Thursday, November 14, 2013


Now, since we are entering that joyous Royal Gorge time of the year known as the “Food Holidays” in this, the Century of the Glutton, a few observations on the “increasing incidence of obesity” (in parlor parlance), or the “flash flood of fat folks among us” (in common jargon).

Why do people eat until they gain so much that they lose, for all intents and purposes, their gender?  Why do they consume vast quantities of everything within reach to the point where they stop being an identifiable man or a woman, or even a recognizable human, and more resemble some amorphous larva-like organism, inactive, inert, not really dead, not really alive, just some shapeless thing whose entire existence is devoted to food and loud groans of “FEED ME, I’M STARVING” (as the late, great, waaay overweight Chris Farley said so oft)?   Is the answer so simple, is the answer so simple, as per: One half of the American population was born with a modicum of will power and the other half was born without a mote of it and hence their resistance to all the sugar, sodium and carbs washing around them is non-existent?  I don’t think so.  I don’t think so.  After all, look at the epidemic of anorexia we are also witnessing side-by-side with obesity.  Were these human sticks born with too much will power?   Or are these living skeletoids no better than the obese in that they are bereft of the will power necessary to resist starving themselves to death while the gluttons are lacking the restraint necessary to keep from stuffing themselves to death?

I personally find anorexics almost as repulsive as their opposites.  Both groups are extremely sick people.  Both groups are the obvious symptoms, the outward manifestations of a morally sick society.   In both groups, it’s not so much that they can’t stop eating or they can’t stop starving so much as there is no really good reason to stop the eating or stop the starving.  In a society where there is no hope, no future, no purpose, no aim, no plan, no point of even getting out of bed in the morning, much less looking ahead a whole year, why bother?  Just as with the dope epidemic, suicide by over-eating or suicide by under-eating seems a better way out of this misery than continuing to fight each day for nothing.  Why not eat the poisonous fast food, no questions asked, until you cannot move except with the aid of a small electric bulldozer, or why not starve one’s self to death until your ribs rattle and people on the sidewalk quickly look away when you appear wearing a tank top and a pair of shorts?  Why not?  What hope, what future does this so-called society offer its people?  Is there any fun or future living in a nation that has made torture—TORTURE--state policy?  Is there any pride in a nation that attacks and invades and kills defenseless people as eagerly and with as little conscience as a pack of pit bulls would attack and tear apart a group of spring lambs?  How about the soulless slaughter of our unborn? . . . The killing of animals in the most sadistic way imaginable after raising them in the most criminal ways possible, then eating them up and shitting them out without a thought? . . . Kiddie porn? . . . The eco-rape of our natural world? . . . White guilt hammered home day after day after day by the Jewish media? . . . Nuclear annihilation hanging over our heads from the moment we were born?  These ugly realities do not lend themselves to a healthy, happy society.  

I realize the above is a very simplistic and quick scratch at the problem, but I hope the main point is made.  Why would not an abomination, such as the U.S. has become, why would it not have deadly epidemics like obesity, anorexia, drug addiction, mass psychosis, and other killer diseases of the mind when its very existence, its very way of doing biz, is the cause of it?  We are very much like the poor tormented lab rats who develop deliberate tumors and schizoid behavior merely so a few human ghouls in white can sadistically study them and later pronounce grandly that lab rats develop tumors and schizoid behavior because they are unhappy.   


One way illegal aliens boost the economy, I suppose--other than keeping our jails full and our prison guards employed--is avidly supporting the World’s Oldest Profession.  Take a breeze through virtually any police vice blotter from Ventura, Californicate, to Boston, Masturbation, and invariably the Juans outnumber the Johns sixty to six in sex street stings.  I think it must be a genetic thing.  These short, brown “beaners” lust for tall white women, as do all colored men.  When I worked in the melon fields of Californicate as a teen, I remember that going to the whore houses and getting some “poooosy” on Saturday night was seemingly all that these oversexed people talked about as we slaved along under the deadly desert sun.

Of the six netted the other night in a Sarasota sex sting, five were lusty Latinos.  From the looks of these swarthy “gentlemen,” not a Juan or Jose among ‘em was here legally.  In fact, bewildered and disheveled, most appeared as if they had just jumped down from the truck--along with the other two or three hundred new Americans—just jumped down from the eighteen-wheeler a few hours earlier at the edge of town.  Clearly, ‘tis a slow news day when the dead-tree media reports such arrests since these pedestrian street level stingers are definitely NOT news; sorta like that old saying about how a penalty for “holding” could be called on every snap of the football; well, so too could sex stings involving  swarms of Latinos be reported every day.

Of course, any such roundup would never be complete here at Senile Sentral unless at least one lecherous geezer got caught.  Old anglo, Merle G. Widmer, looks a bit amused and idiotic among the mug shots of frowning Mexicans.  Maybe Merle is quietly proud that at this late date, with both feet already planted in the grave, maybe Merle is happy something about him still works.  Good God.  Great Zeus.  Big Buddha.  Widmer is so old that the sleazy skank he solicited for sex could have been the daughter of his Great-Great-Great-Great-Great Grand daughter.  But a mere age disparity of seventy years didn’t trouble this 88-year-old fossil.   Nope.  Not he.  Not a bit.  Just pop in about a hundred Viagra pills and old Merle was ready to get it up, get it on and boogey down.


Meanwhile, two young bucks, both in their sixties, got into a spat the other night up at Siesta Key Bridge in Sarasota.  Seems one objected to where the other was parking his car; seems he had his favorite fishing spot staked out and the car was interfering; seems both were drunk as skunks in a truck full of junk.

Any who, these otherwise respectable pillars of their community exchanged words, then exchanged blows, then exchanged ice picks and knife blades. 

Old people are our worst drunks, especially the men.  Once these old idiots get a nose full of something they are 18-year-old “hot-rodders” all over again, back in the fifties, back with Bill Haley and the Comets, back wearing black shoes and white socks, back combing greasy duck-tail haircuts, back rolling a pack of Luckies up in their shirt sleeves, back ready to rock, roll, rumble, and remember.

Since I have reported on so many goofy geezer fights in the past down here, perhaps it is fit to note my “old fool/young fool” paradigm (I hate using such voguish words and phrases as paradigm, but there it is anyway), viz., to be a bad old drunk one must first be a bad young drunk.   Whatever, if one wants to see some rich sights, then one need just pop in to any Florida VFW, Elks club or random gin joint at dark noon thirty and one will see more arguments, spats and silly hissy fits than at an old ladies church Christmas committee.