Oinks On the Passing Scene

One of my favorite columnists is a gentleman named Thomas Sowell, noted economist and professor. Although I appreciate reading his well written and erudite articles and books, my guilty pleasure with regards to his works, given my excruciatingly short attention span and limited retention, are his “Random Thoughts” columns – bulleted lists of short observations about life in general. I am far too small a person, in stature and metaphorically speaking, to pass upon the opportunity to clamber onto the shoulder of an intellectual giant and try my hand at something similar. I shall call my inconsequential observations "Oinks On the Passing Scene"... which I hope is not already in use and likely to provoke legal action.


* This Monday, after a full week of standing at my new desks, I have several squealings and oinks to report.

1. My feet and back hurt badly enough to make me wish for an immediate morphine addiction and a subsequent treatment program that includes more morphine and a private room with Lindsay Lohan. Actually, screw it, just more morphine.

2. The simple act of standing at my desk has given me the impression that even unproductive, pedestrian activities such as playing World of Warcraft suddenly feel more important and useful. Now when I kill goblins and orcs, it really seems like I am accomplishing something and am not just a huge freaking dork.

3. The pooling of blood in my legs and subsequent starvation of my brain has made me delusional enough to think online video games are not the life-sucking wastes of time they really are for huge freaking dorks.

4. I gained one pound this week (now 219), but since the previous two weeks saw gains of two pounds each, all this delirious standing around has at least slowed the rate of “massivication”, my new word for becoming fat enough to scare children to tears and repel woman fast enough to provoke skid marks even from high heels.

* Having watched the “Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show”, I can agree with Fat Cat that those women have 14 feet of legs… 14 happy, awesome, gorgeous, tasty, yummy, sexy, beautiful feet of WHERE CAN I GET ME SOME OF THAT??, legs. My question: what exactly are they selling again?

* As Christmas approaches, I can’t shake the feeling that everyone I know personally must be damn blessed (see what I did there?) if the main problem this year is that they’re hard to shop for because they already have almost everything they could use or want.

* There is so much partial nudity, sex, foul language, and amorality on television now that I am seriously tempted to start watching again.

* Our society took another step towards Hell this week now that Michael Vick has been given 23 months in prison for promoting dog fighting while O.J. Simpson walks free. What has happened to proportion in this country?

* The women at the pharmacy where I get my prescriptions for prostate medication look amused (and damn unprofessional!) that someone my age might have trouble of any kind “down there”. I also can’t think of a good way to legally convince them that I don’t.

* With any luck, the Writer’s Guild strike will put a big nail in the coffin of the Hollywood studio elite network that is designed to reward producers, agents, and stars to the detriment of the people who actually create the stories and characters we all love to watch on television, the computer, and especially the silver screen.

* If the aforementioned strike goes on too long, however, the national I.Q. will drop to historically low levels as the entire network television line-up becomes “reality” programs such as “The Hills” and “Kid Nation”.

* Winter is magical and wonderful not because of the holidays or the vacations, it is awesome because fat people can finally wear clothes that manage to hide some of the pounds they have packed on the first 10 months of the year.

* Because your mirror lies, don’t be fooled that your enormous overcoat is hiding ALL of those extra pounds. People still kinda know, with or without the furry muumuu you call a “jacket”.


Pigassus


P.S. Did I mention my feet and back sorta hurt? Like crazy, tears-in-my-eyes, hurt?