Meanwhile, down in the teeming Nile Valley most of the twenty-two million people who make up the second largest demographic disaster on earth (aka "city") were living a hand-to-mouth existence in mud huts beside canals clogged with garbage. One does not see any dogs or cats running around. Because of a thick blue smog, visibility anywhere in Cairo is, I would guess, about a hundred yards on a good day and about as far as you can toss a hundred-pound oxygen canister on a bad day. Construction work at Tahrir Square (the main meeting ground and the place where most of the recent violence took place) continues apace and close by ex-President Mubarak’s old Mubarak-For-Life Party HQ, a tall modern building, is still a burned and gutted monument to the regime’s corruption and the fallen leader's roll as US puppet and stooge.
Flocks of young maidens, everywhere, all in their black jeans and colorful scarves—for some reason they were riveted by Michelle wherever we went. The young ladies' large, olive eyes followed my quiet wife quietly, and a bit suspensefully, I thought, as they examined everything about her—her slimness, her confidence as she walked beside me (not three paces back), her reddish-blond hair, her frizzy reddish-blond hair style, her simple, yet chic, clothes, her gold sandals, the simplicity of her jewelry. When my wife would feel a hundred eyes on her and look over and wave to the girls their faces instantly lit up like Chinese lanterns as they waved back in unison. Michelle must have felt like Queen Nefertiti surrounded by her hand maidens yet she never said a thing about it except how "adorable" the girls were.
In one shop where she was having a gold cartouche necklace set to hieroglyphics, my wife was speed-dialed by an amorous Arab doing the job. Not standing on the least bit of ceremony, Mahmoud, Mustafa, Mehmet, or whatever his name was, point blank proposed to the startled American woman. Sadly, Michelle stated to her suitor that she was already married to an old, bald lout and that the Egyptian might have to wait a few years for the lout American to be killed by pit bulls, or until some senile Florida geezer ran over him on his bike, which ever came first.
Your blogadeer and his wife (below) posing beside some statue.
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Diabetes on the Brain—Now that the elections are mercifully over, and now that many senile seniors—alas--have somehow managed to find their way south to the Sunshine State again, the “Letters to the Editor” have revved up to their natural level of retarded reading. Every day letters like the following become more common:
Editor:
Many thanks to the folks who put together the car show at the Charlotte Sun. The huge display of vehicles was excellent. Keep it up.
On the dark or negative side was after being invited into the lounge area for coffee and doughnuts, only doughnuts with frosting and/or covered with sugar were on hand. Plain doughnuts would be a great item for the many diabetics who attend the show and also purchase your paper. Doughnuts are made first without any covering, so why not order in some? Any chance for the next time?
Also thanks to the volunteers who were on hand for anyone wanting to get checked for diabetes.
Bob Churl
Port
Charlotte
If
batz Bob finds free sinkers covered with frosting and sugar so “dark and
negative” guess he must lead a pretty cloistered life and guess he must find
virtually everything else in this scary world pretty damned “sinister and evil,”
including Snickers, popcorn balls and candied apples.
Bob, you lard, you whiny worm, you simple-minded dolt, HELLO? They are free, Bob, FREE doughnuts . . . free as the wind! If your monomania about diabetes and sugar-loaded freebies is so dire, then Bob why not break down and buy sugar-free doughnuts (if there is such a silly thing) or better yet, why not make some sugar-free doughnuts on your own hook? Too expensive, you say? Too hard to make, you say? Thought so. Check.
My advice, Bob, is just avoid altogether doughnuts and such and you might just avoid diabetes too. And quit your damned whining. You, my man, are just the type of curmudgeon who can put the kibosh on nice events like the above when the organizers say to themselves, “Oh, to hell with this thing. I'm so outta here. It’s nothing but headaches with people like Bob bitching and complaining about every thing every step of the way!”
______________________________________________________Bob, you lard, you whiny worm, you simple-minded dolt, HELLO? They are free, Bob, FREE doughnuts . . . free as the wind! If your monomania about diabetes and sugar-loaded freebies is so dire, then Bob why not break down and buy sugar-free doughnuts (if there is such a silly thing) or better yet, why not make some sugar-free doughnuts on your own hook? Too expensive, you say? Too hard to make, you say? Thought so. Check.
My advice, Bob, is just avoid altogether doughnuts and such and you might just avoid diabetes too. And quit your damned whining. You, my man, are just the type of curmudgeon who can put the kibosh on nice events like the above when the organizers say to themselves, “Oh, to hell with this thing. I'm so outta here. It’s nothing but headaches with people like Bob bitching and complaining about every thing every step of the way!”
Down at Key West (or maybe down at Key East, I forget which), 69-year-old Juan Zigler entered his local post office and handed the clerk a note. Because the writing on the message was as scrambled as the writer’s brain it was hard for the baffled employee to figure out just what in hell Juan wanted. The note did say something about “blowing up the Keys” so maybe the senior senor thought he was in a bank and was trying to extort some bingo money. Whatever, the angry old coot tossed a firecracker with a wire and hearing aid battery attached to it over the counter. Nothing happened, of course, and JZ was taken away to his padded cell without further incident. Seems the senile terrorist was unsure exactly who or what he wanted to terrorize. And so. . . .
Whatever, whether Juan is certifiably crazy or just plain nutz, Big Brother has almost no wiggle room when it comes to terroristic threats and a federal funny farm seems the next and last stop for this crazed Florida coot.
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Woman on a Manatee—A lady is in deep doo-doo here because back last autumn she made friends with a manatee. Gloria Garcia Gutierrez was arrested because she was spotted swimming last September with a manatee, which are on the endangered species list. The woman admitted her guilt but professed her innocence, stating that she was new to the area and did not realize such a seemingly harmless act was against federal law. Odd of me, I know, but in this case I tend to favor Ms. Garcia Gutierrez Gonzalez Godzilla. True, any normal person might imagine that one would have to live under a very large rock to be unaware of such societal strictures and eco taboos as saddling and riding an endangered Siberian Tiger or swimming with and hugging up a Manasota Manatee but hey, ignorance is 9/10th of the law and besides, Ms. Garcia Gutierrez Gonzalez Godzilla Garbanzo Gorilla was not some drunken tattooed freak riding the beast bare back while guzzling a six-pack of Bud Lite. No, for my money, let Ms. Garcia Gorilla go this time. Her “crime” is harmless and understandable.
Next time, however, next time she is caught committing such a foul and fiendish crime as petting a manatee she will be sentenced to twenty years in prison and forced to clean out twice-a-day the killer whale tanks over at Sea World. If she survives that should cure Gloria of her love for large, dangerous sea creatures.
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