Foaming At The Mouth
I wake up this morning out at Mom's house (for reasons I'll go into later) and I had had Channel 7 on overnight, so my wake-up call was ABC's 'The View'. I think even many women would agree there is no greater embarrassment to American women today, or possibly even a compelling argument for the revoking of some womens' civil rights, such as the right to vote or hold public office, than the bilious carnival known as 'The View'.
For those not in the know, 'The View' is the brainchild of distinguished veteran journalist Barbara Walters. She takes one exemplar of various stereotypes (careerwoman/desperate housewife, fat 'n' sassy black, Vaudeville-throwback Jewish comedienne, and dingbat twentysomething) and put them together in a coffee-klatsch format to talk about matters of import among today's women, namely: hot guys with big dicks. Here's a transcript from a recent broadcast
Horny Housewife: Have you seen the new Diet Coke commercial with the construction worker?
Airhead: (Squeals) The one with the hottie who takes his shirt off in slow motion?!?!?!
Fanny Brice: I wonder if his tool belt is large enough to get the job done!
Hot Chocolate: Dat's what I'm tawkin' 'bout! Hyuk-yuk-yuk-yuk!
Resting On Her Laurels: (rattles icecubes in her gin & tonic)
When you're fifteen, it's kind of a neat revelation that girls actually talk dirtier than guys do in private; the idea that girls tell snickering jokes about blowjobs, too, is a huge turn-on....when you're fifteen. And, hey, it's not like Oprah doesn't do some racy stuff. I saw a clip from her show that got indecency complaints. I'm not a particular fan of Oprah's but I'll always admire her for showing her female fans to lose some weight without gaining it back and to read something more worthwhile than Us Magazine. But five women who are supposed to winners, making the same leering innuendos that they call 'immature' when coming from guys is just bad TV. However, the looks on the faces of the studio audience of housewives when Oprah tells them the definition of 'tossed salad' is simply timeless.
Something I Have In Common with Tony Soprano
Have you ever passed out? Not passing out drunk, but losing oxygen to the brain, getting dizzy, and becoming unconcious? It ain't fun. It happened to me once about ten years ago when I tried to get out of bed too fast and I went down for the count. Luckily, my head went straight back down to the pillow so it wasn't like I was gonna do myself any damage. But it was still kinda scary.
So last night I'm at the gym, do my cardio (one hr., actually sort of light for me) and I'm in the middle of my shoulder weights set when it hits me. All of a sudden I'm woozy and fighting to stay concious. Immediately I'm nervous as hell. The floors in that part of the gym are cement so if I fall and crack my head my lights might go out for good. I slowly work my way to the front desk. The dull parts of the rest of the story: the gym staff couldn't have been nicer and more helpful, the EMTs that were eventually called were very professional, and my only complain with the hospital staff was that they really dragged their heels bringing me some Maalox to cool off my nervous stomach. The final diagnosis: too much Red Bull on an empty stomach and not enough water. They gave me two liters of saline on a IV and pronounced me fit to be released but only to the care of a close friend or loved one. Hence how I wound up in the suburbs.
The interesting part is that when you see Tony Soprano start to keel over with one of his attacks, that's really what it's like. The first things that happens after you get dizzy and realize that you have a better than fifty-fifty chance of falling out is that you panic. Am I gonna hit my head? Is my stuff gonna be all right? What kind of treatment will I get at the hands of whoever has to deal with me passing out? How embarrassing is that gonna be? How much money/time is the medical stuff gonna cost? Lucky I have good insurance but that's always a wrangle to deal with. So along with the dizziness comes the stomach starting to roil, acid pumping away, queasy feeling. Throw that into the mix and you worry if you pass out you might shit your pants, too.
So you have to plan your movements carefully. Can I make it to the comfy chairs by the front desk without incident? What do I say to the girl at the front desk so she doesn't freak out completely? You see, I still want to get through this without a big scene. All the while things aren't getting better, your brain sputters along on fumes. Even after you've made every concession to taking things easy you still feeling like shit and you're fighting to stay concious like your life depends on it.
I wake up this morning out at Mom's house (for reasons I'll go into later) and I had had Channel 7 on overnight, so my wake-up call was ABC's 'The View'. I think even many women would agree there is no greater embarrassment to American women today, or possibly even a compelling argument for the revoking of some womens' civil rights, such as the right to vote or hold public office, than the bilious carnival known as 'The View'.
For those not in the know, 'The View' is the brainchild of distinguished veteran journalist Barbara Walters. She takes one exemplar of various stereotypes (careerwoman/desperate housewife, fat 'n' sassy black, Vaudeville-throwback Jewish comedienne, and dingbat twentysomething) and put them together in a coffee-klatsch format to talk about matters of import among today's women, namely: hot guys with big dicks. Here's a transcript from a recent broadcast
Horny Housewife: Have you seen the new Diet Coke commercial with the construction worker?
Airhead: (Squeals) The one with the hottie who takes his shirt off in slow motion?!?!?!
Fanny Brice: I wonder if his tool belt is large enough to get the job done!
Hot Chocolate: Dat's what I'm tawkin' 'bout! Hyuk-yuk-yuk-yuk!
Resting On Her Laurels: (rattles icecubes in her gin & tonic)
When you're fifteen, it's kind of a neat revelation that girls actually talk dirtier than guys do in private; the idea that girls tell snickering jokes about blowjobs, too, is a huge turn-on....when you're fifteen. And, hey, it's not like Oprah doesn't do some racy stuff. I saw a clip from her show that got indecency complaints. I'm not a particular fan of Oprah's but I'll always admire her for showing her female fans to lose some weight without gaining it back and to read something more worthwhile than Us Magazine. But five women who are supposed to winners, making the same leering innuendos that they call 'immature' when coming from guys is just bad TV. However, the looks on the faces of the studio audience of housewives when Oprah tells them the definition of 'tossed salad' is simply timeless.
Something I Have In Common with Tony Soprano
Have you ever passed out? Not passing out drunk, but losing oxygen to the brain, getting dizzy, and becoming unconcious? It ain't fun. It happened to me once about ten years ago when I tried to get out of bed too fast and I went down for the count. Luckily, my head went straight back down to the pillow so it wasn't like I was gonna do myself any damage. But it was still kinda scary.
So last night I'm at the gym, do my cardio (one hr., actually sort of light for me) and I'm in the middle of my shoulder weights set when it hits me. All of a sudden I'm woozy and fighting to stay concious. Immediately I'm nervous as hell. The floors in that part of the gym are cement so if I fall and crack my head my lights might go out for good. I slowly work my way to the front desk. The dull parts of the rest of the story: the gym staff couldn't have been nicer and more helpful, the EMTs that were eventually called were very professional, and my only complain with the hospital staff was that they really dragged their heels bringing me some Maalox to cool off my nervous stomach. The final diagnosis: too much Red Bull on an empty stomach and not enough water. They gave me two liters of saline on a IV and pronounced me fit to be released but only to the care of a close friend or loved one. Hence how I wound up in the suburbs.
The interesting part is that when you see Tony Soprano start to keel over with one of his attacks, that's really what it's like. The first things that happens after you get dizzy and realize that you have a better than fifty-fifty chance of falling out is that you panic. Am I gonna hit my head? Is my stuff gonna be all right? What kind of treatment will I get at the hands of whoever has to deal with me passing out? How embarrassing is that gonna be? How much money/time is the medical stuff gonna cost? Lucky I have good insurance but that's always a wrangle to deal with. So along with the dizziness comes the stomach starting to roil, acid pumping away, queasy feeling. Throw that into the mix and you worry if you pass out you might shit your pants, too.
So you have to plan your movements carefully. Can I make it to the comfy chairs by the front desk without incident? What do I say to the girl at the front desk so she doesn't freak out completely? You see, I still want to get through this without a big scene. All the while things aren't getting better, your brain sputters along on fumes. Even after you've made every concession to taking things easy you still feeling like shit and you're fighting to stay concious like your life depends on it.