Tuesday, October 1, 2013

* Pray for the Widowmaker ----- (KFC: Kentucky Fried Clones)

My Little Pot

I’ve got to go for my annual checkup (bi-annual) next week.  My GP is the real-life doctor who wrote the book Bag Balm and Duct Tape: Tales of a Vermont Doctor.  You can google his name if you really want it.  He’s a couple years older than I am, and I’m 68, soon to be 69.

I trust him. 

 Last time I was there he patted my tummy and said ‘What about this?”  It was a little rounder than in the past.  I said, “Yeah, I’ll lose it with summer yard work.”

I didn’t.  

Actually I gained five pounds up to 230. The most I’d ever been is 225, the lowest 175

At 6’2” that--225-- is just a tad too much body fat.  But now I’m 6’1”,: entropy you know. So maybe I'll get a lecture from the doc this time.

Anyway I’ve got my speech rehearsed. If he tells me to lose weight, I’m going to say “You’ve got to die of something.  After all, I’m 69 going on 70.”

It used to be a pot belly would produce a nice healthy heart attack that took you off----I mean "OFF."

Now, the rescue squad brags they can get to the house in 11 minutes, and if they hook you up to the oxygen---you’re a goner.

I don’t mean dead and gone.  I mean, “on life-support and HERE” GONE .  Forever.

They can keep you alive just like all those farms of cloned chicken flesh that wind up in Colonel Sanders’s places.  

In fact, they had to rename Colonel Sanders’ Kentucky Friend Chicken to   simply KFC, precisely because the farms of cloned chicken flesh had never been attached to any living creature and could not legally be called “chicken”.

Well, that’s what happens to you if the ambulance gets you.

It used to be you could roll around on the floor and gasp and be pretty sure you were on your way off the planet.

Now you can be pretty sure you’re on your way to the flesh farm, aka as ICU.

So I’m going to keep the pot belly as long as I don’t get so rotund I have to buy new clothes. Besides, its becoming to a man my age.

And I’ll just hope that my heart attack isn’t a mild one that the ambulance folks can  use to add another notch to their holsters. 

I’ll hope for the widowmaker, the one where an aorta bursts and all the blood stops flowing----immediately.

My Bag Balm and Duct Tape doctor will understand that.

No comments: