Monday, March 04, 2013

Let Me Off

Anyone else notice a change in food over the past decade?  Suddenly grapes are as big as plums, sweet potatoes are as large as squash, cobs of yellow corn are perfect, tomatoes flawless, and the texture of the meat you eat is neat but increasingly vapid and tasteless.

The reason?  Genetically Modified Organisms.  For you who have trouble with gnarly multi-syllabic science phrases like me, that’s just GMO in simple jargon.  At least as early as the 1980’s scientists have been tinkering with food and the DNA compounds that form them.  Personally, anytime man enters the God biz I get VERY concerned, especially when he is screwing with stuff I stuff my gut with.   Sorry, but these GMO experiments are not done by benevolent beings for benign reasons; they are being done for cold, hard cash.  My health comes in a distinct second to their quest for profit.  I have heard that, for better or ill (emphasis on the ILL), virtually everything you/me/we eat is now GMO.  Read and heed:  GMOs are now everywhere, in everything.  Cancer?  Probably.

I do not think there is some sinister cabal out there deliberately trying to poison us and our world, but like any other human sand box that people play in, or try to perfect, or create, or conquer—art, mountain climbing, working a Rubic’s cube--so to do the smock-coat scientists.  Many things we do not eat—blue roses, “glofish,” apes with hazel eyes, cows that give human milk—are being created by these lab gods as well.

As I see it there is little one can do about it (one might start one’s own garden but if the seeds are GMO—as they are--what’s the point?).  Certainly, one should continue to watch what they eat and how much of it they eat.  But alas, to be the healthiest of the unhealthy and die from one of the “milder” forms of cancer seems about the most anyone can hope for.

As I type, the GMO of the future (gentleman, above) is being created to consume the GMO of the present (below).


Ironic Ways to Go, #751--For those of you who want to be remembered for something more than just surviving this life by living it safely,  longly and dully, come to Florida—here, your chances of making history and being remembered for something other than living safely, longly and dully are infinitely greater than elsewhere; here, being remembered for dying ironically and oddly is a way of . . . is way of . . . is a way of death. 

As seemingly the entire world knows by now, last week a Floridian was minding his own zzzzzzzz’s, sleeping like a log, dreaming like a dog, in his own bedroom; next minute he is fighting for his life, screaming for his life, swimming for his life as he was being sucked down and swallowed up by a big, black sinkhole.  Never did they find this man’s body; by now it is well on its way to China.

Now, up yonder in Lake County, 68-year-old Dick Banner was out the other afternoon just ‘joyin’ the weather on his Harley.  The day was a bit windy, but. . . . Maybe Dick was thinking about how nice it was to be retired and finally free of the factory after 40 years of wage-slavery up north.  Maybe Dick had just met some pole dancing skank at a “gentleman’s club” and was now in love.  Maybe Dick and the human refrigerator he called his wife these past hundred years were planning a Caribbean cruise to Curacao where Mrs. Banner could eat 24/7.  Maybe there were a lot of things Dick was thinking about but the last thing he was thinking about was the thing that was about to happen.

A plastic sign, a banner, advertising something, broke free from a pole and blew loose just as Dick was passing.  The sign flapped right across Dick’s windshield causing him to lose control.  Startled, Banner first crossed into the opposite lane with no damage, but then he over-corrected the other way and smashed headfirst into a brick wall.  For what it was worth, he was wearing a helmet.

The irony of the obvious is unnecessary for me to point out but I will nonetheless:  The banner was advertising the opening of a new Dick’s Sporting Goods.