Had my semi-annual checkup last Friday, and as usual, the Sawbones told me to go away and stop wasting his time.
Yes, for those who are interested: I am in excellent health apart from the standard age-related issues, and plan on staying around to torment my children, snarl at the government and piss off the Usual Suspects (Commies, vegans, gun confiscators [some overlap] ).
Of course I gained weight during the Dreaded Lockdown — who didn’t? — but I have a plan in place to reduce my tonnage considerably, starting only next Monday because starting it during Thanksgiving would be an exercise in complete and abject failure, as any fule kno.
I think I’ll go to the range in a couple hours. For a couple hours.
However, last night I was struck by a profound thought:
So from now on, I’m going to act like I’m 40 even if it kills me.
Watch out, world: I’m coming to get you.
From The Divine Sarah at Insty (no link):
She’s quite right. I’ve always had what my mother referred to as a “weak chest” (whooping cough as a child, winter bronchitis all my life), and when I caught a mild case of pneumonia in the early 1990s, it took about three months and massive doses of antibiotics to recover fully. It’s the reason I quit driving for Uber when the Chinkvirus hit.
Let’s be careful out there.
No post today, sorry. I started one but it was too difficult to write. I’ll try to have it done by next week.
I can’t believe I’m even talking about this, but these are the times we live in.
Some men have admitted to keeping underwear for more than 20 years, a new poll has found. Clothing firm Tom Clinch conducted a poll, which found that the average British man only buys new pants once every five years.
Put me in the “5 years” category, for one simple reason. I only wear undies from Marks & Spencer, I buy about 20 pairs at a time, and I rotate them conscientiously.
And they’re all black. I’ve been buying these for over twenty years:
One style, one color. Life is too short for me to waste time on stupid shit like deciding which underwear to wear every morning, but least I’m not the guy who takes 20 years to decide to get new ones. (Seriously?)
And all that said, life is too short for me to write about this nonsense, and for you to waste your time reading it. We now return to our regular fare of guns, Commie-hatred, ill-tempered invective and patriotic bodacious wimmens (sample below).
…for not posting anything last Saturday. There was a post scheduled, only I scheduled it for April 16th instead of May 16. Then, when I tried to fix it by changing the post date, I set it for for May 23rd instead of May 16th (because since the Chinkvirus lockdown, I’ve lost all sense of time and one date is pretty much the same as another). As I sink further into senile decrepitude, I seem to be wandering through life in a daze anyway. It’s quite embarrassing.
The errant post will appear next Saturday, as incorrectly rescheduled.
And for those several Readers who contacted me in a panic, wondering if I was okay: many thanks for your solicitude.
Now back to our regular program of invective, lust, violence and man-gun love.