dandruff says he will revitalize the music world when he begins writing all the songs. Right after physical therapy, where he’s trying to get the feeling again. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>SparksIgniteshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476684890675739692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357408429431954508.post-83592167882831942512023-08-11T10:55:00.000-04:002023-08-11T10:55:45.057-04:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvqZs2GdyuZdi9uXcK7vpTmjP0BnNdfVqElGuNmHFkQPBEcBEhO1qhEcpu8Pl_WWSh1q71SS1PlJsSyJSIXBHYdOX-vqpU0OzosEKugldsJVAvy4lFs8A9LLdp3wLfHOaUbAlRQO771wCrkKhpGFptGchxEl0CLeHlCPX7T6FYJCHuMGx48UVgv4Kw_Jsc/s1280/embryo-159690_1280.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1101" data-original-width="1280" height="344" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvqZs2GdyuZdi9uXcK7vpTmjP0BnNdfVqElGuNmHFkQPBEcBEhO1qhEcpu8Pl_WWSh1q71SS1PlJsSyJSIXBHYdOX-vqpU0OzosEKugldsJVAvy4lFs8A9LLdp3wLfHOaUbAlRQO771wCrkKhpGFptGchxEl0CLeHlCPX7T6FYJCHuMGx48UVgv4Kw_Jsc/w400-h344/embryo-159690_1280.png" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">San Francisco, CA – Each year everyone receives the same platitude— “Happy Birthday!” As with all humans on the planet, we’ve taken a trip through the birth canal. We’re yanked into a harsh world feeling cold, limp and definitely uncoordinated. There are no gifts or a cake with candles. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The event is our physical ‘Birthday Day.’ All years following are just the anniversaries of the day we were born. We’re never truly born again. Unless, of course, we donate to <i>Johnny Hallelujah’s Ministry of Mother Mary Bejesus, Son of God, Who saved Mary Magdalene from Prostitution and Hang Out with Seven Apostles, Baptist Church and Theme Park. </i>Then spiritually you’re born again. You’ll also receive a lifetime pass to the Escape from Sodom and Gomorrah Water Slide.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">If you’re not into religion, it’s now possible to reexperience your first birthday. The Welcoming Womb Rebirth Center, in San Francisco, just opened its doors ten centimeters. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Jovan Musk, Elon’s sister, is the CEO and creator of the Center. Cutting edge technology creates the closest experience to the actual birth process for anyone who’s not a fetus. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“No-one recalls their birth. But, with our ground-breaking new ‘Happy Rebirth Day’ procedure, adults are able to relive their first hours free of the umbilical cord. A team of dedicated scientists, former Disney Imagineers and a freelancing gynecologist developed our exclusive interactive event.” Musk said.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The cost of ‘Happy Rebirth Day’ depends on the length of your mother’s labor and whether it was natural, cesarean or you were plopped out into the back of a taxi. According to Musk the median cost is $75k. You’re also able to purchase an at home package for a discounted rate. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Susie Spock, Director of the Rebirth Center, outlined the birth process for adults. “After you’ve met with a trained consultant and selected a preferred labor and delivery, you’ll enter the center five days prior to your rebirth day,” she explained.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“With access to the Musk Maternity Machine, you choose to be naked or placed in a prenatal thong designed by Louis Vuitton. Then you’re suspended in your own personal amniotic sac.” (You can select fragranced amniotic fluid from a wide variety of scents, e.g., Breaking Floral Waters, Warm Vanilla Womb, Peachy Placenta and Preemie Pumpkin Spice).</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Spock went on to explain, “In the fetal position, you’ll receive selected pureed delicacies through a feeding tube. The <i>Womb with a View</i> menu is prepared by famous chefs. You’ll wear headphones which create the sounds of being in the womb.”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">According to literature from the center and previous clients, you’re aware of your parents fighting over crib assembly, swollen ankles, money and a mother-in-law who thinks she’s Mary Poppins. Repeatedly, you’ll hear your mom say, “I’m nine months pregnant. Keep that thing away from me.” </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“To aid in the free-floating, fetal feeling we administer psilocybin (magic mushrooms) to our newly, unborn clients,” Spock said. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Members of the<i> </i><b>A</b>merican <b>B</b>iologists <b>O</b>pposed to <b>R</b>ebirth <b>T</b>ech (ABORT) have protested Musk’s trip into the womb. “Giving naked adults suspended in a liquid sac, psychedelic drugs is a dangerous.” Danny Darwin, Spokesperson for ABORT told a Congressional Select Committee investigating ‘Adult Babies in a Bag.’</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Florence Paris Alexandria Marriott testified that for four days she thought she was trapped inside her Hermes handbag. “It was a terrifying experience. I couldn’t move because my Ferrari keys were wrapped around my legs. I was forced to suck on a stale mint I dug from the bottom of the purse,” she sobbed.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Musk stated that as soon as they were alerted to distress in Womb #3, the dosage of drugs was modified and Marriott settled into normal prebirth status. Marriott’s delivery was normal and she went home in a Versace onesie.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Marriott reports that the Rebirth has left her mentally scarred. She’s now in Accessories After the Fact Therapy with famed psychologist Francis Ford Freud. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Spock adamantly defends the process. “We have trained Contraction Consultants who massage the sac as the labor protocol is initiated. They attach the Dyson Vacuum birth canal for easy delivery. Giant animatronic hands grasp the adult newborn and smack them around for a few minutes. The miracle of rebirth is unimaginable unless you’ve been through it.” </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Cheyenne Cody Crocket, billionaire Wyoming rancher, swears it was the best experience he’s ever had. “Being pulled through a huge rubber vajajay was far more exhilarating than lassoing my first wife or branding my first ranch hand. I plan to do it again after I wrestle the current Miss Wyoming in a giant vat of pork and beans. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Controversary grows over the prices and procedures of the Welcoming Womb Rebirth Center. Not every client is a happy one. Penny Partum told Congressional Committee members she was cheated out of $10k when she purchased the At Home Rebirth Kit. “I was advised I’d receive the same rebirth experience as if I was onsite at the center. This was terrible false advertising.”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“I paid $250 for the delivery of a huge crate which contained a large Hefty bag (the amniotic sac), a slip and slide (the birth canal), a jar of Vaseline, a box of pampers and a pacifier,” Partum said. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“The instructions were for me to shove myself into the plastic bag and have a family member dunk me in the bathtub. I was advised to ask a loved one to feed me strained peas and carrots through a turkey baster twice a day. For my official rebirth, my chosen labor facilitator should spread out the slip and slide, preferably on a staircase, coat it with Vaseline and push me out of the Hefty bag.” </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Partum testified, “Right after my delivery, I was rushed to Urgent Care. As I picked up speed heading down the birth canal, I exited out my patio slider and through the wall of my neighbor’s garage. Later, I was arrested for indecent exposure and destruction of property. My neighbors weren’t impressed it was my birthday celebration.” </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Lawsuits have been filed against Musk’s Rebirth Centers. They are under investigation for fraud, bribery, medical malpractice and diaper rash. ABORT will continue to fight for the closure of the center. Musk says they will fight the bogus claims against them. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“The experience of our satisfied clients far outweighs a few disgruntled individuals.” Musk said.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“The Rebirth Center is a labor of love. We offer everyone with an Amex Black Card the experience of a lifetime. All other detractors are just after birth,” Spock told reporters. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">An unidentified source just released a waiting list of rebirth clients. The list includes many Washington politicians and celebrities. First on the list is Mitch McConnell. “He’s an easy client since he’s already in diapers,” the source reported. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Chris Christie is currently last on the list due to the center’s current technology. The source advised us, “Womb workers are busy trying to develop a birth canal big enough for large clients. Rubber can only stretch so far. Right now, we’re looking at an opening the size of the Fort Lee onramp to the George Washington Bridge. It’s where the rubber meets the road. If we don’t figure it out chubby fetuses will be backed-up for miles.” </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>SparksIgniteshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476684890675739692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357408429431954508.post-60474468656032687602023-07-28T18:52:00.000-04:002023-07-28T18:52:20.675-04:00The Worst of Times<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1fJ0Wmtto9CQvUD5apDApO6P7PQZyKcxdv-h6MMT569zhqNL-MWyMUqVkgNlawMpLSHhX9qEz-36ht3bHoM44kilL6dIoHbZ2vPY_z6-BwxDHBFeIlxq2vw_UiXLFRoi3hHK6g4-TVdJyKuvGCN3iu8ILP6wBXp77NWPjFcFkVqAxAjPX_p5SNPGBTi28/s1280/times-square-6764339_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1fJ0Wmtto9CQvUD5apDApO6P7PQZyKcxdv-h6MMT569zhqNL-MWyMUqVkgNlawMpLSHhX9qEz-36ht3bHoM44kilL6dIoHbZ2vPY_z6-BwxDHBFeIlxq2vw_UiXLFRoi3hHK6g4-TVdJyKuvGCN3iu8ILP6wBXp77NWPjFcFkVqAxAjPX_p5SNPGBTi28/w640-h426/times-square-6764339_1280.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">There’s the best of times, there’s the worst of times. Mostly, it’s the worst. I’m talking Times Square. The place where the ball drops on New Year’s Eve. We all think Times Square is the place to be in NYC. Actually, it’s nothing but a brightly lit tourist trap on steroids.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Being in the center of Times Square is like being a mouse in the electronics department at Best Buy. You’re surrounded by thousands of beady eyes all fixated on the surrounding LED and Jumbotron screens while fellow rodents step on your tail trying to get a better view. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">They say New York is so nice they “named it twice.” But, you won’t mention Times Square twice, unless you’re making a 911 call. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“Hello 911, how can I assist you?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“Help, I’m in Times Square.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“What’s the problem?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“I’m in Times Square.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Around 1892 the area now known as Times Square was the center for the horse carriage industry. It was called Longacre Square. This was way before Elmo and the Naked Cowboy immigrated to Manhattan. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Evidently fossils of horse droppings linger around Red Lobster and the Bubba Gump Shrimp Company, because the summer heat stirs aromas that go far beyond “<i>peel and eat.” <o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i> </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The area grew into a low entertainment district with vaudeville theaters and was nicknamed <i>Thieves Lair</i>. Pickpockets were as plentiful as Trump Bobble Head dolls now adorning the windows in 42nd Street souvenir shops. Today the pickpockets have moved to Wall Street and deal in hedge funds and cryptocurrency. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">In 1904 the New York Times moved operations to a skyscraper on 42nd Street and the area was named Times Square. Theaters, hotels, music halls and Howard Johnson’s brought culture. It was called ‘HoJo’s” because the waitresses were working the counters and the alleys. There weren’t many tips selling fried clams, but bearded clams behind the dumpster was a cash cow. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The ball drop began on New Year’s Eve in 1907. Mobs of people showed up to watch a ball slide down a pole to let them know the new year had arrived. It really was a feat because in such frigid temperatures it’s hard to get any balls to drop. Today, a crowd of one million celebrates in Times Square— rain or shine. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Everyone is herded into pens like Conagra cattle. They’re handed party hats and noisemakers and stand there for hours. No public restrooms, no place to sit while drunk strangers from Beaver’s Hole, Wyoming, scream “New York, New York” into their ears. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">So, I say, “Enjoy the dawn of a new year with a pair of cold, soggy Depends™ and swollen ankles. I don’t want to hear about your PTSD– Post Times Square Disease.” Evidently it’s about enduring the pain. A glass of champagne and a clock aren’t Survivor-like enough for you. But let me clue you in, you were voted off the island as soon as your diaper reached maximum capacity. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Times Square became the gateway to the theater district. Broadway brought in millions of out-of-towners who wanted to see the latest musicals. While bridge and tunnel housewives rushed to <i>Hello Dolly,</i> the husbands were sneaking around to 42nd Street to hear the Sound of Mona. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Times Square in the 60’s and 70’s became the seediest part of mid-town. Adult theaters, peep shows, sex shops and unscrupulous businesses like Trump Tanning Booths dominated what became known as the “Great Orange Way.” Fantastic Broadway shows continued to be produced. <i>Camelot</i> brought in the tourists while<i></i>Camel Toe brought in the cash. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Petty crooks and rats started avoiding the area between 42nd and 47th Street. You couldn’t cross the street without seeing prostitutes perform the dance of the seven Johns. Even <i>Peter Pan </i>featured Captain Hooker. Tinkerbell was pregnant and Peter Pan’s shadow was a pimp who claimed Peter owed him money for a night spent with Tiger Lily. Times were tough.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Mayor Ed Koch started to redevelop the area by moving the hookers to Hoboken and sticking the rest in the new Marriott Marquis. Theaters were renovated and new construction replaced the union offices of the Manhattan Union of Pimps. The Union President, Huggy Bear, moved to California and became a police informant. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">In the nineties, Rootin’ Tootin’ Rudy Giuliani continued to scrub Times Square clean. It evolved into the Disney Age of the 42nd Street. Mickey and his gang came in and took the old call girl and put her into Cinderella’s gown, and a tiara. She looked great from a billboard but up close you could still see track marks and a hot pink thong. This Cinderella’s looking for her 1999 Prince not the Charming one. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Rudy helped change the landscape of a New York landmark. Post 9/11, he became known as ‘America’s Mayor’. Since then, he’s become everyone’s crazy drunk uncle. Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer has more street cred. The former mayor has become a social media buffoon. With a diagnosis of dyetaxia (dementia from hair dye) his salt and pepper brain stem has left him, at best, incoherent. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">During recent testimony at the Department of Justice, Giuliani claimed he was responsible for the death of Osama Bin Laden. Rudy’s been working covert ops as agent .0007. He said although Obama and Hillary took credit for the mission that took down the 9/11 mastermind, he was the real assassin. In Operation Islamic Drag Race, he infiltrated Bin Laden’s secret compound disguised as one of his five wives— Rudilla Aman Fatima Giuliani Laden. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“With my professional makeup skills and a fierce head-to-toe barqa, I became part of the family. Osama called me his big desert rose. He was poisoned with a tainted Nathan’s Hot Dog I’d hidden in his Ramadan Baba Ganoush. Using my MAC foundation compact, I was able to tunnel out of the compound undetected.” <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Rudy reported he’d also spied on Hillary Clinton’s Pizza Porn Ring disguised as a pepperoni. “I uncovered they were using pineapple illegally smuggled from Hawaii as a topping.” FBI Director, Christopher Wray, advised Giuliani pineapple was shipped from Hawaii which is a US state. No smuggling was taking place. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The former mayor insists the corrupt DOJ and FBI hide all crimes committed by radical liberals. There’s a rumor Rudy plans on exposing Hunter Biden’s crimes by disguising himself as a laptop. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Giuliani’s successors continued to bring in new retailers, restaurants, media firms and bigger and brighter signs to Times Square. Everything about this area, referred to as “The Crossroads of the World” is over the top. It’s the most visited place globally with 360,000 pedestrians mobbing the area daily. Sponge Bob Square Pants should be handing out Xanax for my York State of panic. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The Hershey’s and M&M’s stores are selling a sugar rush to the huddled masses. Who doesn’t want to visit the mega M&M’s store and fight a crowd of candy addicted tourists drooling over a wall of M&M’s? Let’s spend $50 dollars for a bag of the exclusive Bloomberg Blueberry flavor. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The crack dealers might be gone, but the refined sugar withdrawals took their place. Wait until little Tommy from Crow’s Foot, Tennessee is back home pawning his mama’s engagement ring to score a two-pound Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. From New York City to the Betty Ford Clinic, it’s a natural progression.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">It’s a cacophony of noise. An assault to the nostrils. There’s nothing like summer heat to amplify Manhattan’s finest international fragrances. Enjoy the gentle wafts of curry, cilantro, garlic, onion, cumin, ginger, paprika, beer, whiskey and United Nations of body odor. Stop by a food truck and eat a falafel— you’ll feel awful. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Bring your kids so they can snap a photo with a favorite super hero or cartoon character. There’s anorexic Spiderman whose costume has more sags than a gastric bypass patient. See Optimus Prime transform his Jose Cuervo tequila into an empty bottle. They can converse with Elmo while he’s on a smoke break. Hear how his costume has given him an unidentified rash far below where you’d want to tickle him. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">There are many great places to visit in Manhattan that don’t involve being accosted just for walking. People who live in the city avoid Times Square at all costs. That’s an important fact left out of the brochures.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Instead, stroll 5th Ave. and ogle some Tiffany diamonds, visit galleries in Soho and admire modern art made from recycled breast implants. If you really must sightsee a geometric shape, checkout Columbus Circle. There’s a beautiful city away from ball drop central.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">If you really can’t tour the Big Apple without digging into the worm, just be ready for panhandlers, sidewalk merchants selling everything including black market kidney transplants, guides trying to sell you tickets for bus tours, Naked Cowboy wannabes, break dancers, and thousands of selfie takers. The perfect photo op is to pose with the Lady Liberty. She’s there wearing her robe, holding her torch, waiting to greet you. Watch the angle. On the closeups she looks a little manly. Wait! is that Rudy?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"> </span></p><p></p>SparksIgniteshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476684890675739692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357408429431954508.post-58793892649799662902023-07-20T12:23:00.002-04:002024-01-16T15:33:15.514-05:00The Job I Didn't Know I Had<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdVPE00OfFvT7JKqPWVX8ctDV9votbjlc_Sxe-10l79hFGEpGfgxHn8pbSawDinPiwog6JkNZgDCJjQ9Vdr0cQc2vm62q70dw9UtVc2KyRVz_cyyRkdqSGn6U6ROEClpfsYzWmutgA000D3oWE_y66z17Th6hAi7PjOaTRCwSm3qdxqDesLXv6aZKpGeFI/s564/f1b2a011ae293a727d071c9479f90c98.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="564" data-original-width="564" height="403" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdVPE00OfFvT7JKqPWVX8ctDV9votbjlc_Sxe-10l79hFGEpGfgxHn8pbSawDinPiwog6JkNZgDCJjQ9Vdr0cQc2vm62q70dw9UtVc2KyRVz_cyyRkdqSGn6U6ROEClpfsYzWmutgA000D3oWE_y66z17Th6hAi7PjOaTRCwSm3qdxqDesLXv6aZKpGeFI/w640-h403/f1b2a011ae293a727d071c9479f90c98.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: left;">I have several part-time jobs. Call me crazy but I don’t remember the application process or the interview. There was no offer letter or a benefits package. I work a flexible schedule. Whenever I decide to show up, I’m on the clock.</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: left;"> </span></div><p></p><p><o:p style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">I</o:p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">’m moonlighting at Shoprite, Target, Michael’s, Home Depot, Lowes, Walmart and occasionally some random store like CVS with one employee stocking shelves. It seems as if most big-box stores have decided the shopping experience should include self-checkout. I must bring my own shopping bags, peruse the store and work the registers. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">They put in self-checkout lanes as if it’s a perk we’ve been denied. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i><br /></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i>Dear Shopper,</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i> </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i>We’ve read your suggestions from our nonstop email surveys. We’re happy to say we’ve determined you don’t have enough to do navigating our stores, scanning each item with our extra savings phone app, and choreographing your aisle movements to avoid the fellow shopper who’s knocked down four store displays maneuvering a shopping cart, the size of a limo, which carries a three-year-old seated in an attached plastic car. So, we’ve made the experience more interactive. Enjoy the slow-moving lines where you’ll have the privilege to scan, search our 1,000-page produce directory, to weigh one tomato, and bag all your purchases. Yes, we’ve put you to work. <o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i> </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i>Remember to smile. You’re being recorded. As a non-employee employee, we want to insure you’re providing the best customer service to yourself. We’re always concerned about pilferage, and we don’t trust you to do the job we’ve not hired you to do. A qualified store security guard, who didn’t make it through the Police Academy, might have to search your purchases and frisk you in front of the in-store café. <o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i> </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i>Kindly comply with security or you might have to visit the employee lounge for a cavity search. Not only is it embarrassing for you, but think of poor Tyron who’s trying to eat his lunch. A word of caution: microwaves, flat screen TVs, air fryers and Keurigs have been confiscated. This leads to arrest and automatic termination. Don’t risk losing a job you don’t have. <o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i> </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i>Hopefully, you’ll work independently, but we do have Sales Associates who can assist you. (We no longer refer to our employees as salespeople.) They’re not just people, every individual is a skilled professional. They’re trained to look disinterested and annoyed when helping you search for merchandise.<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i> </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i>Equipped with high tech scanners, developed by rocket scientists, they can search for any item and tally how many are in stock. Usually there are one or two remaining that can’t be found on the premises— remember pilferage. <o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i> </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i>They might offer to check the stockroom, but be aware the stockroom doors lead to a parallel universe. The associate might not return. You don’t want their disappearance on your hands. Do you really want us to tell poor little Anna that her daddy’s not coming home because you wanted an extra can of Scrubbing Bubbles? <o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i> </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i>Not to worry, we’ve six in our Poughkeepsie location. It’s only an eight-hour drive or it can be shipped directly to the store. Then, you’ll have the privilege of accompanying it through the self-checkout process. Don’t forget to bring a reusable bag or you can buy one of our beautifully designed ones for doing the job yourself. <o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i> </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i>You’re more than just a loyal customer, you’re a member of our family. That’s why we’ve given you a job. A happy family works together. Think of yourself as an Honorary Associate without minimum wage renumeration. <o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i> </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i>Sincerely,<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i> </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i>Big Box Retailers Inc. <o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">So, I’ve had to learn how to properly operate the self-checkout machine. A learning curve is to be expected. There are touchscreens, scales, price scanners and an A.I. Karen inside who just wants to f**K with me. She has more instructions and warnings than a Marine Drill Sargent. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“Please scan your shopper card!”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“Please select your number of bags.”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“Please place your bags in the bagging area.”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“Please rescan your item.”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“Place item in the bagging area."</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“Unidentified item in the bagging area."</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">"I said, unidentified item in the bagging area!”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“Pay attention! Do I have to do all the work for you?”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“Do you really need two bags of chips? Watch your carbs chubby!”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“Unscanned item in the bagging area!”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“I saw you roll your eyes!”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“Unscanned item placed in bag!!”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“Call supervisor, Call Security!”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“Please select payment type.”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“What no cash cheapo?”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“I find it difficult to work with you.”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“I don’t like the way you touched my screen. I’m reporting you to HR.”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“Please take your receipt dummy!”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“Thanks, and have a nice day.”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">When I’m through the whole process, I rush home, down four dirty martinis and contemplate</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">online shopping. The thing is, although it’s the ultimate annoyance, I like picking out my own merchandise. I don’t want some random associate squeezing my melons. If the order is delivered wrong, then I’m back in the store anyway. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">For awhile, I instituted a moratorium on the self-checkout lines. I’d only deal with a live person. Stores are hiring less employees to work the checkout. There are usually only one or two registers open. The lines are always long. I’m the lucky one who gets in back of the woman, in her pajamas, with fifteen gift cards she wants to use for her purchases. “I think there might be five dollars left on this one. These three could have a couple of dollars. The rest I don’t know… Hehe!” <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Guess what? I know I’ve just developed checkout rage. Flannel faux pas is about to be rear-ended by my family-size bag of Twizzlers™. I’ve played Candy Crush four times, posted a pic of her pajamas on Facebook, and trolled six people on Twitter. At least I’m productive. We all know how important social media time is. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">After forty-five minutes, I can finally unload my cart. The frazzled store associate shoves my items across the scanner and asks if I’m a member of the Shopper’s Club. The only club I want to belong to is the One Percenters’, so my seventy-five personal assistants can day drink after surviving the indignity of the new retail experience.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Oh, by the way, I love when the highly skilled sales associate stands back, sucking a morsel of lunch from their tooth, while I do all the bagging. I still can’t bypass working and I haven’t attended employee orientation. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The other day, I filed a Workers’ Comp. claim at CVS. While using the self-checkout, I tripped over the ten-foot receipt and twisted my ankle. I got three coupons for toothpaste and floss plus a trip to Urgent Care. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">My friends and I plan to picket the Super Target near me— we’re demanding non-employee rights. We want longer break times and better vending machines in the non-employee lounge. It’s the least we expect for taking a job from someone who actually wanted one. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>SparksIgniteshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476684890675739692noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357408429431954508.post-91550785128192450392023-07-14T16:30:00.000-04:002023-07-14T16:30:08.851-04:00TATTLE TALES: The Real Dirt on Snow<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUb8Hk8VlvH5mKOOl39JT7V6DQ7ybKSHoNkyREEeiNv2MG8lBrvfhgG0k__vjWAnfLCvFxKm_pQdZsOdcSQkwhT4hP--PbD2LxzrpVVjT1MoXZzYUje3KMkOp5NFRr0EGJbYCID14EvBh1kkxVOiSCYLi_P8YpQMFHZme0BMhf4nfiS3VRCx03-rNidQl2/s1280/snow-white-g827cb6edb_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1280" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUb8Hk8VlvH5mKOOl39JT7V6DQ7ybKSHoNkyREEeiNv2MG8lBrvfhgG0k__vjWAnfLCvFxKm_pQdZsOdcSQkwhT4hP--PbD2LxzrpVVjT1MoXZzYUje3KMkOp5NFRr0EGJbYCID14EvBh1kkxVOiSCYLi_P8YpQMFHZme0BMhf4nfiS3VRCx03-rNidQl2/w640-h366/snow-white-g827cb6edb_1280.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b><i>This is a transcript of the interrogation of the infamous Dwarf Seven who are implicated in the disappearance and possible death of the Princess Snow White.<o:p></o:p></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i> </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><u>August 8, Once Upon a Time<o:p></o:p></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Present: The Dwarf Seven: Bear, Otter, Twink, Jock, Diva, Daddy & Chub<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Interrogator: Constable, Jack B. Nimble<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Stenographer: Retta Riding Hood<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Constable Jack</b>: This is official dwarf testimony in the case of the missing Princess, Snow White. This crime was first brought to my attention when it was reported a body had been stolen from a glass casket in the Enchanted Forest. The Three Little Pig Detectives responded to the anonymous tip which lead to the residence of the Dwarf Seven.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Daddy will act as the spokes-dwarf for the group. Although, all dwarfs are encouraged to corroborate the details. I plan to separate the fact from the fiction of this tale. Please share how you came to know the Princess Snow White.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Daddy Dwarf:</b> The manic princess broke into our Enchanted Forest cottage. She trashed the place and hid in Twink’s bed. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Constable Jack:</b> How did she trash your home?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><b>Daddy Dwarf:</b> She left food containers and wrappers all over the place. Seems she was<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">having a bad day and was binge eating everything. Her giant slippers were on the coffee table, she left a huge bra hanging from the shower rod and used Otter’s pillow to make a tampon. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Jock Dwarf:</b> The bra almost strangled Diva. Later, we used it as a hammock since her fat butt wouldn’t give up Twink’s bed.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Daddy Dwarf:</b> Twink found her sleeping on his mattress and said she was snoring like dragon in heat. She’d tried to wear one of his nightshirts and it was ripped everyway but loose. Poor Twink saw parts of Snow White even Prince Charming hadn’t seen. Now, he’s in therapy twice a week with Dr. Suess. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Constable Jack:</b> What was Snow White’s reason for breaking into your home?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Daddy Dwarf: </b>She said she was hiding from the Queen— her evil step-mother. The Queen wanted her dead. That wasn’t surprising. In our business we deal with wicked queens all the time. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Constable Jack: </b>It’s reported that you work in a mine. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><b>Daddy Dwarf: </b>That’s fake news. We own a dance club called the Mine Shaft.<b> </b>We’re business partners and polyamorous dwarfs. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Constable Jack: </b>For the record. You’re all gay?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Daddy Dwarf:</b> Dude! We live in an “Enchanted Forest.” We hang out with fairies, pixies, elves, wood nymphs, leprechauns, and we’re into fairy tails. Plus, we sing and dance all day. You tell us. <b><o:p></o:p></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Constable Jack:</b> Umm, okay. Why did the Queen want Snow White dead?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Daddy Dwarf:</b> She said she was jealous of her beauty. But, that was difficult to believe. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Diva Dwarf:</b> Gurl! What a tall tale. This chick was so pale she was translucent. Her hair was so black she had a moustache and a unibrow. I got out my tweezers and plucked that b***h like a chicken. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Daddy Dwarf: </b>The princess said her<b> </b>mother named her Snow White so she’d be pure of heart and body. After a few weeks with us and the stories she told about the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker and Prince Charming, we knew this Snow had been blown, shoveled and plowed. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Diva Dwarf:</b> That’s why we sing “Hi Ho!”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Constable Jack:</b> Why did you let her stay?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Daddy Dwarf:</b> She offered to cook and clean, but she lied. Most of the time Snow was pretty frosty. We learned the hard way that a princess doesn’t do much— they have servants to wait on them. When we asked her to prepare a meal, she ordered chicken from Royal Farms. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Otter Dwarf:</b> She said her true talent was singing to the woodland creatures. Her voice was pitchy and shattered eardrums. She killed a family of bunnies. They’re fuzzy heads exploded. The blue bird of happiness tried to peck out its own ears. She couldn’t carry a tune in Jack & Jill’s pail. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Twink Dwarf: </b>It’s<b> </b>Cinderella who has the most beautiful voice in the kingdom. She’s blowing up the dance floor with her new hit “I’m Tired of Balls.” <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Constable Jack: </b>It’s reported you helped poison Snow White. Did you try to get rid of her?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Daddy Dwarf:</b> We didn’t poison or harm her. We only wanted her to move out before she ruined our cottage. Our bathtub was clogged every day after she washed her huge granny panties. Jock offered to send the queen information of where Snow was laying low. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Jock Dwarf:</b> I work out with a couple of fairies who know Rumpelstiltskin. Seems like Rumpel sells gold chains to the Queen. So, I spread the word about where little Miss White Bread was hanging. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Daddy Dwarf:</b> We didn’t realize that Snow actually underplayed how crazy mad this Queen was. Evidently, this woman thinks she’s got a talking mirror who tells her everything. It’s really just Tinkerbell pranking this dimwit. Tink tells the Queen to come save the dwarfs from the Curse of the Anemic Tart.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Chub Dwarf:</b> The Queen’s into costumes so she disguises herself as an old, beggar woman. She brings some kind of rotten Granny Smiths and the princess of gluttony eats one. I ask you, who would take a bad piece of fruit from a stranger roaming in the middle of the forest? <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Diva Dwarf</b>: “Hi Ho! Hi Ho! She’s got no brains we know.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Daddy Dwarf:</b> We get home from the Mine Shaft that night and Snow is passed out on our doorstep. She’s drooling apple juice and passing high octane. I call Dr. Dolittle but he won’t see her because she’s not in his network. We send a message to Prince Charming but he’s away for the weekend with Dame Edna.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">We try to revive her by snapping her bra straps but Snow ain’t defrosting. Either she has a serious fruit allergy or she’s dead. I know we should have called the Three Pigs but we didn’t want the attention. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Chub Dwarf: </b>I’d read in Sleeping Beauty’s memoir <i>I, Aurora</i> that “love’s first kiss” is a cure for wicked Queen fruit baskets. But, according to Snow she had had more kisses than a Hershey factory. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Bear Dwarf: </b>I found a pretty glen miles away in the forest and we drug her there so if she woke up she couldn’t find us. We contacted the butcher and baker hoping they’d take her off our hands. The butcher offered us an empty deli case so she’d stay fresh if she wasn’t in an apple coma. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Diva Dwarf:</b> I did her hair and makeup. That princess could rock some red lipstick. She looked as fierce as any anemic corpse could look.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Twink Dwarf</b>: Amen! Snow Girl. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Daddy Dwarf:</b> From the goodness of our gay little hearts, we held a service for Snow and invited all the woodland creatures. The ceremony was cut short when rabbits started throwing rocks at the case. They remembered her explosive voice. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">We left Snow surrounded by nature and a sign that read: Free Princess Available for Marriage or Medical Science. Six months later, two old trolls said that the princess was no longer under glass. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Jock Dwarf:</b> I learned from my workout bros that Prince Charming came and took Snow White away. Either a kiss worked or the prince was into dead chicks.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Constable Jack:</b> Do you have any knowledge of the evil Queen’s whereabouts? <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Daddy Dwarf:</b> Our club is right next to the Rumor Mill where stories are served up fresh every day. The latest gossip is she disguised herself as a Slovenian model and lives in a castle called Mar-a-Lago. They say she’s been trying to poison an orange dude with a bucket of chicken. But, you didn’t hear that from me. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Constable Jack:</b> I appreciate your candor in this most unusual case. I will send All the King’s Men to search for the Queen in hiding. When she’s apprehended, your story will have a happy ending. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">In the meantime, have some alarms installed in your cottage. You don’t need another run-a-way royal breaking down your door. I hear there’s a Prince Harry at large. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Daddy Dwarf:</b> We have called Big Bad Wolf Security. He specializes in home invasions.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b>Constable Jack: </b>Thank you gentle dwarfs. This concludes my questioning. You are now free to sing, dance and have a gay-old-time. Let this be a lesson for the Dwarf Seven. There’s only bad press when you don’t know how to deal with Snow business. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i> </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i> </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>SparksIgniteshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476684890675739692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357408429431954508.post-65455924573893296632023-06-30T13:46:00.001-04:002023-07-02T09:15:26.912-04:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXR2EWrN9C_rsb8faG7l_8LT7upgzQ05WlktfPC9KDTiQu-yb1qVy91s_2xI-8feCm0ctjtUCglp_sjVEUMd_NFKZbp8CLX1SsIm1C2f4SDyTg-QmlMNp2-rzZSrDGlyIgWYyOJbME4jL2wy4jml7tyShinXExXcZuvi-pItheOKgxBhQnW9C_Q90zWDOh/s1280/bathroom-g93b2dbb74_1280.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="601" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXR2EWrN9C_rsb8faG7l_8LT7upgzQ05WlktfPC9KDTiQu-yb1qVy91s_2xI-8feCm0ctjtUCglp_sjVEUMd_NFKZbp8CLX1SsIm1C2f4SDyTg-QmlMNp2-rzZSrDGlyIgWYyOJbME4jL2wy4jml7tyShinXExXcZuvi-pItheOKgxBhQnW9C_Q90zWDOh/w640-h300/bathroom-g93b2dbb74_1280.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <span face="Calibri, sans-serif">I don’t like public transportation, public pools, public parks, public forums, public opinion polls— See a trend? Anything involving the general population has never been a favorite. But of all things, the worst are public restrooms.</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span><p></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">They’re the scourge of humanity. A porcelain Temple of Doom. Any place where a group of strangers congregates to take care of bodily functions is nightmare adjacent. </span></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">From the time I was a child, I feared the boy’s room. At my elementary school, the class took a bathroom break together. We walked single file to the lavatory like a chain gang.</span></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">The restroom was in the basement of the old schoolhouse. It was a dungeon with plumbing. I guess my life was sheltered. I wasn’t part of any pre-school gang— no Cribs versus the Binkies. No Romper Room rumble. My knowledge of bathrooms was a potty chair. </span></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">Urinals were alien to me. I didn’t grow up with The Big Golden Book of Urinals. Taking a wall</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">whiz was not in my frame of reference. The first time I saw them, I thought they were porcelain teleporters from Star Trek. </span></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">My classmates stood facing them and were unzipping their pants. Was this a secret identification process? Were they waiting to be sent to Uranus? “Pee me up Scottie.”</span></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">One of the most distinct bouquets is a wall of urine scented porcelain being masked by an equally smelly deodorant block. They’re often called urinal cakes, but I’ve never seen one at a bakery</span></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">“Let’s surprise Grandpa and order a urinal cake for his birthday, he didn’t like the red velvet last year” is a statement I don’t ever want to hear. </span></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">So, starting in kindergarten, I knew that I wouldn’t be working anything out in the boy’s room. I’d not take part in a bladder brigade. Also, everyone assumed if you disappeared into a stall, there was more serious work to be done. The boys would yell, “Vince is going swimming with Winnie the Pooh.” </span></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">I didn’t need the pressure, so I avoided all of it and simply did my catwalk around the room, washed my hands and exited back into the hall. I’d hold it until I went home for lunch. I transformed into a human camel and could hold liquids tighter than Tupperware. </span></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">I avoided public facilities for years, but there comes a time when entering the forbidden zone becomes necessary. You can’t always wait until you can perch on your own private Kohler. If you’re like me, before entering, there’s a brief period of meditation, a silent prayer for cleanliness and a countdown so you can be in and out faster than</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span><i style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">breaking news</i><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">on CNN. </span></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">It’s a rare treat to find a clean, well-kept restroom. When it happens, it’s like having a wonderful meal. I want to yell out. “Have you tried the men’s room? It’s fantastic. Don’t leave before checking it out.”</span></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">Mostly, bathroom facilities are crime scenes. There’s paper outlining the floors. Finger prints of unknown materials dot the walls and mirrors and a green fog floats in the air. Choosing the correct stall is a lottery. If you win, you may enter. If you lose, your corneas will peel off your eyeballs. </span></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">Why can’t people flush the toilets? Is it one task too many? Lots of toilets now have sensors that automatically flush when the perpetrator stands. But, John Q. Public has reverse engineered the toilets to leave a parting gift— “You know Bob, I think I’ll take the Rice-A-Roni instead.”</span></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">For some reason the worst of all possible restrooms are treated like hidden gems. If you’ve ever stopped at a gas station, you have to make a special request just to get inside. They hold the key as if it were an object I will want to covet. It’s always attached to a car wheel, brick, or the ankle of a station attendant.</span></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">Why would I want to take the key? I don’t even want to see what madness awaits me behind the dented, metal door. If I had a shovel and the strength to dig a hole along I-95, I wouldn’t even stop. </span></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">A parallel universe exists inside a men’s or women’s room. The room temperature, the </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">air quality, the lighting, the acoustics, and the smells change. There’s a mixture of cleaning products, body odors and sulphur wafting from hell’s air vents. I’ve had so much practice holding my breath, I could dive to the Titanic without a submersible.</span></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">Once inside, I hope the room is unoccupied. There’s nothing worse than someone using the stall next to me. I don’t need to see a bad choice in footwear and experience the aftermath of serious bodily issues. It’s always someone in extreme gastric distress who needs to grunt, groan and expel noises like</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7GMHl7bmlzw" style="color: #954f72; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Yoko Ono</a><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">(have a listen) trying to sing. The last octave that escaped into the echo chamber of the toilet, ruptured my eardrum. Thank you subway tiles, I’ve just had a doo-doo Dolby experience. </span></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">Why don’t they make stalls with complete walls? Because, it’s a public facility and we’re supposed to share as a community. Guess what? Can someone share the horror of my experience? The restaurant meal, I just ordered, has been ruined and I’m suffering PTSD (Public Toilet Stall Disorder). There’s no rest in this room. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>SparksIgniteshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476684890675739692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357408429431954508.post-67971840845305228572023-06-17T11:02:00.002-04:002023-06-17T11:02:58.108-04:00What's on the Menu at Mar-a-Lago?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgixXDzRMZkh2CYqC_5XA8raLZkRGLPJ6lRxSlg2E5jVCq2HrUSGHGzz1_KHZIZUbsY9YmQu6K1HIT4Boelf6JLiiOfWOtpMwKr3DEU-9jbtunpCRrRV55vsffNGEZDtb2U506WkKcB4WV5pq2liYmf3GD4gNKE_JzXtpWLStq76LY_aRGgzmweb2_7pA/s992/indictment-boxes-stage-6-pg10-ht-ps-230609_1686336785639_hpMain_16x9_992.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="558" data-original-width="992" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgixXDzRMZkh2CYqC_5XA8raLZkRGLPJ6lRxSlg2E5jVCq2HrUSGHGzz1_KHZIZUbsY9YmQu6K1HIT4Boelf6JLiiOfWOtpMwKr3DEU-9jbtunpCRrRV55vsffNGEZDtb2U506WkKcB4WV5pq2liYmf3GD4gNKE_JzXtpWLStq76LY_aRGgzmweb2_7pA/w640-h360/indictment-boxes-stage-6-pg10-ht-ps-230609_1686336785639_hpMain_16x9_992.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; caret-color: rgb(64, 64, 64); color: #404040; font-family: "Source Sans Pro", sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">Palm Beach, FL – As part of the FBI and Dept. of Justice probe into missing classified documents, it was discovered that Mar-a-Lago’s Club Restaurant added box lunches to its menu in 2022.</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; caret-color: rgb(64, 64, 64); color: #404040; font-family: "Source Sans Pro", sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">Helena Rubenschmaltz, a club member of Trump’s resort stated, “They were like big Happy Meals that came with a top-secret document.”</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; caret-color: rgb(64, 64, 64); color: #404040; font-family: "Source Sans Pro", sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">“I ordered the People’s Republic of Chinese Chicken Salad and received a big white box with a sandwich and classified information about China’s nuclear capabilities,” Rubenschmaltz told investigators.</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; caret-color: rgb(64, 64, 64); color: #404040; font-family: "Source Sans Pro", sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">According to waitstaff at the restaurant, they were told to promote the box lunch specials to all patrons. “We were advised to tell the diners to take the complimentary box home with them,” reported Guadalupe Maria Josefina Violeta Smith.</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; caret-color: rgb(64, 64, 64); color: #404040; font-family: "Source Sans Pro", sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">FBI agent, Hoover Hammersmyth, said that Trump was trying to move boxes through the resort’s food service.</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; caret-color: rgb(64, 64, 64); color: #404040; font-family: "Source Sans Pro", sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">Photos of boxes stored all over the Palm Beach resort were included in the federal indictment released on June 9.</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; caret-color: rgb(64, 64, 64); color: #404040; font-family: "Source Sans Pro", sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">“We seized one box next to Trump’s bed that was filled with ketchup packets and a letter from Ronald McDonald with the secret sauce recipe,” Hammersymth told a reporter for the New York Times.</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; caret-color: rgb(64, 64, 64); color: #404040; font-family: "Source Sans Pro", sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">Nikolai Kraft, Esquire, the Russian salad dressing tycoon, took a box home to his penthouse apartment in Manhattan’s Trump Tower. “I ordered the Putin Puttanesca which came on a bed of documents naming CIA assets in Moscow.”</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; caret-color: rgb(64, 64, 64); color: #404040; font-family: "Source Sans Pro", sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">When questioned about the disposition of the files, Kraft replied, “I might have sent a copy to my cousin Vladimir but you didn’t hear it from me.”</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; caret-color: rgb(64, 64, 64); color: #404040; font-family: "Source Sans Pro", sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">The multi-millionaire has been detained for further questioning at the Manhattan Men’s Detention center. “I hope someone will toss my salad, while I’m here,” he said.</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; caret-color: rgb(64, 64, 64); color: #404040; font-family: "Source Sans Pro", sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">The FBI found copies of the discontinued lunch menu in a paper shredder. Pieced back together, other box lunches included Ayatollah Khomeini Kabobs, Kim Jong Kimchi and Zelensky Zucchini Bread.</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; caret-color: rgb(64, 64, 64); color: #404040; font-family: "Source Sans Pro", sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">Former First Lady, Melania, was questioned about her knowledge of the boxes containing classified documents. “I know nothing about boxes. I only know about crate. Like one I shipped in from Slovenia,” she said.</p><p style="box-sizing: inherit; caret-color: rgb(64, 64, 64); color: #404040; font-family: "Source Sans Pro", sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">Operation Classified Cuisine continues and investigators hope to locate additional documents before more classified information is leaked. “Espionage party of four, you’re cell is ready.”</p>SparksIgniteshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476684890675739692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357408429431954508.post-88857773038445934602023-04-28T13:19:00.000-04:002023-04-28T13:19:03.291-04:00Our Dearly Departures<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsR8U-jb4L0rpJmIDfA4WLOk-LgROE4DDzBQlea2J409BohdmqeAmjRyh7W0LEcGbIK7-Mixbzz2zxkuLliZqsy8rpJSZ7M7L0f64vwMK8r0019ekq0a-VR6IH_xTKGSfZ6fV1P7EG0FpiCmfnE0RBjbqt0GEG6zbhEWjx-bdCMXvn9IEK_5bxCcz4SA/s1627/eiffel-tower-ga9631a98a_1920%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="912" data-original-width="1627" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsR8U-jb4L0rpJmIDfA4WLOk-LgROE4DDzBQlea2J409BohdmqeAmjRyh7W0LEcGbIK7-Mixbzz2zxkuLliZqsy8rpJSZ7M7L0f64vwMK8r0019ekq0a-VR6IH_xTKGSfZ6fV1P7EG0FpiCmfnE0RBjbqt0GEG6zbhEWjx-bdCMXvn9IEK_5bxCcz4SA/w640-h358/eiffel-tower-ga9631a98a_1920%202.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">Have you ever dreamt of a tomb with a view? If you’ve longed to live abroad, but weren’t able to escape your <a></a><span>nine-to-five</span><span class="MsoCommentReference"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span> </span></span></span>commitments at home, planning a trip at the end of a lifetime can be right at your cold, dead fingertips. <o:p></o:p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">Paul Bearer, LLC. International will plan your exclusive <i>Destination Funeral. </i>No need to pack bags for the last, endless vacation. Spend eternity surrounded by spectacular vistas and ages of history in the country of your choice. Don’t settle for a cemetery off Route 130 by the Super Walmart. Make your final journey the envy of your loved ones. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">Imagine your resting place situated on a cliff overlooking the blue Mediterranean Sea, a Parisian landmark where you can rub boney elbows with Oscar Wilde, Edith Piaf and rock star Jim Morrison, or be sprinkled discreetly in the Trevi Fountain where your final wishes come true. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">Why leave your assets to ungrateful family members? Spend them on a trip they’ll never forget. Your, embalmed or cremated remains, will be whisked off to a world-class destination with an entourage of selected mourners. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">We strongly recommend cremation for all our dead clients, as stringent regulations prohibit where corpses can be buried on foreign soil. Plus, travel in style on this final flight. You’ll be carefully hidden in a monogrammed Hermes carry-on bag instead of in the belly of the plane with the other luggage. <span> </span>(Special discounts are applied to preboarding cremation through our Burn to Earn program.) <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">You’ll rest comfortably in the overhead compartment while your immediate family enjoy the perks of flying first-class. They’ll be assigned a specially trained grief attendant who will provide just the right amount of sympathy as they bring you a third vodka martini.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">No tears will be shed as guests enjoy accommodations in a five-star hotel. A bereavement buffet will include local delicacies, unlimited champagne and delicious liqueur-filled chocolate caskets, urns and hearses designed by renowned chocolatiers. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">Your remains will be taken on a tour of your forever city. Mourners will see the wonders of the locations you fell in love with prior to you staring into a black abyss. If you choose the <i>Weekend at Bernie’s</i> package as an alternative to cremation, photos can be taken of you with family at favorite sites.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">Select your cadaver clothes and we’ll prop you against the Colosseum, Big Ben, the Acropolis or any international landmark. (Extra fees are applied to this special package. (Disguising a corpse as a travel companion takes our expert skills and palms must be greased to avoid arrests and a potential international incident.)<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">On the special day of checkout, a Cemetery Concierge will shuttle the remains to your Last Resort. An optional fireworks display can be provided with accompaniment of a personal playlist. Your mourners have several choices to conclude this once-in-a-death Destination Funeral. They can be chauffeured to the airport, remain at the location for several days of touring and shopping in your memory, or they can take our River Styx cruise.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">We offer Destination Funerals to meet most budgets. A list of some standard packages is provided. Also, we offer individualized experiences that will suit all your deathly needs.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 31.5pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b>The Olympic Flame</b> – Your final resting place will be a carefully hidden spot at the Acropolis. We will cremate your remains in a special Olympic Torch ceremony on the runway prior to your flight. (We have portable cremators to light you up at the location of your choice.) <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0in 31.5pt; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 31.5pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b>Stylin’ Stiff</b> – You and three guests will be treated to an afternoon at an exclusive designer boutique. There, you’ll be fitted for a bespoke outfit that would be the envy of the red carpet if you could walk it. Choose from Versace, Louie Vuitton, Chanel, etc. You’ll be drop-dead gorgeous in a Jean Paul Gaultier corset.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span> </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 31.5pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b>French Flambe</b> – Add a little alcohol and you’ll be cooked to a crisp as only the French<span> </span>can do it. Your family will dine at The Jules Verne Restaurant located in the Eiffel Tower. You’ll accompany them in an unmarked pine box hidden in a silver chafing dish.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0in 31.5pt; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0in 31.5pt; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">Receive a Michelin Star like the finest French Cuisine. Later you’ll be scattered over the rooftops of Paris when the pine box is accidently dropped from the top the legendary landmark.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0in 31.5pt; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 31.5pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b>Rest in Pizza</b> – Well done and ashy is how you’ll be after you’ve visited the Forno Italiano (Italian Pizza Oven). Your ashes will be arranged as a crust in a personalized pizza box. You choose the toppings. Do you want to sleep with the anchovies? Final accessories are up to you. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0in 31.5pt; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0in 31.5pt; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">You’ll be buried in the foothills of Rome while your family dines on pizza, pasta and gelato. Don’t worry about the carbs, you won’t gain a pound. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0in 31.5pt; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">Contact Paul Bearer, LLC International for a full listing of Destination Funeral Packages. We know you’re dying to hear more about our exclusive services. Why take a dirt nap in suburbia when you can sleep for eternity in the cradle of the Renaissance?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">Call 1-800-DECEASE. Our Eternal Rest Representatives are waiting for your first call to forever. </p><div><div><div class="msocomtxt" id="_com_1" language="JavaScript"><a name="_msocom_1"></a></div></div></div><p><br /> </p><style class="WebKit-mso-list-quirks-style">
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</style>SparksIgniteshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476684890675739692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357408429431954508.post-29673013631114653262023-03-24T16:49:00.000-04:002023-03-24T16:49:33.070-04:00Just for the Smell of It - A History of Fragrance <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjupODY8PoCDdjQrtlUCF7LUYodif4nroAXJYmyqD48iEZncN0Q1Tpfc93FfSLp1OaTQYfDWzPElN-RaMg1G1HPkjXHVpiwGZppU8git0A6ayNz3RGKasjxscg_-MQfRQqmnOijFIf0MmzxrsUugX5-T0q9i5jXLbOFZa4m5AyJJbnKH9WsExK9Ctxivg/s1920/still-life-838329_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1920" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjupODY8PoCDdjQrtlUCF7LUYodif4nroAXJYmyqD48iEZncN0Q1Tpfc93FfSLp1OaTQYfDWzPElN-RaMg1G1HPkjXHVpiwGZppU8git0A6ayNz3RGKasjxscg_-MQfRQqmnOijFIf0MmzxrsUugX5-T0q9i5jXLbOFZa4m5AyJJbnKH9WsExK9Ctxivg/w640-h426/still-life-838329_1920.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">We live in a world of smells. It’s one of our five senses and the one we’re most obsessed with. From ancient civilizations to now, we’ve been busy creating smells to hide other smells. Eliminating the funk for fabulous is the goal.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">From the primordial sludge, life began. The broth of creation surely didn’t smell like perfume. We didn’t evolve from a vat of Estee Lauder. There’s no record of its aromatic fragrance since whoever was crawling out forgot to take a sample. Scientists say the closest to the original gaseous mixture they’ve found is Campbell’s Hungry Man Soup. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Neanderthals and Cro Magnons weren’t big on keeping notes so we know little about prehistoric hygiene practices. Unfortunately, the one remaining family of Neanderthals, who lived in a trailer park in Tooberville, GA, disappeared in 1965. The family of Bob and Chrissy Homo-Erectomins, fled their Airstream when scientists started sniffing around. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Anthropologist, Margaret Mead, visited the trailer. She noted it appeared the family bathed in Jean Nate and shaved their unibrows to fit into the community. She followed the distinct scent to a train station, and discovered the family purchased tickets to California.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Several decades later, a team of researchers, including Marty Mead, Margaret’s grandson, located the missing link in L.A. They’d changed their name to Kardashian. “Who else but Neanderthals would display such primitive behavior and want to make a reality show? They do everything but squat in the woods and that’s probably just edited out of the broadcast,” Marty said in a 2010 interview. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Scientists use cave paintings and archaeological digs to learn what life was like in prehistoric times. In a 60,000-year-old cave near Barcelona, Spain, scientists discovered a hole which they assume was used for hot baths. During the excavation, clay bottles of caveman beer were found. Ugh Lite appeared to be the brew of choice. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">A daily routine of hunting for food and moving around rocks, left evenings free. Without T.V. or social media, early Neanderthals stared at each other or drew on cave walls. Having hot tub parties showed a leap forward to wet and wild nights. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Archeology Professor, Bartholomew Bonedigger, uncovered a cave painting in France which shows stick figures falling into a field of flowers. “This depicts the moment humans discovered they smelled worse than the bison they hunted. Man found out he wasn’t as fresh as a summer’s eve,” Bonedigger said. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">It’s believed the first perfume maker was a woman chemist from Mesopotamia. Chanel Nº. 5 B.C. was a revelation to Mesopotamian elite. Soon after, the Egyptians were also using perfumes to attract eligible pharaohs.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Cleopatra demanded a signature fragrance be created for her. She was the first woman to have her own perfume— Serpent. Advertised in hieroglyphics as the scent that made every woman feel they had the most alluring asp in Egypt. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">While Middle Eastern cultures used spices, herbs, burnt incense and the occasional dung beetle for an earthy bottom note, The Europeans, during the Middle Ages, turned to floral and garden scents. Lavender and rose oil was popular among the upper crusties. A bottle of rose oil was expensive. It could cost as much as two strong serfs, a buxom virgin and a mule. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Only royalty took baths on a semi-regular basis. They had servants to plunge their stinking bodies into tubs and slather them in fragranced oils. The slippery little rulers stuck cloves up their noses when forced to make an appearance before their subjects. They reluctantly traveled to funky town. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">It was a sweaty, grimy, putrid life for the village people. There was no YMCA where you could get yourself clean. The best you could do was grind flower petals and stick them in places that were the most offensive. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Young maidens would sew rose petals into their undergarments hoping to attract a man. When they married, the rose petals were removed. It was the dream of every young girl to be deflowered. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">When brave, brawny, knights went off to fight in the Hundred Years’ War, they would shove pine boughs into their suits of armor. The tin can outfit was kept forest fresh. It trapped offensive body odors percolating inside. Many knights on horse powered transporters were saved from keeling over. The tradition continues today with the tiny pine trees we hang in cars.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Andre Jovan, a member of the Knights Templar, was suspicious of his wife’s fidelity because of the red lights she lit in their chateau’s windows when he was away for the knights. To insure her celibacy, when called to battle, he doused her with the scent of a musk oxen to keep her odiferous to anyone checking out the lights. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Jovan Musk had a resurgence in the 1970’s. It seemed the animal smell drove women crazy under the red disco lights. The mating rituals of the musk oxen men were portrayed in the film <i>Saturday Night Fever</i>. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">By the 17<sup>th</sup> century, France was the center for perfume manufacturing. Royalty and the wealthy flocked to the Paris to bathe in the new scents. A carefully placed handkerchief sprinkled with perfume was used to mask the body odors of less than sanitary conditions. Stinky was the head that wore the crown. But, it was good to be the king. No one could tell him he smelled. Heads rolled when anyone stated, “Something royally stinks!” <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Marie Antoinette, bathed in cream to keep her skin soft. She’d then drenched herself in flowery fragrances. No one dared tell her she smelled like a cheese factory filled with lilacs. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">When several young women in Marie’s court snuck perfume out of Versailles, the lower classes began bragging they now smelled like a Queen— sour milk included. Le Pew Marie, the less expensive cologne version, was on every peasant’s Christmas list. The news carried back to the palace and Marie sent Royal Guards to confiscate all of the new cologne. The Queen scoffed, “Let them wear Avon!”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The villagers revolted leading to a six-month skirmish known as the War of the Noses. The dispute ended when village chemists formulated their own cologne, Marie Sans Tete, which translates to Headless Marie. It smelled of hyacinth, lilies of the valley with a base note of revolution. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The popularity of perfume and all things fragranced boomed in the industrial age. New factories left workers exhausted and drenched in sweat. Women and men disguised odors by tying sachets into their clothing. Often a handsome gentleman would turn heads with a carefully placed packet of cloves, sandalwood and cedar. An interested passerby would query, “Are you endowed by the gods or is it just that same old spice?” <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The titans of Wall Street and men of the Gilded Age needed a masculine fragrance. They thought to smell like an old leather boot or damp Jodhpurs was manly. The aroma of the locker room at the Knickerbocker Gym was distilled into men’s cologne. The scent was strong, pungent and named after its creator— William Wanker. Every man on Fifth Avenue wanted a bottle of Wille Wanker. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The demand was so high, Wanker couldn’t crank it out fast enough. Pushing his factory to the limit, a fire started while mixing flammable ingredients. William lost his life and his willie went up in flames. The remaining bottles were purchased for hundreds of dollars. Most of the stock was hoarded by tycoons. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Cornelius Vanderbilt was rumored to have ten Willies hidden in his closet. When a few Fifth Avenue mansions were demolished, old bottles of Willie Wanker were found hidden under floorboards. An auctioneer for Christie’s stated, “Anyone sitting on an old Willie could have a gold mine.” <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Perfume prices continued to escalate with time. Bottles can sell for hundreds of dollars. Blue collar workers and immigrants wanting to rid themselves of the factory floor smell needed cheaper products. Luckily, Michele Bidet, a French immigrant, began bottling toilet water. She discovered mixing water, alcohol, flowers or citrus could create a wearable smell. Michele purchased several toilets and started her own business. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Eau De Toilette could be purchased in variety stores, pharmacies, supermarkets, truck stops and funeral homes. Evening in Paris became a favorite among the toilet water wearers. Night in Poughkeepsie and Affair in Yonkers did not impress consumers as well. Now, everyone could claim a signature fragrance no matter what was in their wallet. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Today, the fragrance market in the US is worth 53.7 billion. There’s a lot of odors out there and we’re willing to spend the bucks to spritz them away. We have put fragrance in everything. The only item we want odorless is deodorant so it won’t clash with our shampoo, shower gel, after-shower body mist, foot spray, laundry detergent and perfume. We cover ourselves with so many layers of scent we’re like an onion, which by the way smells, so we have to eliminate that odor too. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">We want our homes to be palaces of fragrance. We buy incense, essential oils, candles, room sprays, potpourri, diffusers, fragrance beads and scent machines. If you enter someone’s home and you smell old garlic, broccoli, or cat litter, they’ve immediately failed the test. No Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval for them. If you ask where’s the cat and they say they don’t have one, head for the hills. We’re adults and should have learned to control residential rancidness.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Let’s face it, most of nature stinks. It’s oils and chemical smells we’ve learned to love. Flowers are delightful, but they get putrid after a week in a vase. Manufactured fragrances never lose aromatic power. Stick a dryer sheet in your pants and see how long it stays fresh. You’ll notice strangers sniffing you on the subway, not unlike two golden retrievers checking each other out. If you’re approached from the rear, get off the train. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Products to make every inch of our bodies smell like a botanical garden, are flooding the market. New shampoos for pubic hair are being advertised. It’s a little jarring to watch dancing, singing pubes reminding us to celebrate the hair down there. Evidently, regular body shampoo just misses the mark. This special formulated mixture will transform your nether region into a rose bush. What’s next? Little blow dryers? <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">We’ve evolved into a species basking in the aromatherapy of life. You can smell like anything you want. From a candy store, an English rose garden, the temples of Babylon to a vacation, it’s all a spray away. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">How do you smell like a vacation? There’s a new toilet water that’s supposed to smell like sunscreen and swimming pools, with hints of coconut, banana, pineapple. To finish it off there are base notes of swimsuit lycra and pool toys. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">We’ve truly surpassed the art of perfumery when the smell of a wet swimsuit has been bottled. Have they perfected a bikini or thong scent? By the way, pool noodles with a hint of chlorine have a much better bouquet than pool floats. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">When the first recorded Mesopotamian chemist ground spices and combined it with natural oils, she would never have imagined her process would be carried far into the future. Someday there’d be an eau de toilette to spray on our bodies, smelling like something we wear on our bodies. It’s a conundrum.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The Egyptians knew what they were doing when they took perfumes and used Cleopatra as the first spokesperson. She knew how to sell it to the crowds. With a stylish bob, some well-placed beads, gold snake jewelry, and colorful eye makeup, she looked and smelled like a million golden calves. Perfume and the business of fragrance became a commodity. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">A Pharaoh likes the queen’s fragrance, buys it for his queen and another Pharaoh buys some too. Then a bottle of Serpent travels down the Nile where a merchant buys it and starts his own perfume business. He hires several peasants to go hut to hovel, sell his fragrances and recruit new perfume peasants. “Ding, Dong! Amun Calling!” Selling perfume becomes the first Pyramid Scheme. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The allure of living among the top one-percent is still as enticing as it was when old Cleo lounged on her barge. A favorite scent can make us feel like a million dollars even if it was purchased at Big Lots. We watch celebrities endorse major perfume brands thinking a spray of Shalimar or Acqua Di Gio will make us as attractive as Charlize Theron or Chris Hemsworth. That might be possible if we spray it in our eyes before looking in the mirror.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Fragrance commercials show beautiful women slithering through cocktail parties in designer dresses. Shirtless hunks run on the beach, in the South of France, with a bottle of designer cologne. These ads suggest luxury, sensuality and opulence. We fantasize a bottle of aromatic liquid will fulfill our dreams. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Guess what? The best we’re going to do is slink through the line at the DMV or run down the aisle of the supermarket with a bottle of Diet Coke in our hand. But, we’ve been sprayed at the perfume counter at Macy’s. So, doesn’t life smell good?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>SparksIgniteshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476684890675739692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357408429431954508.post-72748698345696071662023-03-01T17:51:00.000-05:002023-03-01T17:54:38.358-05:00SPARKS BRIEF: Is Rihanna An Alien?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyZTx1FY8v9YRx_bLN7SBZqFXsAhcdgdLVT5mLkVDuqWY2SA6jqk_VWsvCOVOO7Of8IvgxTbZC-rmOXUHGxLq3aF5TK_j0PWf98xXqIe9obGma4UDpLR34zQUFK3HU-OsoPd2M-F9trNuz52b5NXZWaqOV7YIMAHRrh6NW5qV1jvD6pYiBRerpB1RGQA/s1920/fantasy-g3338bed02_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1087" data-original-width="1920" height="362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyZTx1FY8v9YRx_bLN7SBZqFXsAhcdgdLVT5mLkVDuqWY2SA6jqk_VWsvCOVOO7Of8IvgxTbZC-rmOXUHGxLq3aF5TK_j0PWf98xXqIe9obGma4UDpLR34zQUFK3HU-OsoPd2M-F9trNuz52b5NXZWaqOV7YIMAHRrh6NW5qV1jvD6pYiBRerpB1RGQA/w640-h362/fantasy-g3338bed02_1920.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Washington, D.C. – Marjorie Taylor Greene, Congresswoman, former Waffle House waitress and Miss Georgia Peach Pit 1990, has demanded the search and capture of pop singer, Rihanna.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">“She’s an illegal space alien and a threat to national security,” Greene said last night during the podcast—</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><i style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Anyone Can Be in Congress.</i></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">“Rihanna floated into the Super Bowl on a space sled and took the stadium hostage. Biden should have had the Air Force take her down immediately.” Greene believes the alien invasion started with the “so called” Chinese Spy Balloon.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">"What kind of name is Rihanna? Clearly not from this earth. Where I grew up, regular names were Billy Bubba, Wanda Lou, Tammy June, Clovis and Pickles,” Greene said.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">“Why weren’t spectators shocked? Greene stated Rihanna hijacked the game and brainwashed millions of American citizens. “She was clearly sending messages of world domination through some weird musical code, while guarded by a squadron of stormtroopers in white.” </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">“She’s the queen of her planet dressed in her fancy red spacesuit. All she was missing was a fashionable polar bear fur collar. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">“The stormtroopers gyrated around her in some outer space mating ritual. By the end of the ceremony, she was pregnant,” she shuddered.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Greene asked Speaker of the House, Kevin McCarthy, to introduce a bill calling for the immediate seizure of all umbrellas in across the country.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">“Star-Queen Rihanna kept saying ‘umbrella’ repeatedly. My Scooby-Do intuition tells me they’re turning umbrellas into satellites to send messages into space.” </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">A member of the House Committee on Homeland Security, Greene called for a color purple threat level to be activated. Members of the committee advised Greene there is no color purple. Greene said she absolutely knew there was. She’s heard Whoopie Goldberg mention it on</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><i style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">The View</i><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">The Congresswoman has tried enlist the FBI. She wants a nationwide search of all nursing homes. “According to the documentary</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><i style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Cocoon</i><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">, aliens hide out among old folks. They blend in since aliens can be wrinkly and pasty. It’s the first place I’d look.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">So far, the suspected alien has not been located. One of Greene’s congressional aides told her</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> Rihanna was from Barbados and might have returned there after the Super Bowl performance.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">“I don’t know what galaxy the planet is in, but NASA must build a Death Star and blast it away.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Greene told Podcast Host, George Santos, “We must hold Joe Biden’s wrinkled feet to the fire and make him take out these space invaders before he eats another early-bird buffet. If he won’t do it, I will!”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">“I’m spearheading a Conservative campaign for capturing the galactic intruders. My slogan is Make America Human Again!</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> Look for my MAHA hats, bumper stickers and beer koozies on my website– MTG-There’sSpaceInMyHead.gov.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>SparksIgniteshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476684890675739692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357408429431954508.post-43547940948538927962023-02-23T15:45:00.000-05:002023-03-01T17:56:48.786-05:00From Poppin' Fresh to Poppin' Pills <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii-Vp5sbbh8mw-asS4hAwNtM_fxg0OQSbgXMEhdtae_LOOl9c9sal3Ej3npWEC72JvR6XNcOOAjdpkTqqrWicssTORIBEtiXdX07mjaONR2RlNXp9hyED_dLd6f-Fs0nFRqxLQi9yRkr9eOcUXRyQDbwcguBoLgMG4sh_AVsvSLAw1Dj1ZQdAMLf_Fgw/s1122/6032fb70ed9690466d73c716_blog-cross-channel-tv-attribution.23d95b1b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="746" data-original-width="1122" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii-Vp5sbbh8mw-asS4hAwNtM_fxg0OQSbgXMEhdtae_LOOl9c9sal3Ej3npWEC72JvR6XNcOOAjdpkTqqrWicssTORIBEtiXdX07mjaONR2RlNXp9hyED_dLd6f-Fs0nFRqxLQi9yRkr9eOcUXRyQDbwcguBoLgMG4sh_AVsvSLAw1Dj1ZQdAMLf_Fgw/w640-h426/6032fb70ed9690466d73c716_blog-cross-channel-tv-attribution.23d95b1b.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">I ran into my friend Rose, the other day, and asked how she’d been. She said she was stressed because her mom was ill. I politely inquired about her condition like I was CNN’s Sanjay Gupta.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">She’d been diagnosed with moleopothy— a sudden eruption of hairy moles on her face. After my initial gasp of horror and an urge to make a werewolf reference, I asked if the doctor prescribed Molezympica. She said “yes” and immediately I went into my fair balance spiel. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I told her to monitor for side effects and discontinue use if her mom has sudden onset unibrow, drooping nipples, howling at the full moon, undressing by fire hydrants, a desire to eat meals in the basement or if one of her moles starts talking. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I inquired if her mom had any pets? The most adverse reaction is extreme and deadly flatulence fatal to pets under 30 pounds. Rose looked concerned and said Mr. Sniffles, a chihuahua, had been staggering around the house.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“How do you know all this drug information?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“TV commercials,” I answered. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Big Pharma has taken over the air waves. I watch a fair amount of cable news programs and see all the latest, greatest drugs. Also, watching shows On Demand forces you to view ads, taking away the power to fast-forward. I hold the remote feeling like a eunuch at a strip club. So, I’m happy for my DVR and streaming channels because I’m unshackled by commercials. I can take a break from TV’s drug addiction. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Growing up, TV ads were about food and household products— not pills. They were filled with jaunty jingles and brand personalities that made products desirable. I wasn’t concerned if Mr. Whipple was busy squeezing the Charmin because he had uncontrolled muscle movement or if Mrs. Olsen was trying to sell Folgers Coffee to meet her copay for alopecia medication. I wanted to buy the world a Coke, not give it type 2 diabetes. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Now, consumers are urged to talk to their doctors about drugs that could be effective for a disease they might have. Bring your wish list for Dr. Santa to fill. Health insurance plans make it easier for a physician to write a prescription than to schedule tests. Take two tablets a day because an MRI requires a preauthorization, your fingerprints, a papal blessing, a secret handshake and your firstborn. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Recent pop songs are repurposed into jingles for ads. Nothing is original. Why is the woman with osteoporosis dancing through the park to “I’m Walking on Sunshine”? What’s playing when the EMT’s are picking her up off the jogging path— “Oops!...I Did It Again”?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I was happy knowing “My Bologna Has a First Name” or that “I Am Stuck on Band-Aids.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Tell Salt-N-Pepa I don’t need to “Push It” with GEICO or stop the creepy DuckDuckGo guy singing the internet is watching with “Every Breath You Take.” What happened to Sting? Is he waiting in the wings to sing “King of Pain” for a Vicodin ad?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">TV product mascots were better when I was growing up. The Pillsbury Dough Boy made me want to buy crescent rolls and I’m still waiting for the Kool-Aid Man to bust through my wall forcing me to drink a pitcher of his sugary contents. A lizard with the cockney accent isn’t selling me insurance, but it’ll force me to call the Orkin man. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">In the ‘90s, I learned silly words like <i>Farfegnugen</i> from Volkswagen commercials. Now, I’ve heard of Sulfonylurea, Corticosteriods, Serotonin and NSAIDs— just to list a few. Every time I turn on the TV, I’m enrolled in an online pharmacology course. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Madison Avenue has taken us from farm to pharmaceutical. Billions of dollars are spent on drug ads every year. Since the pendulum has swung, I’m glad that they’re not combining produce and pills in commercials together. I certainly don’t need to know that The Jolly Green Giant has erectile disfunction (ED). That would be a big blue pill. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Do I really want to hear about ED before I watch <i>Raise the Titanic</i>? And, what’s the deal with the Cialis ad? I think sitting in separate bath tubs and holding hands is not the cure. I guess there’s something about the plumbing I don’t get or porcelain speeds the process. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Pharmaceuticals rule the airwaves and lobbyists control D.C. politicians. I’d love to see some legislation about curtailing drug ads like they removed cigarette commercials. When they run through all the side-effects of medications, it sounds worse than taking a drag on a Marlboro. It’s all out of control and gives me anxiety. So, until I can turn on the TV and see Snap, Crackle and Pop instead of ADHD, COPD and IBS, I’m asking my doctor for LSD. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>SparksIgniteshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476684890675739692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357408429431954508.post-32290856283202799032023-02-17T12:06:00.001-05:002023-03-01T17:59:16.515-05:00The CABG Patched Kid <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiVVNBEeBjtnYTmmV8HNA4W_4jJLpD1VMd_QciX4KhTdl0I6c1sx7FHKtK2oG0V88qr6bm6Tdjy-ahanQ91IozZWzbCGMuE67T7dwE6UfV9irGfG40rUGDzRR5Zgc9-H0FmSUUNcQ-hqVY-tkKIk9iRDC6Hu_C9rPGwL2IBsPL5HH2SuLYdZVqt5wEMg/s1920/medicine-1617377_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1920" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiVVNBEeBjtnYTmmV8HNA4W_4jJLpD1VMd_QciX4KhTdl0I6c1sx7FHKtK2oG0V88qr6bm6Tdjy-ahanQ91IozZWzbCGMuE67T7dwE6UfV9irGfG40rUGDzRR5Zgc9-H0FmSUUNcQ-hqVY-tkKIk9iRDC6Hu_C9rPGwL2IBsPL5HH2SuLYdZVqt5wEMg/w640-h426/medicine-1617377_1920.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I haven’t been a hospital patient since I was in grade school. I remember the nurses dressed in white uniforms with pillbox hats looking like Jackie Kennedy’s bridesmaids. They were visions of purity, supplying drugs and sponge baths. Immaculate angels in white— the appropriate color to wear when blood and body fluids are only a squirt away.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">IV Bottles, syringes and thermometers were made of glass. When the Good Humor person of medicine came bearing a cylinder filled with toxic mercury, you had to make sure you didn’t bite down. Also, pray they didn’t tell you to roll on your side. “No sneaking in the back door. That’s a no glass insertion zone, Nurse Ratched!”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Surgical procedures, medical technology and patient care has progressed far from what I remembered as a six-year-old. Hospital stays are as brief as possible. They throw you out of bed hours after surgery. When I had my appendix taking out, I was in-patient until my stitches could be removed. I was there so long I had my address changed. Surgeons now sew you up internally where the stitches dissolve and super glue the incision. It’s the McDonald’s of surgery— over one billion stitched. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Faced with Triple Coronary Artery Bypass Graft Surgery (CABG = pronounced cabbage), I was prepared for a medical sleepover. Being admitted to the hospital is like going to prison. You’re tagged, your belongings get shoved into a plastic bag, and you’re given a uniform– a standard hospital gown. The lovely garment, designed by Florence Nightingale in 1862. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Utilitarian at best, this plain frock provides a minimal level of privacy. Whether you’re having a tonsillectomy or an appendectomy, everyone will see your ass. The open back design makes you a flasher when you saunter down the hallway. If I asked nicely, they gave me a second gown to put on backwards to cover the rear. Does this make sense?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I was a super hero with a cape. “Captain CABG, faster than a sloth on Ambien, able to walk from his room to the nurse’s station in 30 minutes!” Watch out world, I’m a coronary marvel. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">They can perform robotic and microscopic surgeries, yet no one has come up with a better hospital gown. Has anyone working in medical couture heard of Velcro? Just a couple of well-placed pieces and the gown will stay closed. Also, update the fabrics and colors. Nightingale’s drape patterns weren’t attractive in the 1800’s. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Preop was a breeze. A couple questions from a nurse, an IV line started and a quick visit from the anesthesiologist. Then fun with my easy access gown. They had to manscape my chest for surgery. Pull on the snaps, whip it open and get out the razor. Why should I be concerned with modesty? In an hour they’ll be opening my chest. I think that qualifies as a full frontal. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I’ve never been into recreational drugs, but I fully support a morphine drip. As a chaser to surgery, that’s the way to go. When I woke up, I had more lines and tubes coming out of me than a power station. The surgeon could have been holding my heart in his hand and I wouldn’t have cared. I was floating between reality and a marshmallow cloud. Later, I found out the cloud was the air mattress on my bed. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">High-tech beds are now the standard. They have mattresses that inflate, adjust to the body, and move into all kinds of positions. My first night in Intensive Care the bed moved more than I did. Welcome to Aladdin’s magic carpet with turbulence. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Before surgery, I Googled everything I could find about open heart surgery. (Hint to the novice— don’t do that!) I wanted to find out if I was officially considered a vampire, while hooked to the bypass machine. Technically, my heart’s stopped but I’m still alive. Shouldn’t I be considered undead? Also, do I stop aging while I’m in limbo? If so, I could be several hours younger. I never got any answers. Only a smirk from the anesthesiologist and a psych evaluation. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Too much information is not always power. I had expectations about protocols and recovery that weren’t my experience. The morning after surgery was not what I imagined. From my internet reading, I thought I’d get up and sit in a chair for a bit. Instead, I was raised out of bed, at 7 AM, like Frankenstein. A physical therapist was waiting to take me on a hike down the hall. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I had chest tubes, a catheter, a blood pressure cuff and a heart monitor attached to me. “Okay!” I could casually stroll with half the room’s equipment dragging behind me. Just don’t step on a tube. RED ALERT! A malfunction has just occurred in Intensive Care— man down!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I was petrified. Only hours had passed since my chest had been opened and then wired shut. I hadn’t even looked at the incision. Maybe, in a few months I’ll take a peek. For now, I’m good. Just put me in a chair. They’re getting it all wrong. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">How do you tell a nurse she needs to Google CABG aftercare? I knew not to argue with the professionals who had my heart and blood pressure monitors in their control. So, what if my heart popped out of my chest like the creature in Alien, I was in ICU, they’d just jam it back in. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">My care in Cardiac ICU was great, but being in a teaching hospital, there’s an open-door policy for any intern, resident, doctor or inquiring maintenance worker. Random people with white coats wander in and want to perform an exam. I was groped, fondled and squeezed more times than if I spent a weekend at Harvey Weinstein’s house. It was Hospital Grindr and everyone wanted a quickie. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Constant monitoring means— no privacy. I had to use a plastic urinal bottle since a leisurely stroll to the bathroom wasn’t an option. I hate peeing in a bottle. It brings back memories of long car trips and my Mom saying, “You’re father’s not pulling over, just use the bottle and don’t you dare spill it.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Trying to maneuver a urinal bottle in bed, hooked to machines, covered in blankets and hampered by chest tube bulbs hanging at crotch level, was like the trailer for a disaster movie. The word urinal and spill shouldn’t be in the same sentence. Unfortunately, sometimes the syntax requires it.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">In comparison to my whole situation, this was a drop in the bucket. To avoid splash mountain, I stuck the handle of the urinal over the sidebar on the bed. I reached for a couple of tissues but my tray table was sinking to the floor. What had I done to lower the table? Wait! The table wasn’t moving. I was floating toward the ceiling. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">OMG! After making it through surgery, and inedible hospital food, a urinal incident was going to take me out? I was literally pissed on and pissed off. This was it? My soul was floating like a Chinese spy balloon. There were no alarms going off or codes being called. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">There ought to be celestial angels singing, or a couple of cherubs playing harps. I’d never died before, so I wasn’t exactly sure what performers were involved. “I’d like Donna Summer to sing<i> Last</i> <i>Dance</i> as I cross over.” I requested to heaven’s DJ. But, there weren’t 125 beats per minute, only 72. I couldn’t get the dance floor pumping; it was my heart still pounding. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I looked over my shoulder at the monitors. I hadn’t flatlined. My soul wasn’t rising toward the great beyond— the bed was. I would soon be against the ceiling like Michelangelo working on the Sistine Chapel. I did a quick survey of my surroundings. Like Nancy Drew, I discovered <i>The Curse of the Dangerous Urinal</i>. The weight of the plastic bottle had pushed against a button that raised the bed. Grabbing the bottle stopped me from being lifted into another atmosphere. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The nurse rushed in and did a double take. My bed was halfway to the ceiling and I was grasping my urinal like I’d just been caught with the crown jewels. She immediately started laughing. “I’ve never had a patient do this before,” she chuckled. “Gurl! I don’t know how I did it either but prepare yourself this is only my second day here.” There had to be chatter in the nurse’s lounge, the next day, about the guy who can’t control his urinal or his bed.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">ICU doesn’t have full bathrooms in the rooms. After the second day, I prayed to the God’s of soap to let me shower. This was a plea for the medical staff to transfer me to the Cardiac Care floor. “Release me from my captivity. Remove these cords and cables and let me frolic in the lightly scented bubbles that will free me from the funk of 2,880 minutes!” Yes, I’m dramatic, but it worked. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I was transported to my own room with a full bath, recessed lighting, flat screen tv and a view of the Ben Franklin Bridge. My room was the Hilton of hospitals. There was even room service. Which is an attempt to make hospital food seem classy. It’s like dressing Bigfoot up in a gown and passing him or her off as the prom queen. It just doesn’t work. The pink chiffon isn’t hiding anything. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I begged to be led to a shower. The nurse gave me towels and told me to take it slow. After heart surgery, you tire very quickly and routine tasks become a workout— like bathing, climbing stairs, dressing, or listening to anything from Justin Bieber. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I dropped my gown, which was now second nature. My chest incision was finally exposed. It was time to look. It wasn’t as bad as I expected. Although, I still felt like Humpty Dumpty— fragile and glued back together. There was an incision on my leg next to my knee where they harvested veins from my calf. With an endoscope they remove a vein like pulling scarves out a clown’s pocket.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Thank god for general anesthesia. During surgery, I was harvested, sawed open, hooked to a life-support machine and grafted. As an added bonus they should have inserted a bionic eye as a parting gift. After all, they have the technology.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The shower was an alcove in the bathroom. Nothing fancy, just the shower head and a chair. Not a medical shower chair, but a banquet chair. I suppose they must have just remodeled the cafeteria and had spares to go around. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I turned on the water, sat down and leaned back. It was a scene from Frankenstein meets Flashdance. What a feeling! Truly a heavenly experience. Refreshed and non-offensive, I could take a ten step stroll down the hall, on the road to recovery with my refurbished heart. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Sleep is important for the body to renew itself. The hospital is one place where you’ll never sleep unless you have a morphine drip— as noted earlier. The nurses constantly asked if I had a good night’s rest? “I would if you didn’t have an aversion to letting me sleep.” Was my reply.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">How could I sleep when they were in my room every two hours to check my blood pressure and give me medication. They drew blood for labs at four in the morning. At the crack of dawn, they wheeled a machine into the room and made me get out of bed to be weighed. I was there all day, they couldn’t work in daylight? It felt like the Transylvania Hospital where the staff only works until the sun rises. That would explain all the blood tests.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The ultimate aim for the doctors is to get you back in your home environment so your bed is available for the next CABG patch kid. Before I could be released, the goal was to have a bowel movement. Anesthesia and medications are constipating so it’s pretty much a mission impossible. I was backed up like traffic on a Minnesota interstate during a blizzard. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Nothing seemed like it would break the damn. I drank Metamucil, Citrucel, and took various pills. A witch doctor was sent in to beat me with a shrunken head and scare the crap out of me. It didn’t work. I was frustrated at being constipated. I wanted to deliver a stool sample just like a conscientious carpenter. I’d really sunk to basics, when my only wish was to hear a <i>PLOP</i> in the toilet. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Thankfully, a friend recommended nature’s laxative— prunes. Operation Prune was underway. She made a special trip to the hospital and gifted me a bag of the little marvels. I scarfed down prunes like Marie Antionette eating cake. I even ordered prune juice for breakfast. Which, by the way, looks like coffee, has the consistency of motor oil and isn’t thirst quenching.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I now contained a fuel load that would send the space shuttle into another galaxy. My stomach started rumbling like Mount St. Helens. I proudly reported to the nurse that I was passing gas in preparation for lift off. Hopefully, it’s the only time I will think farting is an accomplishment. After an hour and a half in the bathroom, I reported success and the need for new plumbing in the bathroom. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">After a thunderous round of applause and a ticker tape parade around the ninth floor, my release paperwork was completed. My parole was granted after a five-day stint. I was unhooked, unplugged and unhinged. It was scary leaving the safety of the hospital. But, I had a great caregiver and a bed where I could sleep without getting up to balance on a scale.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Leaving the hospital, I was presented with a stuffed bear that I could hug for chest protection, and a mug with the hospital logo. I guess in today’s health care system that’s looked at as a fair trade. After $138,000.00 worth of services, I’d received a stuffed animal and a plastic cup. How’s that for a heart stopper? <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p>SparksIgniteshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476684890675739692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357408429431954508.post-57175234601502830912023-02-13T13:58:00.000-05:002023-02-13T13:58:29.153-05:00SPARKS BRIEF: Santos Lies Are Out of This World <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM2eg5EiuN29ELxbhvoYvBmJXCnhdmxFsNnIShqCRGR-naBOQmWXSf_VNuLTaLaWO7BqFbr0NkEDdnyeKoCRZsV5BIRBBA56Syz_YZ-v_56CQWwiyfBvWRlRIqJG8dS0CsoS59b_JciN22SXvpV-JXEiCvKSIWeyYDwkAsnRhDHtBA9_RzD9AVYQOHWA/s1920/man-7292926_1920%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="894" data-original-width="1920" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM2eg5EiuN29ELxbhvoYvBmJXCnhdmxFsNnIShqCRGR-naBOQmWXSf_VNuLTaLaWO7BqFbr0NkEDdnyeKoCRZsV5BIRBBA56Syz_YZ-v_56CQWwiyfBvWRlRIqJG8dS0CsoS59b_JciN22SXvpV-JXEiCvKSIWeyYDwkAsnRhDHtBA9_RzD9AVYQOHWA/w640-h298/man-7292926_1920%202.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Washington, D.C. - Congressman, George Santos, stunned reporters this morning at a press conference, held at the Motel 6 Washington, DC - Convention Center, when he admitted to lying to the country and his constituents in the 3<sup>rd</sup> District of New York. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Santos entered the room wearing white pants and a white bed sheet, wrapped around his torso. It was held together with a brown belt and he carried a florescent light tube. “I’ve had to make up many stories to protect this country and the entire world.” He told a room packed with news correspondents.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“At last, I can reveal the truth. My real name is George Lucas Skytos. I’m a Jedish Knight sent here from another galaxy, far, far away. I’m here to save this planet,” Santos said. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">He explained that he was told to create a false identity by his father, the Supreme Leader of the Empire— Darth Donald. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“I’ve posed incognito as a graduate of Baruch College and NYU, a star volleyball player, a Wall Street guru, a Jewish/Catholic gay man whose grandparents survived the Holocaust, a son who lost his mother due to the 9/11 attacks, a Brazilian drag queen, an actor on Hannah Montana, a Broadway producer, a journalist in Brazil and the target of an assassination attempt. This morning, I received an urgent message this morning from my sister Princess Leianka which has forced me to be honest<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“At this very moment hundreds of rebel forces are headed toward earth to take control of the world. They will bring back Roe v. Wade, install more transgender bathrooms, recharge Jewish space lasers, and make healthcare universal,” he told the snickering group of media professionals. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">According, to the liar formerly known as Santos, the rebel forces are being led by Obi-Wan Pelosi. “She’s a ruthless, villain from the planet Democratron.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Corky Collins from CNM told Santos, his explanation was just a twisted version of the film <i>Star Wars. </i><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“There are no stars at war. The war will be waged here if we don’t allow the rise of the empire,” he replied. To prove the validity of his breaking news, Santos said his father Darth had traveled at a very warped speed from Mar-a-Lagobah to address the reporters.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">In a cloud of mist, from a sputtering dry ice machine, Darth Donald entered the room looking strangely familiar in a black suit with a floor length cape and an orange MAGA helmet. The helmet covered his entire face. It featured sunglasses, and a mouth grill shaped like a dollar sign.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“My greatest son Lucas and my beautiful daughter/wife Leianka, came here to prepare the way for me. My other spawn, Junior and the dumb one are worthless,” Darth wheezed. “I alone can create an empire that I will rule with ultimate authority until I die, which probably will never happen because I have superior genes.” <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“Why should any world leader give you control of their country?” Fox Schnitzel, UNN correspondent asked Darth.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“I’ve already had an empire stolen from me in a very rigged coup. I’m destined to be the world ruler, because I have the biggest brain and I’m the smartest Darth in the galaxy. I’m so handsome underneath this helmet, if I took it off your heads would explode.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Barbara Watusi from RIP stated, “All these claims are outlandish. Santos is a confirmed liar and under that orange helmet you are too.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“If you don’t believe me or Lucas, you can confirm our story with the prophet and legal Jedish Master— Guilioda. He can be reached on his planet of Lunatoon.” <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">All the correspondents rose to ask questions but were silenced by Santos. “The earth is in imminent danger. All your questions could be answered at another time. I must return to the House of Representatives to consult with Kevin the Hut and Marjorie Taylor Grievous concerning a plan of attack.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Santos raised his florescent light tube toward the ceiling, “We will defeat the Far-Left Rebels led by Obi-Wan Pelosi and build an empire, or my name isn’t George Lucas Skytos”.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>SparksIgniteshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476684890675739692noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357408429431954508.post-6186439632170880332023-01-13T16:51:00.000-05:002023-01-13T16:51:19.758-05:00SPARKS BRIEF: Pie-eyed with Power<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA-P93x4-dD6IGL3xzTR-7_iURrCZJZeLvv1OcbkzKkfTWwuUxsc4KhsPl3U0r4UDi9aKZm1IbdYo37MGVjHieCM9WPDWWeqKNKvDWRI1cSLze_bxPakdEhpvRN9ED_YEn42uU8ZSTp4vYqdTxtquAUDKv7JPoQB6rNcNs2ZbJI5-Cr-_TsqITovjU3w/s1920/whipped-cream-ge7f9b035d_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1282" data-original-width="1920" height="429" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA-P93x4-dD6IGL3xzTR-7_iURrCZJZeLvv1OcbkzKkfTWwuUxsc4KhsPl3U0r4UDi9aKZm1IbdYo37MGVjHieCM9WPDWWeqKNKvDWRI1cSLze_bxPakdEhpvRN9ED_YEn42uU8ZSTp4vYqdTxtquAUDKv7JPoQB6rNcNs2ZbJI5-Cr-_TsqITovjU3w/w640-h429/whipped-cream-ge7f9b035d_1920.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Capitol Hill, MN: On January 6<sup>th</sup>, fifteen-time loser, Marjorie Tyler Kelly, was named the winner of the 2023 National Pie Baking Contest held at the Holiday Inn Express in Capitol Hill, Minnesota. This annual crusty event celebrated its 118<sup>th</sup> year awarding the top honor to amateur baker Ms. Kelly. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Former twenty-time champion, Head Judge - Millie Musgrave, said she was speechless when this year’s winner was announced. “Ms. Kelly has the tenacity to submit her concoctions every year, but I’m astounded she was able to grab the top award.”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Musgrave went onto say that Kelly had a tough and gritty personality, “Pretty much like her pies.”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The panel of twenty judges deliberated into the early morning hours of January 6<sup>th</sup> before declaring Kelly the winner. According to an unnamed source, the judges were split on awarding the prize to a pie that clearly was the worst pie in MN. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Musgrave, who was the head judge this year, said, “Kelly’s pie, an Apple Streusel Chocolate Surprise, was barely edible at best. The apples were undercooked, the chocolate was from melted Kit Kats, and the crust was like sandpaper. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“We were under extreme pressure to award Kelly the prize, after she spent hours making concessions with the panel of judges,” Musgrave explained. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Our unnamed source said that Kelly sold her soul to claim this year’s title. It has not been verified, but Kelly promised to clean the house and wash the car for Capitol Hill’s Mayor until next year’s contest. will also babysit four other judges’ children during this year’s Spam Spectacular. Kelly will also be the Chief Toe Nail Clipper at the Foot Fungus Health Clinic held monthly at Dr. Bunion’s Toe and Heel Hut.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Musgrave, who was the final hold out in giving a “yea” to the vote. Told this reporter, “I won’t share the specifics of the deal, but I will have a full stocked pantry this year and I won’t need to buy any groceries.”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">During a press conference on January 7<sup>th</sup>, Kelly explained that it’s about the prestigiousness of being the Pie Champion. “Anyone can bake a pie, but the real talent lies in the wheeling and dealing to become Number One. I now have the power of the pie behind me. With my background, I can go on to become the Queen of the Quiche and perhaps a member of the State Assembly.”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Before this year’s competition, Kelly shared with the local newspaper that she is a former student of the Martha Stewart Cooking Academy in Martha’s Vineyard, she attended Le Cordon Bleu in France and she interned on Julia Child’s cooking show.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">“None of this information can be verified, and Martha Stewart doesn’t operate a cooking school,” Musgrave stated. “I doubt Kelly has even been to Paris, TX.”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">When asked to defend her resume, Kelly said, “Any way you slice it, I’m in the upper crust now, and how do you like them apples?”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>SparksIgniteshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476684890675739692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357408429431954508.post-46795750813411099512022-10-05T18:20:00.000-04:002022-10-05T18:20:00.614-04:00Delivered with Pride <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifvH8GsQD1F7uxfdx0pHBTh3pkNF9bnyLMPY32NPLO7oV9idu0OAeM1uc4Jm3nhu13SDu6THVSO3NgvYNP2m2kAf_MYsxQq-wLhveoTx0MrvI3zLOfTX2EZE1MHd0l6wuW2sgVXkjqLRgCSmlo51SGRzuFnfH58G0JhHm7gyRHCSQFeVD6n7P3UF_LlA/s661/IMG_1769.jpg.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="661" data-original-width="661" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifvH8GsQD1F7uxfdx0pHBTh3pkNF9bnyLMPY32NPLO7oV9idu0OAeM1uc4Jm3nhu13SDu6THVSO3NgvYNP2m2kAf_MYsxQq-wLhveoTx0MrvI3zLOfTX2EZE1MHd0l6wuW2sgVXkjqLRgCSmlo51SGRzuFnfH58G0JhHm7gyRHCSQFeVD6n7P3UF_LlA/w640-h640/IMG_1769.jpg.webp" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">June is Gay Pride Month. It’s the time to hang rainbow flags, celebrate diversity, equality, love, inclusion and show support for the LGBTQ+ community.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">There are parades, parties, memorials and tv programs celebrating the history of gay culture. As indiviuals discuss their coming out process, the question always arises “when did you know you were gay?” </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">For some it can be a slow process, questioning where they fall on the spectrum of self-identification. For me there was never a question. I came out at birth holding a ticket to Key West and a rainbow binky. No need to keep my parents guessing.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I knew from the moment the doctor said “the baby is crowning” that I was royalty. The reality smacked me soon after I left the hospital, but a “Gurl” can dream. “Can I get an amen?”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I escaped nine months from my isolation chamber, and didn’t scream or cry. Instead, I sang the 12” Club Version of “I’m Coming Out,” my homage to the diva — Miss Ross. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The birth canal is not equipped with low level lighting for evacuation, so my first glimpse of the sterile delivery room was overwhelming. Like the effects on a Gremlin, bright light is disastrous. The fluorescents were way too harsh for my skin tone. I put my tiny foot down. There’d be no newborn photo shoot without some lighting diffusion and gels. “I’m not ready for my closeup, Nurse Ratched!” </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Without a doubt, I was 100% gay. No way was I ever going near another female’s nether regions. Like an escapee from Alcatraz, I’d just tunneled my way out. Why would I ever swim back to visit the island?</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The doctor seemed friendly and handsome in his form fitting scrubs, until he threw me like a Hail Mary pass to the labor and delivery nurse. Why was I covered in a layer of goop? I’d really have preferred a mud facial mask and some cucumbers on my eyes. The labor process had left me puffy and splotchy. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I would not allow visitors until I had proper rest and was ready for an official audience. After all, I still believed my home was going to be a castle. After a 40-point inspection, the nurse put me in a scratchy diaper and shoved a knit cap on my head. “Hello!” ‘Someone needs to call in Vidal Sassoon and Halston. I need a haircut and a bespoke onesie.”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">When I finally met my Mom, I felt better about my appearance. She definitely was ready for hair and makeup. The old girl had been through hours of my packing and moving out, so I’d have to give her a pass. No demerits for racoon eyes. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">She’d decided not to breast feed which got two snaps up from me. Never let it be said my lips touched a breast. Baby formula is for undiscerning palates. My first meal was me spitting out Enfamil and screaming for a Dirty Martini or Moscow Mule. I needed a baby buzz to survive a night in a plastic bassinet in a room full of screaming infants. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I had arrived to bring style, art and culture to the world, but I’d have to do it between naps. For some reason babies are supposed to get a lot of rest. But who could sleep? I needed Ray-Bans for my delicate blue eyes. Whoever thought painting the hospital nursery chartreuse was a barbarian. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Thankfully, a new-born doesn’t have a long stay in the hospital. I was ready to move on to do great things. I refused a swaddle blanket and a bunny rattle. I’d only accept a subscription to Architectural Digest Jr. and a Neiman’s gift certificate. Did I look like I was born yesterday? Oh, wait a minute — I was. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p>SparksIgniteshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476684890675739692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357408429431954508.post-22659281716464206742022-10-05T18:04:00.000-04:002022-10-05T18:04:34.906-04:00I'm So Vein<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrSif0SvJeFwBUGIVqV7C_0BXquscdFcsizyEAN1KZVB3i4Hah8xeMtCWNA3CeOiqDDU0hnXTPM0PMjCDV8rbRtqWtlrLh8HNbQQGCCS8dRohsFS2hH7y8AM4bjerse6SSZrldJs8Svrf9yx2f6Woi83HER-FC8961VcCvxK7iZkQfXiTNqIIMQEqZgg/s1920/heartbeat-g53671940f_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1238" data-original-width="1920" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrSif0SvJeFwBUGIVqV7C_0BXquscdFcsizyEAN1KZVB3i4Hah8xeMtCWNA3CeOiqDDU0hnXTPM0PMjCDV8rbRtqWtlrLh8HNbQQGCCS8dRohsFS2hH7y8AM4bjerse6SSZrldJs8Svrf9yx2f6Woi83HER-FC8961VcCvxK7iZkQfXiTNqIIMQEqZgg/w640-h412/heartbeat-g53671940f_1920.jpg" width="640" /></a></div> <br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">“Everything can change in an instant.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">“Things can change in the blink of an eye.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">“Life can turn on a dime.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">We’ve all heard the quotes. Whether you’re into time, body parts or currency, chances are you’ll think or utter one of those at some point. When we reach the age of fifty to somewhere over the rainbow, most likely we’ll relate such a phrase to a health issue.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">For some reason as we start to near the end of the age range chart we’re supposed to be in our “golden years.” I’m not sure what’s “golden” because everyone’s hair is turning sliver and their hips and knees are titanium. I guess we need to check with Dorothy, Rose, Blanche or Sophia. Just turn on the late-night Hallmark Channel they’re waiting on the lanai with cheesecake and answers. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">My once busy schedule of partying at clubs, mall shopping with friends, and personal trainer sessions is now dominated with doctor’s office visits. My calendar is filled with “ist’s” dates —dentist, gastroenterologist, urologist, psychologist, nutritionist, and podiatrist’s appointments. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Let me see if I can fit in a haircut between a gum recession check and a colonoscopy. Late-night make-out sessions at the hot dance club are just hazy memories, Now, I’m getting felt up at 8:15 AM by my proctologist. “Bend over and cough,” is my new love language. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I’ve had mostly everything probed and prodded except for the most important body part— the heart. I’m definitely at the age when someone should take a look under the hood of the old Ferrari. Hey, I thought my engine was still purring along fine. Guess what? I’m not a good mechanic.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The cardiologist immediately wanted a baseline so he ordered a stress test. Whenever I hear test it means time to study. I needed to ace this thing like an Olympian. I bought new running shoes, dusted off the treadmill and got to work. I stressed about the stress test. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">My intentions were top-rate but my time on the treadmill was minimal. My relationship with my treadmill is like a conjugal visit— I get on it when I can. Important life things got in my way. You know, other doctor’s appointments, lunch dates with friends, trips to Barnes & Noble and binge-watching Prime Video, Netflix, Apple+ and Hulu. An episode of <i>The</i> <i>Handmaid’s Tale</i> could do as much for my heart as a session on the treadmill.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The day of my test arrived. I tied up my new Hoka’s assured I’d be leaving the hospital with an A+ score. The first part of the test was a 2D echocardiogram. I laid on my side while a tech ran a special wand over my chest. It was a bit like being in the infirmary at Hogwarts.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I heard squishing noises and sounds like a Maytag agitator. I expected some “Ohhhs” and “Awws” of approval but the only thing I heard was my heart working. I guess this was a cardiac SAT. I’d wait for the results online.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The stress test was next. I was prepped in a room with monitors and a treadmill. Three nurses were present, one to check the monitors, one to take my blood pressure and one to watch <i>General Hospital</i> on her phone. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">There were more wires hooked on me than the Rockefeller Christmas tree. I was put on the treadmill and advised the speed and incline would increase as the test progressed. A video screen was in front of me. I watched the tops of mountains and heavenly clouds drift by. I guess this is where I was going if I failed the test.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">As I trudged along, the pace quickened. I was headed upward like a 737 during takeoff. The blood pressure nurse kept yanking my left arm checking the cuff and exchanging eye signals with the monitor nurse like a CIA operative. Something was awry. My blood pressure was dropping instead of rising. It’s not the way the physiology is supposed work. They stopped the test. “Oh no, I’m getting an F.” My feet were pumping but my heart was in spiral.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The nurse asked if I was dizzy— I wasn’t. I felt fine. My mouth was dry from the exertion. I was told to lie down on a stretcher. All I needed was a drink. Isn’t that why there are cup holders on treadmills? Just hydrate me. I wanted to yell, “Look bitches, I just scaled the Alps with the Von Trapps. Don’t make me call Mother Superior. Give me some damn water!”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">So, I was a stress test flunkee. Then, my catheterization was a bust. Thankfully not of my arteries. It’s good they give you drugs before the procedure. When the doctor told me I had severe blockage, I was floating in the wonderment of gaining access to Cardiac Wonderland. An insurance paid trip through <i>It’s A Small Bypass World</i>.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">In a matter of days, I went from needing a baseline to hoping I wouldn’t flatline. I immediately go to Google whenever I receive news of a medical concern. Knowledge is power or so I thought. WARNING! Don’t check out <i>Web</i>MD or any sites before a medical prodecure unless you’ve had a Xanax martini followed by a Valium chaser. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I scoured the internet relentlessly. I was Nancy Drew looking for that damn hidden staircase. All the information I read gave me visions of a Frankenstein operation. I pictured being strapped to a table with lightening flashing above me. A buzz saw grinding and my heart being batted around the room by a cattle prod. Yes, I have a wild imagination— I’m a writer.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I know it’s nothing like that or at least there’s no lighting. I now await a surgical consultation. It’s surreal to think the doctor could take a selfie with my heart. It’s helpful to look at the good aspects of surgery. I’m asking the surgeon if he can tighten up my man boobs and give me a Gucci zipper. My cleavage can be fashion forward. He’ll be working in the area, so why not?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I’m being positive. I have great support from family and friends. My heart is full— of plaque. I’m a survivor and I’ll make it. There will be a new me with a zipper and fantastic pecs.<o:p></o:p></p>SparksIgniteshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476684890675739692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357408429431954508.post-85086065857885483042020-09-28T14:34:00.000-04:002020-09-28T14:34:04.344-04:00What!! Another Birthday??<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZzawaSvUciE/X3IsWVkBEBI/AAAAAAAACT4/l178CH00cykeHXzoVeSWQ60lBovGpxwYACLcBGAsYHQ/s434/main-qimg-da01337e28b237915bd07052a8dc0497.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="434" data-original-width="400" height="470" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZzawaSvUciE/X3IsWVkBEBI/AAAAAAAACT4/l178CH00cykeHXzoVeSWQ60lBovGpxwYACLcBGAsYHQ/w433-h470/main-qimg-da01337e28b237915bd07052a8dc0497.jpeg" width="433" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>Oh! Another birthday has come and gone. An annual rite of passage. A remembrance </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: large;">of the day when I made my arduous passage through the birth canal, kicking and screaming. For nine months I was doing fine, floating in my isolation womb. Suddenly, BAM!!!, somebody pulls the plug, the water drains, and I’m out of there.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-size: large;">My first experience with the world was a forced eviction from my private abode. Hey, it was rent-free, comfortable, quiet and I could suck on my thumb all day. My Mom was my disgruntled landlord who didn’t even have the courtesy to issue an eviction notice. When I started to speak, she got some harsh syllables from me. There was no “Mama or Dada” as my first words. It was more along the line of, “What the hell were you thinking?” Until I could form words, I screamed a lot and peed in everyone’s face.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">People wonder why I have anxiety issues? I was yanked head-first into the cold, noisy world and some stranger in scrubs flung me around the room. No wonder I still get jittery near doctors. Could someone have prepared me? I’d heard Mom’s voice for months and she never dropped a hint. What a horrible surprise party. I requested a nipple of vodka.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Overall, everyone shares the first moments of life the same way, unless, you’re surgically removed. Then, you’ve gotten to escape being squeezed like a watermelon through a pair of pantyhose. I’ve heard that Caesarean babies always look prettier. Of course, they do. They weren’t born under intense pressure.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">No wonder I was wrinkly and looked pissed off. I’d worked like an Appalachian coal miner, just for a first series of bad photos and a stupid skull cap. Put me back, I’ll wait until I have teeth for a perfect smile and I don’t need cucumbers for my puffy eyes.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This trauma is literally our only birthday. When we observe the date going forward, it’s just the anniversary of our arrival. When anyone wishes you a “Happy Birthday,” remind them it isn’t your actual birthday. It’s horrific to imagine experiencing birth again. At this point in life, I’m not traveling in any tunnel I can’t drive through in my car. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After the initial birthday, we’re all on our separate paths. We can grow up celebrating with beautiful cakes, pony rides, face painting, pizza parties or Bobo the clown and his strangely pornographic balloon sculptures. Getting older is an individualized joy ride. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At fifty, I wanted aging to stop. I tried to commiserate about getting older, but people told me, “age is nothing but a number.” Yeah right, it’s the number that tells me how freaking old I am. There’s also the wonderful adage – you’re only as old as you feel. But what if I feel like a wrinkled, hairless cat? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I hate when someone asks “How old are you?” If I’m in a good mood I usually say “I’m between Pampers and Depends.” I really prefer not to belabor the topic so I’ve come up with some zingers that usually shut down the conversation. They’re very handy to use when you’re feeling like your birth certificate looks like the Dead Sea Scrolls.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Here are replies when someone asks how old you are:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->I’m so old the only Da Vinci Code I know is the one to his locker.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->I’m so old I knew Moses when the ‘burning bush’ was just a medical condition.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->I’m so old I remember New Spice.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->I’m so old I was around for the first Madonna, and she was a virgin.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->I’m so old my first Christmas parade was three kings and a drummer boy.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->I’m so old I told Shakespeare his new play was much ado about nothing. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As every anniversary of my birthday arrives, I’m still kicking and screaming like it’s my debut. Growing older has made me wiser. I know if I really work hard I can slow down my internal clock. I’m trying to undo the process, by reversing my treadmill. Running backwards is not a natural motion, so I keep being flung off. To say, I’ve hit a wall, is literally true. At this age it’s all about the number, and that’s 911!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start; 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</style></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p>SparksIgniteshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476684890675739692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357408429431954508.post-49131992729836899632020-04-24T14:55:00.000-04:002020-04-24T14:55:25.099-04:00Trumpenstein's Beautiful Miracle Cure<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaMOfe3hpLs/XqM1o_CPX8I/AAAAAAAACRY/0YcH38kWDdoNpEoep9NO2H6yDxRImiLCACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/plastic-4043071_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="425" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaMOfe3hpLs/XqM1o_CPX8I/AAAAAAAACRY/0YcH38kWDdoNpEoep9NO2H6yDxRImiLCACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/plastic-4043071_1920.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Ladies and Gentlemen:<o:p></o:p></div>
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Are you feeling lazy, listless, cabin feverish? Are you unable to party like it’s 1999 days of quarantine? Do you want to ignore social distancing, throw caution to a sneeze and get a tattoo? If your roots are as gray as your mood and you’re just sick of it all, head down to Dr. Trumpenstein’s Viral Spa.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Lay back in the most beautiful facility ever, and receive a cutting-edge treatment formulated by Trumpenstein himself. He’s not a licensed doctor, but he’s a stable genius, has the best brain and knows more than all the medical professionals. <o:p></o:p></div>
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After consulting with our lead technician, Pam Demic, you’ll be disrobed and placed on one of our warming trays. Experience the hot, cleansing rays of UV and infrared light. You’ll feel like an extra-large order of McDonald’s fries. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The treatment is weight based so if you tend to be on the big-boned spectrum, we’ll shoot the light where the sun doesn’t shine. Our individualized care allows you to decide which orifice we use. After we’ve burnt the invisible enemy to a crisp, you’re ready for the next phase – disinfecting.<o:p></o:p></div>
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You’ll be taken to our stainless-steel sanitation room and strapped to a table. Under the tremendous supervision of Ivanka and Jared, our cracked Lab Tech duo, a high-pressure wash of Clorox is provided free of charge.<o:p></o:p></div>
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After you’re bleachy clean, Dr. Dolittle will administer a miracle injection of disinfectant . You’re able to pick your poison from a menu of beautiful products including – Lysol, Fantastik, Tilex and Windex. It only takes a minute and your lungs will never be the same. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So, throw away those pesky, protective masks and ignore CDC and NIH guidelines. Come try this unscientific, unhinged cure. Come to the spa’s grand-opening today in Coronaville, GA. The first one hundred clients will receive a signature Hydroxychloroquintini and a t-shirt emblazoned with our motto, “What do you have to lose?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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SparksIgniteshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476684890675739692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357408429431954508.post-55234691337306105982020-03-27T16:49:00.001-04:002020-03-27T17:01:09.562-04:00The History Channel's on a Roll <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ot28TQf2J-c/Xn5movi_KuI/AAAAAAAACQc/mBxh4i1OqFA-rEki3ddPYTO1fw_RkjPSACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/toilet-paper-4941747_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ot28TQf2J-c/Xn5movi_KuI/AAAAAAAACQc/mBxh4i1OqFA-rEki3ddPYTO1fw_RkjPSACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/toilet-paper-4941747_1920.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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New York, NY – Today in a press conference, Eli Lehrer, Executive Vice President of Original Programming for the History Channel, announced the premiere of its new show, <b>TP Pickers</b>. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Lehrer informed a group of socially distanced reporters; the show was rushed into production to help people with the scarce household necessity during this terrible pandemic. “We have a huge duty to provide timely programming,” Lehrer said. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Hosts, Mike Wolfe and Frank Fritz, who have a knack for sniffing out family jewels, will hit the road in their 1985 Ford Econoline Van with a fire lit under their seats to search out toilet paper for desperate families.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Fritz joins <b>TP Pickers</b> after a career as a professional poker player. “I was known as the King of the Royal Flush,” Fritz said. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In teasers for the program, Wolfe can be heard yelling, “We’ll travel to every small town and bang on back doors until we find a roll.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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In the first episode, The Piles family from Butte, Montana, are in crisis after Taco Tuesday has left them with little resources for their south of the border.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Wolfe races against the clock after Fritz locates a 36 pack of Cottonelle at a Walmart in Wyoming. In a test of wills, Wolfe must navigate to Household Supplies before Anita Bidet, suffering from IBS, takes the prize. (Content Warning!) Bidet has a real potty mouth. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Wolfe and Fritz have traveled to all 50 states. “We’ve discovered brands and types of toilet paper I didn’t know existed,” Wolfe said. “We’ve bought unbleached, bamboo, recycled, hemp, and 16-ply quilted made by the Amish in Lancaster, PA.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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The Stoolman’s of Bucks County, PA had serious septic issues after using the Amish paper. “We needed to use industrial scissors to separate the sheets, and now every toilet is clogged,” Mr. Stoolman reported. “We had a dire need, but now we’re really in deep dodo.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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The show’s production company has relocated the Stoolmans to a nearby Motel 6 after their property was condemned. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Our goal is to wipe out this crappy situation for people in need,” Wolfe said. <o:p></o:p></div>
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TP Pickers first episode will air on the History Channel on April 1<sup>st</sup> at 8 PM. Check your local cable listing for further information.<o:p></o:p></div>
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SparksIgniteshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476684890675739692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357408429431954508.post-83783702863738262602020-03-24T13:32:00.000-04:002020-03-24T13:32:12.536-04:00Six Feet of Separation <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Uiu9MnyOdCU/XnpDrjBePQI/AAAAAAAACPg/_wC96FNBwuUp7zqf_YhDnTY6eqHzeXfZQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/crowd-2045498_1920.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Uiu9MnyOdCU/XnpDrjBePQI/AAAAAAAACPg/_wC96FNBwuUp7zqf_YhDnTY6eqHzeXfZQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/crowd-2045498_1920.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
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People are saying in this time of crisis we need to find something positive to help us cope with a stressful situation. I’ve found the most positive thing I could ever hope for– <b>Social Distancing</b>. For anyone with social anxiety this is equivalent to winning the Power Ball. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve never been a people person. Although many have the impression I’m social, these are the same people who believe that David Copperfield made the Statue of Liberty disappear. It’s all a distraction to reality. As our illustrious leader said “what you’re seeing is not what’s happening.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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With anxiety, my optimal personal space radius is the square footage of Costco. Being anywhere in a crowd is a challenge. Without a pandemic, most places are usually to “peopley.” I prefer a slow day at the mall, like during a tornado. Hey, I can deal with a few flying cars or a stray cow. I’ve watched Twister and Helen Hunt has nothing on me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Even when I’ve fully engaged my forcefield, most people are clueless of their own personal space. Standing in line at a store or market is like watching Psycho. I’m already clenching my hands because I know Norman Bates is getting ready to barge into that bathroom. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve got control of the distance in front of me, but it’s always the unknown that lurks behind. I’m consistently the unlucky one who gets bashed in the back by a woman with a purse the size of luggage. Of course, they’re always oblivious– wielding it around nunchuck-style. Is it a soccer mom or Chuck Norris in drag? <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve perfected the stink eye along with a sinister glare. If looks could kill, I’d have a body count that rivals Hannibal Lecter. I don’t need fava beans just a turn of the head and my baby blues. “Hit me one more time with that Mary Poppins carpet bag and you better be packing vodka and some Xanax.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Unfortunately, people are everywhere. It’s hard to avoid them. They seem to show up wherever I go. The worst places to maintainin personal space are public transportation and elevators. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Subways for me are truly trains to hell. I’ve already taken an escalator into the bowels of the earth, then I must fight to squeeze into a tin can of human sardines. The smell of urine, train exhaust and body odor is the perfect bouquet to my high anxiety thrill ride. “Next stop ladies and gentlemen– “Our Lady of Perpetual Panic!” <o:p></o:p></div>
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If I wasn’t afraid of my muscles seizing up and cardiac arrest on my jaunt to the sixty-fifth floor, I’d avoid elevators at all cost. They are clown cars dangling on a cable. Even just pushing the up or down button causes a flop sweat. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I can be the only person waiting to get on an elevator, but as soon as the doors part the Mormon Tabernacle Choir bus tour arrives to get on with me. I’m thrust into a sea of strangers who have no comprehension of the weight limit in an elevator car. If I’m lucky I can squeeze to the back where I can cling to the wall doing my Spiderman impression. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Most times, I’m sandwiched between people like a swinger’s orgy. There are things pressed against my front and back, and I’m not sure whether I’ve just felt a belt buckle or I’m now officially in a relationship. Do I offer an afterglow cigarette or call security?<o:p></o:p></div>
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While sheltering in place, I’m glad my anxiety can stay home. We could be setting new norms after this horrible virus is finally contained. When it is safe to wander back into society, I vote to keep social distancing. I can see and talk to you from six feet. I don’t need to smell you too. There’s no need for me to know you’re a smoker or what you had for lunch. Keep your distance and the world will be a happier place– at least for me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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SparksIgniteshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476684890675739692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357408429431954508.post-16683319532755969002020-02-03T18:30:00.001-05:002020-02-03T18:30:35.809-05:00SPARKS BRIEF: Trump Demands Ratings Increase<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LChqh2P2FcI/XjisgWUb_aI/AAAAAAAACPI/mL99UUIYXns52moYDas5PBcL1z8DcufzQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/trump-1350370_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1458" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LChqh2P2FcI/XjisgWUb_aI/AAAAAAAACPI/mL99UUIYXns52moYDas5PBcL1z8DcufzQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/trump-1350370_1920.jpg" width="582" /></a></div>
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Washington, D.C. - According to our whistleblower, Trump summoned his defense team to the White House Friday night as his historic impeachment trial nears its inevitable conclusion. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Trump fumed over slumping ratings and the fact that more households had tuned in to watch soap operas. The conservative Media Research Center has called it a “ratings disaster.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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Earlier in the week, after finding out the Nixon Watergate Hearings had higher ratings, Trump ordered the Thanksgiving turkey Butter, whom he pardoned in 2019, be brought back to the White House. Butter was unpardoned, deep fried in Dunkin Donut oil and served with a side of KFC mashed potatoes. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Later, he was seen waving a turkey drumstick at a Tomb Guard in Arlington Cemetery demanding to be given the name of the Unknown Solider.<o:p></o:p></div>
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At the late-night meeting, Trump told his lawyers the trial was the “best impeachment ever,” and that all shows should be suspended while the proceedings are being broadcast. Jay Sekulow, Trump’s private attorney, informed the President that lengthy sessions were not holding the nation’s interest. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“My impeachment must be the highest rated TV show ever! Bigger than that slave sitcom “Roots” or Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. It’s about me!!! Who wouldn’t want to watch my newest show?” he screamed, right before an aide had to administer the Heimlich to dislodge a McNugget stuck in his throat.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Sekulow told Trump the low ratings were a positive sign that Americans weren’t interested in the Democrat’s political theater. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“There will never be anything low associated with the Trump name except some low morals, low expectations and Eric’s low I.Q.” Trump said.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The Twittering White House Squatter told his lawyers he was replacing them with a new team consisting of La Toya Jackson, Gary Busey, Carrot Top, Kid Rock, Vanilla Ice, David Hasselhoff, Pamela Anderson, Scott Baio and Nicole “Snooki” Polizzi. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“People will tune into to watch the biggest group of the best celebrities assembled by me. Such big talent. They can sing, dance and tell jokes. No one will listen to Shifty Schiff when Carrot Top takes the podium.” Trump reported to the group of stunned lawyers. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Alan Dershowitz asked for clarification of Trump’s proposed defense plan. “You’ve got no audience appeal. People of your faith get low ratings. Perry Mason wasn’t Jewish. I need stars who get high ratings.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Pat Cipollone, White House counsel, informed Trump that the impeachment was entering its final phase and they’d completed their defense. “It’s over,” he advised.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“You guys barely made it through the first season, so you’re all fired. Season 2 – Celebrity Impeachment will have ratings so high that they won’t be able to be counted. Like into the trillions – which is a very big number.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Mr. Trump there isn’t going to be a season two,” Cipollone advised.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Trump’s mouth flew open, “What! We’ve been cancelled?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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We’ve received back channel information this morning that Trump called Ukraine’s President Zelensky to urge him to help produce Celebrity Impeachment. <o:p></o:p></div>
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SparksIgniteshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476684890675739692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357408429431954508.post-19888726444543195622019-12-24T13:48:00.001-05:002019-12-24T13:51:18.864-05:00The White House Night Before Christmas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the White House </span><span style="font-size: large;">the Impeachment Trial is looming for the lyin’, orange louse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Don Jr. is saying “No Quid Pro Quo” like the rest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Melania’s locked in her bedroom, telling everyone Be Best.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Ivanka’s stuffing stockings with her cheap knock-off shoes,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">while Rudy’s yelling Biden dirt, with his nose glowing from booze.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Kelly Conway is stoking the flames of hate, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">while Eric in his onesie hopes Santa’s not late.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When out on the South Lawn there arose such a clatter,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">the Secret Service rushed to see what was the matter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Taking proper precautions, safety’s always chancy,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">House Dems were on the grounds with their leader Nancy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">They held tight in their fists the Impeachment Articles – two,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It’s Donnie’s gift for his behavior.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Constitutional thing to do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Come out of the Oval Office and surrender yourself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We know of your corruption from the whistleblower - Elf on the Shelf.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">They yelled, shouted and called him by name.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Come out here crooked Trump. Admit to your shame!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And then, in a pounding they heard on floor, out came dumb Donald </span><span style="font-size: large;">through the balcony door.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">His eyes were all puffy, a combover swirled on his head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Go away all you traitors, I’ve got Stormy in bed.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Kentucky fried chicken was stuck in each tooth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">With a half open bathrobe, he’s the model of uncouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The moon on his breast, showed his man boobs were sagging.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Democrats ignored him, though his tongue kept on wagging.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He said he was brilliant. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He has the best mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But, Nancy and the House know he’s racist, petty and unkind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Nancy said, “We came here tonight on this Christmas Eve. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Pack up your office, your family, your cronies and leave.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We call on Pence, Mulvaney, Barr and Bolton,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“The country’s in chaos, so do the right thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">His morals are lacking, no crimes he’ll report.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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SparksIgniteshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476684890675739692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4357408429431954508.post-21145482087889835272019-12-16T18:12:00.001-05:002019-12-16T18:12:37.156-05:00New Products to Bring Out the Merry!!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7jxCRPI3UDo/XfgOHb1AL2I/AAAAAAAACOk/i9FczAvcdRc76ohlfyHLHgCZTa7Bgq2CwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/card-4623621_1280.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7jxCRPI3UDo/XfgOHb1AL2I/AAAAAAAACOk/i9FczAvcdRc76ohlfyHLHgCZTa7Bgq2CwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/card-4623621_1280.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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New York, NY – Consumers spend billions of dollars every year to give themselves and others a Merry Christmas. Although the largest percentage of money is for gift giving, a substantial amount goes to decorations, food and other holiday-themed products.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Manufacturers have seen how the Pumpkin Spice craze has infiltrated the market during the Fall. Companies sell everything from cereal to shower gel featuring our favorite orange squash. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Many manufacturers who lagged behind in featuring pumpkin products are making the foray into the profit-rich winter holiday season. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Thomas Linebottom, President of the National Manufacturers Association reported, “The success of Hallmark holiday movies has made consumers eager to surround themselves with everything Christmas. Research has shown that any product with a holiday theme will increase profits by 75% and make us see silver and gold.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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The Association’s issued a list of new products aimed at making the season more festive. Look for the following items at your local retailers.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b>Border Wall Garland – </b>Deck your Halls with holly covered security cameras and plan for a White Christmas. (Holiday ICE optional)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b>Cranberry/Orange Metamucil – </b>Throw a holiday party for your colon.<b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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According to Linebottom, “The Association wishes everyone a Christmas that is Merry and Bright. If it’s not bright enough buy Rudolph’s Red Beacon Batteries with extra glow power and <span> </span>your holiday will go down in history.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
p.MsoListParagraphCxSpLast, li.MsoListParagraphCxSpLast, div.MsoListParagraphCxSpLast
{mso-style-priority:34;
mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-type:export-only;
margin-top:0in;
margin-right:0in;
margin-bottom:0in;
margin-left:.5in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-add-space:auto;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif;
mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif;
mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
/* List Definitions */
@list l0
{mso-list-id:560360625;
mso-list-type:hybrid;
mso-list-template-ids:1441668906 67698689 67698691 67698693 67698689 67698691 67698693 67698689 67698691 67698693;}
@list l0:level1
{mso-level-number-format:bullet;
mso-level-text:;
mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:left;
text-indent:-.25in;
font-family:Symbol;}
@list l0:level2
{mso-level-number-format:bullet;
mso-level-text:o;
mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:left;
text-indent:-.25in;
font-family:"Courier New";}
@list l0:level3
{mso-level-number-format:bullet;
mso-level-text:;
mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:left;
text-indent:-.25in;
font-family:Wingdings;}
@list l0:level4
{mso-level-number-format:bullet;
mso-level-text:;
mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:left;
text-indent:-.25in;
font-family:Symbol;}
@list l0:level5
{mso-level-number-format:bullet;
mso-level-text:o;
mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:left;
text-indent:-.25in;
font-family:"Courier New";}
@list l0:level6
{mso-level-number-format:bullet;
mso-level-text:;
mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:left;
text-indent:-.25in;
font-family:Wingdings;}
@list l0:level7
{mso-level-number-format:bullet;
mso-level-text:;
mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:left;
text-indent:-.25in;
font-family:Symbol;}
@list l0:level8
{mso-level-number-format:bullet;
mso-level-text:o;
mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:left;
text-indent:-.25in;
font-family:"Courier New";}
@list l0:level9
{mso-level-number-format:bullet;
mso-level-text:;
mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:left;
text-indent:-.25in;
font-family:Wingdings;}
-->
</style><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">
<br /></div>
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