We all are getting older each day we roam this earth. Some of us faster than others. Some of us encounter, health issues beyond our control and some of us will face tragedies that will tax our emotional well-being. However, if we can avoid those misfortunes, many of us can find ways to age gracefully, healthfully and energetically. For those of you that have faced misfortune, we prayerfully stand next to you. Please take this post in jest.
I was always a naturally thin person that could eat a double scoop of ice cream cone at 1 AM without a second thought. My mother is 62 and looks 40. At the exact age of 41, said ice cream cone went straight to my ass and under my chin. I didn’t bounce back from a night of balls-to-the-wall drinking at age 35. And most recently, eating sushi puts bags under my eyes. Riding the motorcycle makes my joints ache. Continue reading →
Carmen Dell’Orefice turned 80 on June 3, 2011. However, she isn’t just your run of the mill American octogenarian. Granted, I do know quite a few people over the age of 80 that still go play tennis regularly and go to the casino with their great-grandchildren but I don’t know many who are still working. Dell’Orefice is not just working. She is making money in one of the most fickle fields possible.
While clearly Toddlers in Tiaras is far more disturbing, I have to say that finding out that there is a Ms. Senior America pageant in CT doesn’t sit well with me either.
Not that an elderly women can’t be gorgeous. Hell, I aspire to be one of those fabulous looking old ladies too. However, much like beauty pageants for kids, these seniors are striving to be something they are not. Continue reading →
Folks, meet Ah Be Ignorant. We’ll call her Abby, and I will reveal nothing else about her except her own words. On a website which won’t be named and isn’t the one I fled in droves, Abby and I both read an article about an archeolgical dig that discovered a man’s remains from The Copper Age (about 5000 years ago). Our prehistoric gent was buried facing to the left, with a number of jars and pots.
No big deal? Well, burial rituals were very serious business back then, and that burial position and accoutrements were reserved exclusively for women. Tabloids screamed: “GAY CAVEMAN FOUND!” and scientists went all a-dither. While this is an interesting discovery, you simply can’t tell someone’s sexual orientation by what they were buried in. We’re sure based on the age of the bones that he wasn’t a “caveman,” and we can’t tell for sure if he was gay.
On the smirking site for old people, the findings were published as just that – interesting, perhaps as an indicator of social acceptance for different gender expressions. We know that “third-gender” is a concept recognized by anthropologists. Except for Abby.
Abby wrote: Glad I’m sitting down, because I would have fallen over laughing.
Really, Abby? The very idea of gay people existing over the span of time is funny? The idea that the manner of burial suggests something is absurd?
So I looked at her picture, and without taking into account the glazed look in the dead raisins of her eyes or the way her doughy face cracked open to reveal a roll of stale Mentos melting in the sun of a Murfreesboro parking lot, and without considering the fact that her dog looks like a Hell-o-Lab rather than a Yellow one, I wrote:
I hope they’re sitting down in 3011 when they dig you up and find Fido and a jar of Skippy peanut butter.
Naturally, the author of the article deleted my comment, but not before Abby responded: I’ve never eaten peanut butter in my life and if they want to dig me up, I won’t give a flying fig!
I suppose I should have been more graphic. But I did sign in as Heywood Jablowme, so I had to draw a line.
A good joke well told is a thing of beauty, even when it keeps piling outrage upon the obscene upon the inconceivably lewd, as anyone who has seen The Aristocrats will attest. This crazed masterpiece of comedy showcases both a classic joke and the many ways its various retelllers embroider it. If your head doesn’t explode in the first fifteen minutes or so, you will be transported to a world of funny you never even suspected.
It’s my experience that most of the very best and funniest jokes aren’t really appropriate to tell at Thankgiving dinner; they’re irreverent, or raunchy, or so totally over-the-top you’ll never be invited back. But here’s one that really isn’t. Your grandmother — or even a Mother Superior — is unlikely to take umbrage … but everyone will laugh.
Les Trois Freres Francais
Bon, bien alors: we ‘ave three little French boys, zey are brozzers. Zere is Jean – he is ze tout petit, il n’a que sept ans … he has only seven years of age. Zen come Louis, who has eight years; and finalement zere is Pierre, ze ainé — zis is in English I think, ze “eldest”. Pierre has nine years.
Jean, Louis, and Pierre
So, ze three young garcons are walkeen down ze street, and le petit Jean, he is liking to peep in ze windows as zey pass by. And at one window, he look in and zen shout to his brozzers: “Ey, Louis, Pierre, come look!! Ze lady and gentleman, zey are fighteen.”
Alors, Louis look also in ze window, and he say, “Jean, you are still a bebé, and per’aps not even French; zis lady and gentleman, zey are not fighteen, zey are makeen love.”
So, Pierre – he has nine years – he peep in ze window also, zen turn to Jean et Louis, and say wiz utter Gallic scorn, “And very badly, too”
Now, we ‘ave skip 70 years to see again Jean, Louis, et Pierre, who are now debonair boulevardiers of long standing . And when we find zem at the Café Royale, zey are discussing savoir-faire.
“Oh”, says Jean (he is, souvenez-vous, the youngest brozzer), “Oh,” he says, “I have not for nozzing spent 73 years as a Frenchman: of course I know what is savoire-faire. It is when you come home, find your wife in bed wiz anozzer man, and you say, ‘Oh, pardonnez-moi!”
“Ahh, Jean, mon p’tit frangin,” replied Louis, “‘ave you learned nozzing whatever since that day so long ago when you sought ze lady and gentleman were fighteen?? Once more, you are incorrect; allow me.”
“Savoire-faire,” Louis said, “is when you come home and find your wife in bed wiz anozzer man, and you say ‘Oh pardonnez-moi, please continue.’
“Helas, mes frères,” says Pierre, “I fear our papa et maman must have adopted you two in Belgique; surely you cannot truly be French. So I shall explain to you yet again:
“Savoir-faire is when you come home and find your wife in bed wiz anozzer man, and you say ‘Oh, excuse me, please continue – and he continues …
Folks, meet Ah Be Ignorant. We’ll call her Abby, and I will reveal nothing else about her except her own words. On a website which won’t be named and isn’t the one I fled in droves, Abby and I both read an article about an archeolgical dig that discovered a man’s remains from The Copper Age (about 5000 years ago). Our prehistoric gent was buried facing to the left, with a number of jars and pots.
ago when you sought ze lady and gentleman were fighteen?? Once more, you are incorrect; allow me.”