Another Attack On Fortune Cookie Messages

Brace yourself!  I’m in one of those moods where if the Rapture occurred and I was the only one left on the planet, I’d feel it was almost one person too many.  Even a mild-mannered gent like myself, when forced to function in a world full of absolute blockheads, builds a level of frustration that after awhile, needs release.  So, what better way to do that non-violently ? Take  twenty more of those numbskullish, narcissistic fortune cookie messages, and tack on some grouchy sarcasm (in blue) !!

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True wisdom is found in happiness.... thus you will remain stupid the rest of your life.

Make a wise choice everyday.... and you will be unique among the jackasses with whom you associate.

Not all closed eye is sleeping, nor open eye is seeing..... nor black eye is because you didn't deserve it.

Seize every second of your life and savor it.... as the cholesterol- filled grizzle it is.

Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others.... blindness is art of writing stupid statements like that.

It's kind of fun to do the impossible.... because when you ultimately fail you have a built-in alibi.

When in doubt, let your instincts guide you.... understanding they cannot be used in court as a legal defense.

You will have an extremely bright future… but only if you wrap yourself in aluminum foil from head to foot.

Love is on its way.... or at least that's what you always say when you’re not getting any.

You are one of the people who "goes places in life."..... but NOWHERE is highly overrated.

We cannot change the direction of the wind, but we can adjust our sails.... or just sell the damn boat and cut our losses altogether.

Begin your life anew with strength, grace, and wonder.... why you're gullible enough to believe this crap.

You are often asked if it’s in yet..... which doesn't engender much self-confidence, right, Lover Boy?

A beautiful, smart, and loving person will be coming into your life.... and quickly regretting having done so.

You create your own stage ... the audience is waiting.... to watch you make an idiot of yourself.

Do not follow where the path may lead. Go where there is no path, and leave a trail.... so that the rescue squad has some idea of where to look for your dumb ass.

You believe in the goodness of mankind..... as well as unicorns, the Tooth Fairy, and that someday you're going to lose weight.

You are broad minded and socially active..... so don't abandon those monthly blood tests.

You will have many happy days soon..... as long as your medical marijuana card gets authorized.

Unleash your life force..... and let the dog that it is, run away.

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Read more fortune cookie messages from Paisano’s point of view, at these links:

http://theprattlingpaisano.blogspot.com/2013/02/fortune-cookie-messages-for-pessimists.html

http://theprattlingpaisano.blogspot.com/2011/06/fortune-cookie-messages-lets-get-real.html

Romance At The Local Park

When you’re an old guy like me, bad feet and questionable knees make your choice of exercise regimens rather limited.  And since puttering around in the shop, or sitting at the computer trying to write interesting commentary is not considered legitimate exercise, my choice of physical activity has defaulted to bike riding within a couple miles of my house.

While I could easily go off on a rant about bike riding, I‘ll save that for another time.  I mean, any activity that makes you feel like a buck during hunting season, calls for some sort of exposure as the second deadliest urban exercise after being chased by muggers and/or bill collectors.  But in circling my local park’s vehicle area, I’ve slowly become quite a chronicler of what actually goes on there during daylight hours. And believe it or not, there’s a shocking amount of romance in the air.

For example, it’s a handy haven for horny Middle School students who walk past it on their way home.  Clumped around those more “out of the way” picnic benches, they ardently practice a variety of chasing, catching, and “rubbing up against each other” skills so appealing at that age.  Maybe it’s just normal adolescent behavior, or perhaps a “hands-on” homework assignment for their Human Sexuality class.

Then there are the couples who meet for lunch, arriving in  separate vehicles.  They park at different spots in the lot, then meet at a table somewhere in between.  Once there, some snuggle and smooch while they share sustenance, and others sit separately and pass things across the table.  Whether picnicking or not, my guess is that the snugglers and smoochers are most likely not married, and the ones with the space between them, are.

Another coed “grouping” also arrives in separate cars, but ends up in either one vehicle or the other.  They usually begin by chatting for a few moments, but inevitably move on to more tactile forms of communication which, if happening in colder weather, would certainly fog up every window in short order. 

Of course, there are couples who arrive at the park together, then walk hand-in-hand to areas unknown, glancing back over their shoulders as they go. They always seem to reappear ten to twenty minutes later with new looks of appreciation on their faces, most likely for the bounties provided by nature to those with a strong attraction for each other.

And almost always, there’s at least one couple under a blanket in 80 degree heat, moving in ways that make it clear they must have mistakenly stretched it out over a colony of red ants.  Of course,  they might be practicing wrestling strategies for the 2016 Olympics, even though I’m not aware that “lip locks” are one of the moves that are either legal, or need much practice even if they are. 

Finally, every once and awhile a Senior couple hobbles from their vehicle, pulled by a dust mop of a dog on a long leash.  They usually end up on the closest bench, and while no less romantic than those around them, their expression of love is usually more geriatric than athletic.  A gentle hand on the shoulder, or simple sharing of a small snack among all three, seems to say it all.  And once and awhile they glance at their youthful counterparts, then turn and smile sweetly at each other.  And while I’m still circling on my bike observing from afar, I can almost hear them quietly saying, “Been there, done that!”

For Better Or Worse, Boys Will Be Boys

In a recent attempt to ban legal abortions after twenty weeks of pregnancy, Representative Michael Burgess (R-TX) stated that because he’s seen sonograms of male fetuses masturbating in the womb at around 15 weeks, it’s proof that since they feel pleasure, they must conversely, feel pain.

To his credit, Mr. Burgess did not made these observations by  frequenting porn sites that specialize in vaginal voyeurism.  Apparently he’s a doctor/legislator who has delivered hundreds of babies, thus studied at least that many sonograms.

Anyway, while it is certainly NOT my purpose to extend the abortion debate on this occasion, I DO think it’s noteworthy to make a few observations regarding these claims.  First of all, critics might say his definition of “masturbating” is far too vague.  After all, the only thing to which he can attest is that he’s seen male fetuses with “their hand between their legs.”  Realistically, he could have seen that at the mall watching male adults.  With fetuses, however, maybe they were just scratching an annoying itch, or determining whether their testicles had descended.  Or perhaps they were simply checking ahead of time to see how they might “measure up” as compared to other boys, if they survive long enough to make it to a Middle School shower room.

Not only that, since sonograms are captured as “still” pictures, a mere hand between the legs does not reveal whether the classic “movement” generally associated with this type of self- gratification, is indeed occurring.  Besides, if it actually IS going on, wouldn’t one assume that the offending fetus would blow his cover by having a wide grin on his face as the picture is taken?  Burgess never mentioned anything about happy facial expressions.

Furthermore, according to my research, a 15 week old fetus is approximately the size of a lemon.  By my guess that would make his “member” about an eighth inch long at best, even when erect.  Now if that toddler on the commercial can’t even grab a few Cheerios well enough to put them it his or her mouth at two or three years old, how in the heck can a fetus with relatively NO hand-eye coordination grab on to anything that miniscule, let alone manipulate it?

Perhaps this discovery of possible masturbation in male fetuses, says more about the nature of “maleness” rather than anything relating to abortion.  Because if the Burgess observations ARE correct, it reinforces what we adult males have known all along.  Basically, we’re very horny creatures.  And even without the benefit of visual stimuli, we are wired to remain in that mode until we croak.  In short, sexual impulses are as automatic as breathing.  And if you don’t believe me, consider this.  Nowhere in any of the sonograms to which Burgess referred, was the male fetus holding a girly magazine in the other hand.

Male masturbation most likely began in the Garden of Eden when Eve was in a bad mood.  And it has continued throughout history.  Yeah, you heard me!  I’m still not completely convinced that it was his “violin” with which Nero was fiddling while Rome burned.

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In time, boys turn into old men.  For Paisano's take on that, you might like to read this:

http://theprattlingpaisano.blogspot.com/2013/01/in-defense-of-dirty-old-men.html