Wednesday, November 30, 2011

A Christmas story? Or not!!!

"Like an overripe beefsteak tomato rimmed with cottage cheese, the corpulent remains of Santa Claus lay dead on the living room floor. The family's little rat terrier walked up to the prone body and defecated on its unbreathing chest, as restless reindeer shifted their hoofs noisily on the roof of the house."

Hmmm!  I am having a bit of trouble writing my Christmas story this year. It doesn't seem to be going in the right direction. Once again I have killed the main character in the first paragraph.  I seem to do that a lot.  I guess there are too many things on my mind.  Perhaps I will win the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction contest this year for the best "It was a dark and stormy night" prose .

Many questions that I saw on a website called"That's my answer."  have been nagging at me.
One question was: If you were a superhero and you had super powers, what would they be?

I know the answer now.  I would be Super Senior Citizen Man. 

I even know what super powers I would have.
  • The ability to hear complete conversations without saying "huh?..what?"
  • The ability to see things without my glasses.
  • The ability to smell and taste food, flowers, coffee.
  • The ability to walk without my hip hurting.
  • The ability to sleep on my right side, pain free.
  • The ability to sleep the whole night without getting up and going to the bathroom.
  • The ability to remember where I put my glasses so I could find the bathroom.
  • The ability to remember if I took my BP medicines.
  • The ability to get out of bed and stand up straight.
  • The ability to watch a television program without falling asleep.
  • The ability to have voluntary BM's.
My wife (thw little French Lady) sees some of my inabilities as a good thing. A case in point would be my skill at cleaning up Wilson's litter box every morning.  She will not come down the stairs until this is done.  She has tried several times to show up before it is done and she starts gagging and she runs upstairs screaming, "It burns my eyes! It burns my eyes!!!"  
Now that I think about it, even Wilson tries to avoid his own essence after he uses the litter box.  He will sprint up the stairs like a bullet.  
No fifteen year old cat should be able to move that fast without a strong motivation.
It smells pretty bad...I am told.
    This is a start for Super Senior Citizen Man.  A  cape and wearing my underwear on the outside will be a nice touch also.
    I would need a faithful companion, a sidekick, of course. Every super hero has one.

    I would actually have two.  I would have "General Practitioner Man", who would assure my ongoing success as "Super Senior Citizen Man"  by dispensing prescriptions, and "Pharmacy Girl", who would assist GP Man with my medications such as Prozac, medical cannabis in pill or brownie form (for glaucoma, of course). 
    What!!!??? I don't live in California? Or Vermont?...never mind.

    I would need some sleeping aids, for sure.  I go to bed and my mind races like a three year old after drinking two cups of coffee and a Jolt cola.
    These questions on "That's my answer" drive me crazy.  
    The other day someone asked, "If you could, in what city would you like to be a taxi driver."  
    I picked Vatican City.  Short trips.

    I think about these things while trying to sleep.  Last night I was thinking about taxes.
    I understand the concept. I am confused about how are taxes are spent.

    The government will spend huge quanities of money to send PFC John Doe to Iraq and Afghanistan with top of the line equipment. When he gets home, they dump him on the street shell shocked, missing a leg, homeless and basically say "We are done with you now don't bother us". Sad, but true...
    The night before I agonized over how to fold fitted sheets.  I also wondered why the first testicular guard, "the cup" was used in hockey in 1874 and the first  helmet was used in 1974.  Does this come down to manly priorities?  This is proof that man is evolving.
    I live at the beach.  Boccie players have small balls.  I think they should use bowling balls instead.  Their little balls take up too much room on the beach.  I don't want to get whacked in the head by someone's stray balls flying through the air. 
    Last Wednesday night worry: Pockets on a thong.  Good idea or bad idea? Discuss amongst yourselves...

    Tuesday night, "euphemisms" kept me awake.  I was trying to find a nice way of saying "vomiting". The choice that comes to mind: Unplanned reexamination of recent food choices.
    Well, I guess it is time to get back to my Christmas story.  All Righty then!!!
    "The shrieking of happy little children is heard in the background as they descend the stairs before entering the living room to open their presents."
    Uh oh....! I don't think this is going to end well.  
    Perhaps I should email my pal, Stuart Woods again. Yeah, He's my pal...I tell you!!!!  He got me out of my last writing blunder.


    1. very, very funny, and yet I could relate.

    2. What would you put in that pocket...hmmm...the possibilities.

    3. I'm thinking small change. Nothing too heavy. We don't want anything too weighty that could cause her thong to slip down and expose herself. Ummm...Did I just say that?

    4. Pockets on a thong. I can't stop pondering that. Just can't stop.