🐱 Interesting clickbait, op-eds, fluff pieces and other smaller stories
- Thread starter CatParty
- Start date
CatParty
- Joined
- Sep 10, 2017
I remember a similar thing happening, except it had an actual victim
Some nig went to a chinese restaurant and kept trying to order cat, claiming he was told they served it there.
Of course the reaction was more of "haha what a funny nigger, asians are racists anyway"
Some nig went to a chinese restaurant and kept trying to order cat, claiming he was told they served it there.
Of course the reaction was more of "haha what a funny nigger, asians are racists anyway"
Its not about actually being offended, its the power you get from saying your offended
- Joined
- Mar 18, 2019
I like how they're too fucking embarrassed of the shit rag they write for that there isn't even an author's name attached to it; it's just 'Resonate Team.'
- Joined
- Dec 8, 2019
She doesn't seem to be quite old and/or mature enough yet to be cussing out people.
Also, if you are going to use Mariah Carey's song to make a joke, why not take inspiration instead from an old-time classic?
Lucille Bluth
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Jan 19, 2019
They're only mad because those TikTok users let the cat out of the bag.
- Joined
- Feb 2, 2019
Reminds me of a tv segments about racial prejudices where some asian woman was complaining about dutch people thinking asians eat cats and dogs and that it was a horrible prejudice and then she proceeded to tell a story where her parents had prepared the neighbour's dog and didn't tell her until after she had finished eating her portion.
- Joined
- Feb 3, 2013
Man's Farts Can 'Kill Mosquitoes Six Meters Away'
Joe Rwamirama, 48, alleges his farts can kill mosquitoes, and that a manufacturing company has hired him to assist in developing a new bug repellent.
socialnewsdaily.com
Joe Rwamirama, 48, alleges his farts can kill mosquitoes, and that a manufacturing company has hired him to assist in developing a new bug repellent.
They’re one of the deadliest creatures on the planet, however mosquitoes could soon be wiped off the map – thanks to Rwamirama’s farts. The reason for his bizarre insect-slaying farts remains undetermined, and he says that his windbreaks are ‘just like everyone else.’ Speaking to reporters, he claimed: “I eat ordinary food just like everyone else but no insect can lay a foot on me, not even a fly.
“I smell like a normal man and I bathe daily and my farts are just like everyone else, they are only dangerous to small insects and especially mosquitoes.” His extraordinary skill is well reputed across his hometown (Kampala), accordant to local barber, Jim Yoweri. Speaking to news outlets, he explained: “He is known all over the city as the man who can kill mosquitoes with his farts. When Joe is around we all know that mosquitoes will vanish.
“He is respectful of people around him and will only fart when there are mosquitoes around which bring malaria. His farts gets rid of this disease.” While the name of the manufacturing company remains a riddle, Rwamirama contends that they’re paying him ‘millions’ to assist in the craft of a new repellent. Without question, the news has ignited a series of jokes on the web.
On a Reddit thread regarding the press, one user quipped: “This is how real life X-Men begins,” whilst another joked: “I can make my dog get off the couch. Nobody’s writing articles about me.” And one kidded: “Imagine having a beer with your mate, and a mosquito lands on you, and he just gets up and rips a fat one on your arm and it dies instantly.”
- Joined
- Nov 2, 2018
lawyers attack doctors at Pakistani cardiac hospital
At least three heart patients died on Wednesday after a group of lawyers attacked doctors at a cardiac hospital and set vehicles alight (main) in Pakistan's eastern city of Lahore.
This is next level clown world shit.
- Joined
- Dec 28, 2014
Fuck chinks and gooks! The only Asians worth anything are Japanese.
when they say anything. FTFY.
It's literally a rape drug. Most of the deaths are when your intended rape victim was already high on a bunch of other shit before you tried to drug them to rape them.
- Joined
- Nov 26, 2016
Gassing mosquitoes I see.
Those pest sprays smell like hell already, can't imagine what a fart spray would smell like.
Those pest sprays smell like hell already, can't imagine what a fart spray would smell like.
- Joined
- Aug 20, 2018
- Joined
- Sep 11, 2014
Its like a real live version of Thunderpants where farts are used for good.
- Joined
- Jan 14, 2018
Victor Davis Hanson knocks yet another one out of the park.
https://www.nationalreview.com/2019/12/democrats-cannibalistic-ideology/
https://www.nationalreview.com/2019/12/democrats-cannibalistic-ideology/
Democrats’ Cannibalistic Ideology
By VICTOR DAVIS HANSON December 10, 2019
By their own logic, they are racist, sexist, elitist … and convicted of counterrevolutionary crimes.
Once liberalism and progressivism give way to Jacobinism — and they often do, as we have seen in revolutionary France, China, and Russia — no leftist is safe from the downward spiral to ideological cannibalism. Yesterday’s true believer is today’s counterrevolutionary and tomorrow’s enemy of the people.
We saw something like that during both the Trump impeachment frenzy and the current trajectory of the Democratic debates and looming primaries.
The fury over Trump’s election led to a graduated and escalating series of efforts to remove him by suing three states for supposedly fraudulent voting machines. Then articles of impeachment were introduced. Suits followed citing the Constitution’s emoluments clause. The Logan Act was raised, as was the 25th Amendment. At each juncture, the zeal to remove the president accelerated in direct proportion to the failure of the previous effort. A lack of success was always explained as a result of insufficient revolutionary zeal, not an absence of evidence.
The escalation culminated in the appointment of Robert Mueller and his “dream team” of partisan anti-Trump attorneys. After their failure to find actionable obstruction and any evidence of collusion, Mueller confirmed in congressional testimony that he was largely a tired administrative-state figurehead, a shill for the anti-Trump zealotry of progressive prosecutor Andrew Weissmann.
After the collapse of each of these agendas, all that was left was impeachment itself. The criminal was still Trump; but what was needed was a new and better “crime” — and far more passion and hate. And both were found with Ukraine, as first defined as quid pro quo, later replaced by “bribery,” and finally recalibrated as “abuse of power.”
The weekly Jacobin rhetoric made the prior progressive talk seem counterrevolutionary — until we finally reached the crux of the matter with admissions by various Democrats such as Representatives Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez, Al Green, and Nancy Pelosi that impeachment was likely the only means to stop Trump in 2020.
The Democrats in their impeachment frenzy have now established that a president can be impeached for thinking about withholding foreign aid to a country that he suspects is mired in corruption, including foreign malfeasance that might have affected him personally in the past and may in the future.
But criminalization of such a hypothetical quid pro quo has all but condemned both Barack Obama and Joe Biden in the court of public opinion. By that logic the Republican House should have impeached Obama in 2012 right before his reelection bid, for dismantling missile-defense plans in Europe in exchange for Putin’s putting off his annexations of Crimea and eastern Ukraine until after Obama’s reelection — in effect bestowing upon candidate Obama a private quid pro quo benefit of assuring voters that Obama’s “Russian reset” was sound foreign policy.
Candidate Biden stands accused of no thought crime, but of actually leveraging foreign aid to force the firing of a Ukrainian prosecutor who, by his own admission, later claimed he was looking into Biden’s mysterious activities with regard to the board of a corrupt Ukrainian energy company.
Obama had refused to provide needed lethal aid to Ukraine. He sent Biden to Ukraine, who used the stick of threatening to cancel all nonlethal aid in return for the carrot of not embarrassing Biden, Obama, and the Democratic party with a messy investigation of Burisma — and by extension Biden’s son — with obvious importance to the 2016 campaign cycle.
If Trump can be impeached for delaying lethal aid to Ukraine for a few weeks, then surely Obama and Biden should have been impeached for doing something worse. In other words, once presidential prerogatives are criminalized and impeachment is used for short-term political gain, then the revolutionary process takes on a life of its own and will eventually devour its own creators. In such a downward spiral, impeachment has become no big deal, but a simple way of discrediting a president the opposition hates.
From now on, the party that holds the House majority will cite the present impeachment inquiry as good precedent for seeking the impeachment of any first-time president whose agendas they abhor and who they fear will be reelected. We are in revolutionary times, and those who redefined impeachment as a crude political effort will one day discover that they are being guillotined by the very instrument of retribution they erected.
Meanwhile, for most of 2019, no Democratic presidential candidate has allowed any other to appear to his or her left. They’ve gone so far leftward that they’ve begun devouring one another. Hyper-liberal Joe Biden eagerly renounced his prior centrist positions but was nonetheless tagged as a veritable racist by Kamala Harris, herself eager to disown her entire prior career as a California state attorney. Beto O’Rourke tried to trump his rivals by promising to confiscate guns — as if merely banning their sales was right-wing.
Soon frenzied candidates were trying to outbid one another by making calls to pack the Supreme Court and abolish the Electoral College — the latter a constitutional provision revered by leftists from 2008 to 2013, given that it seemed to assure a permanently unassailable blue wall. All rushed to be purist supporters of the unhinged Green New Deal, the abolishment of ICE, slavery reparations, Medicare for All, a wealth tax, and free medical care for illegal aliens — until there was nothing left but a socialist Democratic party without a single issue that could win majority public support. Within weeks they were falling over the cliff, with no ground beneath.
The result was that the candidates served themselves up on their own menus. Elizabeth Warren trashed charter schools, championed noncharter, unionized public education, railed at elitism — and, after customarily lying, ultimately confessed that she had sent her own child to one of the most prestigious, elitist, and costly prep schools in the nation. Thus she de facto negated all of her revolutionary rhetoric, or rather was convicted as a counterrevolutionary by her own admission that she sought an elite refuge for her own.
A doctrine of radical feminism is that sexual harassment includes boorish behavior with women in public — no exceptions allowed for loose, overly familiar talk, paternal condescension, and unwanted physical contact of any sort. That more or less sums up the public career of Joe Biden, whose continued uninvited hugging, squeezing, and blowing into the hair of teenage girls seems almost pathological.
The same zero-tolerance standards exist for racist talk. There can be no slips of the tongue, no clumsy expression. When Joe Biden said of Barack Obama, “I mean, you got the first mainstream African American who is articulate and bright and clean and a nice-looking guy,” when Joe Biden talked of the ubiquity of Indian Americans (“You cannot go to a 7-11 or a Dunkin’ Donuts unless you have a slight Indian accent — I’m not joking”) when Joe Biden boasted of his youthful work at a swimming pool with inner-city kids and claimed he learned there about “roaches” and showed them “his blond leg hairs,” then in progressive logic he opened up windows into a racist mind.
A chief tenet of left-wing identity politics is “disproportionate impact.” The idea mandates that racism does not have to be proved to exist. If a particular professional, field, organization, or company is not as racially diverse, on a proportional basis, as the general population, then it is implicitly racist and must take the necessary reparatory measures.
Of course, “disproportionate” is a relative term and does not necessarily apply to an organization such as the U.S. Postal Service, the NFL, or NBA, in which African Americans are vastly “overrepresented” compared with their percentage of the population.
An empiricist would say that Kamala Harris dropped out because she was a lousy candidate: She had little political experience and a thin grasp of issues, lacked deeply held views, and proved to be a poor campaigner and an ineffective campaign administrator.
Nor is Cory Booker a viable candidate: He is subject to bouts of hyperbole bordering on incoherence; his herky-jerky style is off-putting. He too has no consistent views, veering from near centrism to hard progressivism as the situation calls for. Both self-identified as young charismatic African-American identity-politics candidates. Neither possessed Obama’s political savvy or rhetorical skills, which had demolished white elite Hillary Clinton in the primaries and won him greater white support in 2008, in his defeat of old white male John McCain, than John Kerry had earned in 2004,
But under progressive disproportionate-impact theory, the Democrat field and indeed Democrat voters, at least as evidenced by their preferences in the polls and campaign donations, are all guilty of racism. You see, they somehow have prevented both Harris and Booker (still in the race) from being present on the next presidential debate stage. Note that no one rued the implosion of hapless white male Beto O’Rourke, a charlatan of privilege without any record of achievement other than reinventing himself as a “white Hispanic.”
Without Booker, Julián Castro, and Andrew Yang present, the finalists are lily-white, and thus the entire process is deemed racist not by its methodology but by its disproportionate result. Note also that a slew of dull, uncharismatic white male candidates has fared as poorly as Booker, Castro, Harris, Deval Patrick, and Yang: de Blasio, Bennet, Bullock, Delaney, O’Rourke, Sestak, and others. Indeed, there are far more boring and unimpressive white male candidates than there are candidates of color.
Again, no matter. According to Jacobin logic, there must be nonwhite faces on the debate stage, or the entire party stands guilty of what it regularly accuses others of. The party that insists we are categorized by our superficial appearance has more or less destroyed the candidacies of three black candidates, a Latino candidate, and the sole Asian candidate, not because empirically these were poorer candidates, but, accordingly to their own logic, because Democratic grandees and their constituents were racists!
There are a few Democrats who see the lines lengthening at the guillotine and wish to duck out. Joe Biden is now once more recalibrating, but this time back to good ol’ Joe from Scranton. Pete Buttigieg is suddenly, at least this week, a pragmatic mayor first and an ideologue second. Michael Bloomberg wants to enter the debates and stand on one side of the stage facing all the other candidates to the left. A few newly elected Democratic House members understand that the star-chamber impeachment inquiries rub their own constituents the wrong way, and they are desperate to glue back on their 2018 veneers as sober pragmatists at odds with the hard-left wing of their party.
Unfortunately, the voices of the sane and the moderate are usually crushed in revolutionary cycles where extremism operates on its own logic and trajectory — until chaos and cannibalism finally lead even to the extremists’ own suicide.
By VICTOR DAVIS HANSON December 10, 2019
By their own logic, they are racist, sexist, elitist … and convicted of counterrevolutionary crimes.
Once liberalism and progressivism give way to Jacobinism — and they often do, as we have seen in revolutionary France, China, and Russia — no leftist is safe from the downward spiral to ideological cannibalism. Yesterday’s true believer is today’s counterrevolutionary and tomorrow’s enemy of the people.
We saw something like that during both the Trump impeachment frenzy and the current trajectory of the Democratic debates and looming primaries.
The fury over Trump’s election led to a graduated and escalating series of efforts to remove him by suing three states for supposedly fraudulent voting machines. Then articles of impeachment were introduced. Suits followed citing the Constitution’s emoluments clause. The Logan Act was raised, as was the 25th Amendment. At each juncture, the zeal to remove the president accelerated in direct proportion to the failure of the previous effort. A lack of success was always explained as a result of insufficient revolutionary zeal, not an absence of evidence.
The escalation culminated in the appointment of Robert Mueller and his “dream team” of partisan anti-Trump attorneys. After their failure to find actionable obstruction and any evidence of collusion, Mueller confirmed in congressional testimony that he was largely a tired administrative-state figurehead, a shill for the anti-Trump zealotry of progressive prosecutor Andrew Weissmann.
After the collapse of each of these agendas, all that was left was impeachment itself. The criminal was still Trump; but what was needed was a new and better “crime” — and far more passion and hate. And both were found with Ukraine, as first defined as quid pro quo, later replaced by “bribery,” and finally recalibrated as “abuse of power.”
The weekly Jacobin rhetoric made the prior progressive talk seem counterrevolutionary — until we finally reached the crux of the matter with admissions by various Democrats such as Representatives Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez, Al Green, and Nancy Pelosi that impeachment was likely the only means to stop Trump in 2020.
The Democrats in their impeachment frenzy have now established that a president can be impeached for thinking about withholding foreign aid to a country that he suspects is mired in corruption, including foreign malfeasance that might have affected him personally in the past and may in the future.
But criminalization of such a hypothetical quid pro quo has all but condemned both Barack Obama and Joe Biden in the court of public opinion. By that logic the Republican House should have impeached Obama in 2012 right before his reelection bid, for dismantling missile-defense plans in Europe in exchange for Putin’s putting off his annexations of Crimea and eastern Ukraine until after Obama’s reelection — in effect bestowing upon candidate Obama a private quid pro quo benefit of assuring voters that Obama’s “Russian reset” was sound foreign policy.
Candidate Biden stands accused of no thought crime, but of actually leveraging foreign aid to force the firing of a Ukrainian prosecutor who, by his own admission, later claimed he was looking into Biden’s mysterious activities with regard to the board of a corrupt Ukrainian energy company.
Obama had refused to provide needed lethal aid to Ukraine. He sent Biden to Ukraine, who used the stick of threatening to cancel all nonlethal aid in return for the carrot of not embarrassing Biden, Obama, and the Democratic party with a messy investigation of Burisma — and by extension Biden’s son — with obvious importance to the 2016 campaign cycle.
If Trump can be impeached for delaying lethal aid to Ukraine for a few weeks, then surely Obama and Biden should have been impeached for doing something worse. In other words, once presidential prerogatives are criminalized and impeachment is used for short-term political gain, then the revolutionary process takes on a life of its own and will eventually devour its own creators. In such a downward spiral, impeachment has become no big deal, but a simple way of discrediting a president the opposition hates.
From now on, the party that holds the House majority will cite the present impeachment inquiry as good precedent for seeking the impeachment of any first-time president whose agendas they abhor and who they fear will be reelected. We are in revolutionary times, and those who redefined impeachment as a crude political effort will one day discover that they are being guillotined by the very instrument of retribution they erected.
Meanwhile, for most of 2019, no Democratic presidential candidate has allowed any other to appear to his or her left. They’ve gone so far leftward that they’ve begun devouring one another. Hyper-liberal Joe Biden eagerly renounced his prior centrist positions but was nonetheless tagged as a veritable racist by Kamala Harris, herself eager to disown her entire prior career as a California state attorney. Beto O’Rourke tried to trump his rivals by promising to confiscate guns — as if merely banning their sales was right-wing.
Soon frenzied candidates were trying to outbid one another by making calls to pack the Supreme Court and abolish the Electoral College — the latter a constitutional provision revered by leftists from 2008 to 2013, given that it seemed to assure a permanently unassailable blue wall. All rushed to be purist supporters of the unhinged Green New Deal, the abolishment of ICE, slavery reparations, Medicare for All, a wealth tax, and free medical care for illegal aliens — until there was nothing left but a socialist Democratic party without a single issue that could win majority public support. Within weeks they were falling over the cliff, with no ground beneath.
The result was that the candidates served themselves up on their own menus. Elizabeth Warren trashed charter schools, championed noncharter, unionized public education, railed at elitism — and, after customarily lying, ultimately confessed that she had sent her own child to one of the most prestigious, elitist, and costly prep schools in the nation. Thus she de facto negated all of her revolutionary rhetoric, or rather was convicted as a counterrevolutionary by her own admission that she sought an elite refuge for her own.
A doctrine of radical feminism is that sexual harassment includes boorish behavior with women in public — no exceptions allowed for loose, overly familiar talk, paternal condescension, and unwanted physical contact of any sort. That more or less sums up the public career of Joe Biden, whose continued uninvited hugging, squeezing, and blowing into the hair of teenage girls seems almost pathological.
The same zero-tolerance standards exist for racist talk. There can be no slips of the tongue, no clumsy expression. When Joe Biden said of Barack Obama, “I mean, you got the first mainstream African American who is articulate and bright and clean and a nice-looking guy,” when Joe Biden talked of the ubiquity of Indian Americans (“You cannot go to a 7-11 or a Dunkin’ Donuts unless you have a slight Indian accent — I’m not joking”) when Joe Biden boasted of his youthful work at a swimming pool with inner-city kids and claimed he learned there about “roaches” and showed them “his blond leg hairs,” then in progressive logic he opened up windows into a racist mind.
A chief tenet of left-wing identity politics is “disproportionate impact.” The idea mandates that racism does not have to be proved to exist. If a particular professional, field, organization, or company is not as racially diverse, on a proportional basis, as the general population, then it is implicitly racist and must take the necessary reparatory measures.
Of course, “disproportionate” is a relative term and does not necessarily apply to an organization such as the U.S. Postal Service, the NFL, or NBA, in which African Americans are vastly “overrepresented” compared with their percentage of the population.
An empiricist would say that Kamala Harris dropped out because she was a lousy candidate: She had little political experience and a thin grasp of issues, lacked deeply held views, and proved to be a poor campaigner and an ineffective campaign administrator.
Nor is Cory Booker a viable candidate: He is subject to bouts of hyperbole bordering on incoherence; his herky-jerky style is off-putting. He too has no consistent views, veering from near centrism to hard progressivism as the situation calls for. Both self-identified as young charismatic African-American identity-politics candidates. Neither possessed Obama’s political savvy or rhetorical skills, which had demolished white elite Hillary Clinton in the primaries and won him greater white support in 2008, in his defeat of old white male John McCain, than John Kerry had earned in 2004,
But under progressive disproportionate-impact theory, the Democrat field and indeed Democrat voters, at least as evidenced by their preferences in the polls and campaign donations, are all guilty of racism. You see, they somehow have prevented both Harris and Booker (still in the race) from being present on the next presidential debate stage. Note that no one rued the implosion of hapless white male Beto O’Rourke, a charlatan of privilege without any record of achievement other than reinventing himself as a “white Hispanic.”
Without Booker, Julián Castro, and Andrew Yang present, the finalists are lily-white, and thus the entire process is deemed racist not by its methodology but by its disproportionate result. Note also that a slew of dull, uncharismatic white male candidates has fared as poorly as Booker, Castro, Harris, Deval Patrick, and Yang: de Blasio, Bennet, Bullock, Delaney, O’Rourke, Sestak, and others. Indeed, there are far more boring and unimpressive white male candidates than there are candidates of color.
Again, no matter. According to Jacobin logic, there must be nonwhite faces on the debate stage, or the entire party stands guilty of what it regularly accuses others of. The party that insists we are categorized by our superficial appearance has more or less destroyed the candidacies of three black candidates, a Latino candidate, and the sole Asian candidate, not because empirically these were poorer candidates, but, accordingly to their own logic, because Democratic grandees and their constituents were racists!
There are a few Democrats who see the lines lengthening at the guillotine and wish to duck out. Joe Biden is now once more recalibrating, but this time back to good ol’ Joe from Scranton. Pete Buttigieg is suddenly, at least this week, a pragmatic mayor first and an ideologue second. Michael Bloomberg wants to enter the debates and stand on one side of the stage facing all the other candidates to the left. A few newly elected Democratic House members understand that the star-chamber impeachment inquiries rub their own constituents the wrong way, and they are desperate to glue back on their 2018 veneers as sober pragmatists at odds with the hard-left wing of their party.
Unfortunately, the voices of the sane and the moderate are usually crushed in revolutionary cycles where extremism operates on its own logic and trajectory — until chaos and cannibalism finally lead even to the extremists’ own suicide.
Cat Menagerie
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Nov 2, 2018
Oklahoma patient makes medical history with life-saving donations
OKLAHOMA CITY (KFOR) – An Oklahoma patient who passed away from circulatory death has made medical history with a life-saving donation. Officials with LifeShare of Oklahoma say seven of the d…
kfor.com
OKLAHOMA CITY (KFOR) – An Oklahoma patient who passed away from circulatory death has made medical history with a life-saving donation.
Officials with LifeShare of Oklahoma say seven of the donor’s organs were transplanted into others to save lives. This is the first donation after circulatory death in the United States where the heart, kidneys, lungs, liver, and pancreas were recovered and transplanted.
“LifeShare is honored to facilitate this groundbreaking work from a heroic donor. This is a giant step in the field of organ donation which will ultimately result in more lives saved,” said Jeffrey Orlowski, President and CEO of LifeShare of Oklahoma. “The use of more organs from complex donors, such as DCD donors, will accelerate the increase of transplantation and ultimately lives saved.”
Donation after circulatory death occurs when a patient has suffered an irreversible, non-survivable injury and their family has decided to withdraw mechanical ventilator support.
Historically, only kidneys, livers, and lungs have been donated after a person dies from circulatory death. A new technological advancement that is currently in U.S. clinical trials has allowed physicians to evaluate and preserve the heart for transplant for the first time in connection to certain deaths.
“This is a prime example of both organ procurement organizations (OPOs) and transplant centers exploring opportunities to maximize the gifts from donation,” Orlowski said. “At LifeShare, we are stewards of the donors’ gifts of life and we are proud to be part of pioneering new techniques that will ultimately allow more people to give and receive the gift of life.”
Officials with LifeShare of Oklahoma say seven of the donor’s organs were transplanted into others to save lives. This is the first donation after circulatory death in the United States where the heart, kidneys, lungs, liver, and pancreas were recovered and transplanted.
“LifeShare is honored to facilitate this groundbreaking work from a heroic donor. This is a giant step in the field of organ donation which will ultimately result in more lives saved,” said Jeffrey Orlowski, President and CEO of LifeShare of Oklahoma. “The use of more organs from complex donors, such as DCD donors, will accelerate the increase of transplantation and ultimately lives saved.”
Donation after circulatory death occurs when a patient has suffered an irreversible, non-survivable injury and their family has decided to withdraw mechanical ventilator support.
Historically, only kidneys, livers, and lungs have been donated after a person dies from circulatory death. A new technological advancement that is currently in U.S. clinical trials has allowed physicians to evaluate and preserve the heart for transplant for the first time in connection to certain deaths.
“This is a prime example of both organ procurement organizations (OPOs) and transplant centers exploring opportunities to maximize the gifts from donation,” Orlowski said. “At LifeShare, we are stewards of the donors’ gifts of life and we are proud to be part of pioneering new techniques that will ultimately allow more people to give and receive the gift of life.”
Different story, same donor:
OKLAHOMA CITY —
A man has died after a fight at an Oklahoma City nightclub over the weekend, and police officials said they are investigating the death as a homicide.
According to police, officers responded early Saturday morning to a report of a disturbance at a nightclub near Mickey Mantle Drive and Flaming Lips Alley. Police learned that a fight had taken place between the victim, 30-year-old Joshua Kaleb Myers, and another patron of the club.
Myers was knocked unconscious during the fight, according to police. He was taken to a local hospital where he died as a result of his injuries.
The Medical Examiner’s Office has ruled the death a homicide, police said. The other person involved in the fight was interviewed and released, according to police.
The Oklahoma County District Attorney’s Office will determine if charges will be filed.
Anyone with information should call the Homicide Tip-Line at 405-297-1200.
According to the Guthrie News Page, Myer’s family made the decision to allow his organs to be removed and made available for transplants. Officials with LifeShare of Oklahoma said seven of the donor’s organs were transplanted into others to save lives.
A man has died after a fight at an Oklahoma City nightclub over the weekend, and police officials said they are investigating the death as a homicide.
According to police, officers responded early Saturday morning to a report of a disturbance at a nightclub near Mickey Mantle Drive and Flaming Lips Alley. Police learned that a fight had taken place between the victim, 30-year-old Joshua Kaleb Myers, and another patron of the club.
Myers was knocked unconscious during the fight, according to police. He was taken to a local hospital where he died as a result of his injuries.
The Medical Examiner’s Office has ruled the death a homicide, police said. The other person involved in the fight was interviewed and released, according to police.
The Oklahoma County District Attorney’s Office will determine if charges will be filed.
Anyone with information should call the Homicide Tip-Line at 405-297-1200.
According to the Guthrie News Page, Myer’s family made the decision to allow his organs to be removed and made available for transplants. Officials with LifeShare of Oklahoma said seven of the donor’s organs were transplanted into others to save lives.
Man dies after fight at Bricktown nightclub, police say
A man has died after a fight at an Oklahoma City nightclub over the weekend, and police officials said they are investigating the death as a homicide.
www.koco.com
PS1gamenwatch
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Oct 26, 2015
Woman Arrested for Allegedly Threatening Animate Retail Chain
Allegedly compared chain to Kyoto Animation, wrote "kill" 3,582 times in emails
- Joined
- Dec 3, 2018
Looking good...Looking real...good.
What is the secret of Hillary Clinton's strangely plumped-up-cheeks? Fillers could be behind more youthful look
Hillary Clinton looked wonderfully youthful at an event on Broadway in New York last night - and aesthetic experts suggest it could be down to regular 'tweakments' and cosmetic procedures.
The radiant former First Lady, 72, showed off a wrinkle-free complexion and plumped-up cheeks as she joined her husband Bill behind the scenes of Ain't Too Proud: The Temptations Musical at The Imperial Theatre.
Sporting a vibrant pink tunic dress with black trousers and a statement gold necklace, Chicago-born Hillary smiled as she chatted and posed with the cast.
Her glowing skin was noticeably smoother and her cheeks more defined than earlier in the week, when she spoke at the Jewish Labor Committee's Annual Human Rights Awards Dinner in the city on Monday.
Aesthetic expert Dr Ross Perry, founder of www.cosmedics.co.uk, said Hillary has been 'genetically blessed' with good skin - but claimed it could also be a result of Botox, injectable dermal fillers and Blepharoplasty.
Yesterday Hillary's skin was noticeably smoother and her cheeks more defined than earlier in the week, when she spoke at the Jewish Labor Committee's Annual Human Rights Awards Dinner in the city on Monday (pictured)
He told FEMAIL: 'Hilary Clinton looks fantastic and I would suggest this is down to regular tweakments and procedures over the years, which appears less noticeable than having dramatic work done all in one go.
'Her forehead looks particularly smooth, which would suggest Botox has been administered in the forehead, frown line and around the eye area, as there appears to be minimal crows feet.
'For someone of 72, I'd expect to see a more furrowed brow with extensive creasing and lines around the eyes.'
Dr Perry added that he suspects Hillary may have had Blepharoplasty, a procedure in which excess skin above the eye is removed.
According to aesthetic expert Dr Ross Perry, founder of CosmedicsUK, the politician's youthful appearance is down to 'regular tweakments and procedures' over the years
Dr Perry suggested Hillary's forehead looks particularly smooth, which would suggest Botox has been administered in the forehead, frown line and around the eye area. Pictured with her husband Bill last night
'Around the eye area again looks incredibly youthful, and as we age the skin around our eyes tends to become loose and wrinkled, making the eyes appear tired-looking,' he said.
'I would suspect Hilary may well have had Blepharoplasty which removes crepey, excess skin from above the eye which causes hooding and develops as we age.
'I would suggest she's also had this to target the under eye bags and to smooth further wrinkles from the corners of her eyes.'
Dr Perry added he believes it's 'likely Hillary (pictured last night) has had some help with the use of injectable dermal wrinkle injections'
Despite her advancing years, Hillary's face has remained relatively full-looking, which Dr Perry said helps with the ageing process.
He added: 'I'd say it's also likely Hillary has had some help with the use of injectable dermal wrinkle injections.
'These tiny little injections work very simply by adding extra volume into the skin to fill out lines or creases, with the latest generation of deep fillers especially designed for use in larger areas, such as hollows that can appear below the eyes or in the cheek.
'As we can see in recent pictures, the cheek area looks full and rounded, which gives a more youthful appearance.'
'For someone of 72, I'd expect to see a more furrowed brow with extensive creasing and lines around the eyes,' said Dr Perry of Hillary, pictured during her appearance on the Graham Norton show in November
Aesthetic practitioner Dr Judy Todd, who runs the Synergy Clinic in Glasgow and London, added: 'There also appears to be slightly more volume in the lips which could also be from a filler.'
It's not the first time Hillary's young-looking complexion has come under scrutiny.
During her 2016 presidential campaign there was speculation she'd had cosmetic surgery, while journalist Edward Klein claimed in his 2015 book Unlikeable: The Problem with Hillary that her husband 'wanted her to get a face-lift'.
He wrote: 'She couldn't do anything about the calendar — she'd be 69 years old in 2016 — but she could do something about the lines and sagging skin on her face.'
Klein added that a cosmetic surgeon set up a discreet 'mini operating room' in her Chappaqua home 'with the latest medical equipment' - though he didn't cite any evidence.
'She had her cheeks lifted and her wrinkles and lines Botoxed... She had work done on her eyes as well as on her neck and forehead,' he wrote.
He went on to quote one of Hillary's friends, who claimed: 'She took it gradually and didn't have anything drastic done, because she wanted to evaluate the changes as she proceeded.
'If it had started to make her look weird, she would have stopped it immediately. It was a pretty big deal and required multiple visits.'
Hillary's spokesperson Nick Merrill said of Klein's book: 'Someone should do a book about Ed. They could call it "Bulls**t: The Problem With Anything Ed Klein Writes".'
FEMAIL has reached out to the Clinton Foundation for comment.
What is the secret of Hillary Clinton's strangely plumped-up-cheeks? Fillers could be behind more youthful look
Hillary Clinton looked wonderfully youthful at an event on Broadway in New York last night - and aesthetic experts suggest it could be down to regular 'tweakments' and cosmetic procedures.
The radiant former First Lady, 72, showed off a wrinkle-free complexion and plumped-up cheeks as she joined her husband Bill behind the scenes of Ain't Too Proud: The Temptations Musical at The Imperial Theatre.
Sporting a vibrant pink tunic dress with black trousers and a statement gold necklace, Chicago-born Hillary smiled as she chatted and posed with the cast.
Her glowing skin was noticeably smoother and her cheeks more defined than earlier in the week, when she spoke at the Jewish Labor Committee's Annual Human Rights Awards Dinner in the city on Monday.
Aesthetic expert Dr Ross Perry, founder of www.cosmedics.co.uk, said Hillary has been 'genetically blessed' with good skin - but claimed it could also be a result of Botox, injectable dermal fillers and Blepharoplasty.
Yesterday Hillary's skin was noticeably smoother and her cheeks more defined than earlier in the week, when she spoke at the Jewish Labor Committee's Annual Human Rights Awards Dinner in the city on Monday (pictured)
He told FEMAIL: 'Hilary Clinton looks fantastic and I would suggest this is down to regular tweakments and procedures over the years, which appears less noticeable than having dramatic work done all in one go.
'Her forehead looks particularly smooth, which would suggest Botox has been administered in the forehead, frown line and around the eye area, as there appears to be minimal crows feet.
'For someone of 72, I'd expect to see a more furrowed brow with extensive creasing and lines around the eyes.'
Dr Perry added that he suspects Hillary may have had Blepharoplasty, a procedure in which excess skin above the eye is removed.
According to aesthetic expert Dr Ross Perry, founder of CosmedicsUK, the politician's youthful appearance is down to 'regular tweakments and procedures' over the years
Dr Perry suggested Hillary's forehead looks particularly smooth, which would suggest Botox has been administered in the forehead, frown line and around the eye area. Pictured with her husband Bill last night
'Around the eye area again looks incredibly youthful, and as we age the skin around our eyes tends to become loose and wrinkled, making the eyes appear tired-looking,' he said.
'I would suspect Hilary may well have had Blepharoplasty which removes crepey, excess skin from above the eye which causes hooding and develops as we age.
'I would suggest she's also had this to target the under eye bags and to smooth further wrinkles from the corners of her eyes.'
Dr Perry added he believes it's 'likely Hillary (pictured last night) has had some help with the use of injectable dermal wrinkle injections'
Despite her advancing years, Hillary's face has remained relatively full-looking, which Dr Perry said helps with the ageing process.
He added: 'I'd say it's also likely Hillary has had some help with the use of injectable dermal wrinkle injections.
'These tiny little injections work very simply by adding extra volume into the skin to fill out lines or creases, with the latest generation of deep fillers especially designed for use in larger areas, such as hollows that can appear below the eyes or in the cheek.
'As we can see in recent pictures, the cheek area looks full and rounded, which gives a more youthful appearance.'
'For someone of 72, I'd expect to see a more furrowed brow with extensive creasing and lines around the eyes,' said Dr Perry of Hillary, pictured during her appearance on the Graham Norton show in November
Aesthetic practitioner Dr Judy Todd, who runs the Synergy Clinic in Glasgow and London, added: 'There also appears to be slightly more volume in the lips which could also be from a filler.'
It's not the first time Hillary's young-looking complexion has come under scrutiny.
During her 2016 presidential campaign there was speculation she'd had cosmetic surgery, while journalist Edward Klein claimed in his 2015 book Unlikeable: The Problem with Hillary that her husband 'wanted her to get a face-lift'.
He wrote: 'She couldn't do anything about the calendar — she'd be 69 years old in 2016 — but she could do something about the lines and sagging skin on her face.'
Klein added that a cosmetic surgeon set up a discreet 'mini operating room' in her Chappaqua home 'with the latest medical equipment' - though he didn't cite any evidence.
'She had her cheeks lifted and her wrinkles and lines Botoxed... She had work done on her eyes as well as on her neck and forehead,' he wrote.
He went on to quote one of Hillary's friends, who claimed: 'She took it gradually and didn't have anything drastic done, because she wanted to evaluate the changes as she proceeded.
'If it had started to make her look weird, she would have stopped it immediately. It was a pretty big deal and required multiple visits.'
Hillary's spokesperson Nick Merrill said of Klein's book: 'Someone should do a book about Ed. They could call it "Bulls**t: The Problem With Anything Ed Klein Writes".'
FEMAIL has reached out to the Clinton Foundation for comment.
- Joined
- Jan 14, 2018
The CA state legislature studiously ignores the 800-pound public pension gorilla, while babbling about a state "budget surplus". This 800-pound gorilla will go on a rampage soon, I'd say.
reason.com
What, Us Worry? California Lawmakers Still Ignoring Dark Pension Clouds.
The guiding principle for California policymakers seems to be: Tell everyone what they want to hear—or at least stick to the rosiest scenarios.
STEVEN GREENHUT | 12.13.2019 12:01 AM
(Joe Sohm Visions of America/Newscom)
It's been a little more than 20 years since the California Legislature passed, and Gov. Gray Davis signed, Senate Bill 400, which granted 50-percent pension hikes to employees of the California Highway Patrol. The law's clear intent was for every other California agency to follow its model. They mostly did. So, these pension deals spread across the state like a contagion—leaving a debilitating level of pension liabilities that threaten to obliterate city and county budgets and push some less affluent localities toward insolvency.
The legislation granted the pension increases retroactively, which meant that government employees didn't just gain these additional benefits beginning on the day of its passage. The increases were granted back to the day the employee started on the job, even if it were 30 years ago or more. This was more than your garden-variety gift of public funds, but it passed overwhelmingly on a bipartisan basis, and with virtually no public debate. Those few officials who raised red flags were derided, even though their warnings were prescient.
What's the lesson? It's best summarized by the great Baltimore journalist, H.L. Mencken, who wrote, "The men (Americans) detest most violently are those who try to tell them the truth." In other words, don't level with the public, especially if you have plans for higher office. Tell everyone what they want to hear—or at least stick to the rosiest scenarios. Promise people something for nothing, and by no means take on the role of a Cassandra.
Obviously, these predictions never panned out as the stock market fell. The state's pension funds now struggle with troublingly low 70-percent funding levels, even after a long-running bull market. There are no excess returns, but insufficient ones to pay for growing membership in the "$100,000 Pension Club." Once the market falls again—and it will fall, as former Gov. Brown frequently warned—these funds could hit the skids. On hindsight, who could have ever believed those ridiculous assurances?
Now, pension liabilities grow, but legislators have no appetite for reform. There have been plenty of warnings, from members of both major political parties, and from people with serious actuarial acumen. It doesn't matter, though. Legislators rather think happy thoughts, lest the public-employee unions come gunning for them.
The latest ominous sign comes from a new CalPERS report showing that pension costs for California police officers and firefighters has hit 50 percent of their pay, as Ed Mendel explains in the Calpensions blog. It's an astounding—and escalating—number. These amounts are "unsustainable," according to the decade-old prediction of a CalPERS' former chief actuary that he quotes. Consider this shocker: "A few safety plans have reached 100 percent of pay," Mendel added, meaning that "for every $1 of base salary, the local government must pay another $1" to CalPERS. Dire predictions are coming true.
A California city manager told a newspaper that cities have become pension providers that offer a few services on the side. At this rate, cities won't have the money to provide any services at all, let alone ones on the side. Good for CalPERS for providing useful data, but don't expect the pension fund to lobby for changes to the pension plans or call for anything other than higher contributions from city and state taxpayers.
What, Us Worry? California Lawmakers Still Ignoring Dark Pension Clouds.
The guiding principle for California policymakers seems to be: Tell everyone what they want to hear—or at least stick to the rosiest scenarios.
reason.com
What, Us Worry? California Lawmakers Still Ignoring Dark Pension Clouds.
The guiding principle for California policymakers seems to be: Tell everyone what they want to hear—or at least stick to the rosiest scenarios.
STEVEN GREENHUT | 12.13.2019 12:01 AM
(Joe Sohm Visions of America/Newscom)
It's been a little more than 20 years since the California Legislature passed, and Gov. Gray Davis signed, Senate Bill 400, which granted 50-percent pension hikes to employees of the California Highway Patrol. The law's clear intent was for every other California agency to follow its model. They mostly did. So, these pension deals spread across the state like a contagion—leaving a debilitating level of pension liabilities that threaten to obliterate city and county budgets and push some less affluent localities toward insolvency.
The legislation granted the pension increases retroactively, which meant that government employees didn't just gain these additional benefits beginning on the day of its passage. The increases were granted back to the day the employee started on the job, even if it were 30 years ago or more. This was more than your garden-variety gift of public funds, but it passed overwhelmingly on a bipartisan basis, and with virtually no public debate. Those few officials who raised red flags were derided, even though their warnings were prescient.
Lawmakers apparently gleaned a cynical—but useful—lesson from Orange County's bankruptcy, which took place five years earlier. (Its 25th anniversary was last Friday.) In that debacle, Treasurer Bob Citron had brought in unbelievable returns for the county investment pool by leveraging assets to make investments tied to interest rates. He was betting on lower rates. It all worked perfectly, until it didn't—and then the Fed's rising rates led to what was, at the time, the largest municipal bankruptcy in U.S. history. County officials had enjoyed the windfall and seemed angriest at the few voices who warned about the coming unpleasantness.What's the lesson? It's best summarized by the great Baltimore journalist, H.L. Mencken, who wrote, "The men (Americans) detest most violently are those who try to tell them the truth." In other words, don't level with the public, especially if you have plans for higher office. Tell everyone what they want to hear—or at least stick to the rosiest scenarios. Promise people something for nothing, and by no means take on the role of a Cassandra.
Obviously, these predictions never panned out as the stock market fell. The state's pension funds now struggle with troublingly low 70-percent funding levels, even after a long-running bull market. There are no excess returns, but insufficient ones to pay for growing membership in the "$100,000 Pension Club." Once the market falls again—and it will fall, as former Gov. Brown frequently warned—these funds could hit the skids. On hindsight, who could have ever believed those ridiculous assurances?
Now, pension liabilities grow, but legislators have no appetite for reform. There have been plenty of warnings, from members of both major political parties, and from people with serious actuarial acumen. It doesn't matter, though. Legislators rather think happy thoughts, lest the public-employee unions come gunning for them.
The latest ominous sign comes from a new CalPERS report showing that pension costs for California police officers and firefighters has hit 50 percent of their pay, as Ed Mendel explains in the Calpensions blog. It's an astounding—and escalating—number. These amounts are "unsustainable," according to the decade-old prediction of a CalPERS' former chief actuary that he quotes. Consider this shocker: "A few safety plans have reached 100 percent of pay," Mendel added, meaning that "for every $1 of base salary, the local government must pay another $1" to CalPERS. Dire predictions are coming true.
A California city manager told a newspaper that cities have become pension providers that offer a few services on the side. At this rate, cities won't have the money to provide any services at all, let alone ones on the side. Good for CalPERS for providing useful data, but don't expect the pension fund to lobby for changes to the pension plans or call for anything other than higher contributions from city and state taxpayers.
Seriously, why should politicians stick out their necks? Name any SB 400 backer (or Citron defender) who paid a political price. The bill's principal co-author, Lou Correa of Orange County, has been promoted to member of Congress. The sad lesson, from two of California's biggest financial debacles, is there's no point in politicians warning the public about impending fiscal crisis. Mencken probably was right. That doesn't mean California lawmakers will never reform the pension system; it just means they won't do it until the red ink hits the fan.
- Joined
- May 2, 2017
Dairy Queen removes message about drug sales in parking lot - WISH-TV | Indianapolis News | Indiana Weather | Indiana Traffic
Usually reserved for promoting deals for Blizzards and burgers, the sign at the 71st Street and Michigan Road Dairy Queen now reads a bit different.
www.wishtv.com
Dairy Queen removes message about drug sales in parking lot
by: Jenny Dreasler and Staff Reports
Posted: Dec 13, 2019 / 05:59 AM EST / Updated: Dec 13, 2019 / 06:55 PM EST
INDIANAPOLIS (WISH) — An anti-drug message posted at a Dairy Queen on the northwest side was removed Friday after corporate executives told restaurant employees to take it off the sign.
Usually reserved for promoting deals for Blizzards and burgers, the sign at the Dairy Queen at West 71st Street and Michigan Road read a bit different for about 24 hours.
“Parking lot – not for drug sales,” the sign read, with a “thank you” at the bottom.
Employees with Dairy Queen say the sign was posted around 3 p.m. Thursday.
News 8 talked to employees. None would go on camera but said the parking lot has become a cesspool for drug use. Employees say have found needles in the parking lot and have dealt with multiple drug overdoses.
News 8 found everything from empty cigarettes and alcohol containers to blunt wraps and what appears to be drug paraphernalia in the parking lot Friday.
“You need more signs like that around everywhere,” said Indianapolis resident Lamonta Ray.
Some people News 8 talked with said the drug use doesn’t surprise them and the sign is a stark reminder that it needs to stay out of this area.
Indianapolis resident Violette Hanalla said, “When the person with the drugs see’s this (sign) he will move. Because maybe will see police or somebody here. He will see the sign and move.”
Dorothy Mosley said, “God knows that we need that help and, unless they want to accept it or seek it, it’s going to be hard to change it because it’s been going on so long.”
As for the sign itself, people who saw it say a business as big as Dairy Queen taking a stand sent an unmistakable message to the entire neighborhood.
Ray said,” For the people that is observant and paying attention, it’s very powerful. Hopefully it keeps people off the premises and out of the area, and keep the area clean.”
The new sign posted Friday evening read “We love you Indy, thank you.”
twitter.com
Posted: Dec 13, 2019 / 05:59 AM EST / Updated: Dec 13, 2019 / 06:55 PM EST
INDIANAPOLIS (WISH) — An anti-drug message posted at a Dairy Queen on the northwest side was removed Friday after corporate executives told restaurant employees to take it off the sign.
Usually reserved for promoting deals for Blizzards and burgers, the sign at the Dairy Queen at West 71st Street and Michigan Road read a bit different for about 24 hours.
“Parking lot – not for drug sales,” the sign read, with a “thank you” at the bottom.
Employees with Dairy Queen say the sign was posted around 3 p.m. Thursday.
News 8 talked to employees. None would go on camera but said the parking lot has become a cesspool for drug use. Employees say have found needles in the parking lot and have dealt with multiple drug overdoses.
News 8 found everything from empty cigarettes and alcohol containers to blunt wraps and what appears to be drug paraphernalia in the parking lot Friday.
“You need more signs like that around everywhere,” said Indianapolis resident Lamonta Ray.
Some people News 8 talked with said the drug use doesn’t surprise them and the sign is a stark reminder that it needs to stay out of this area.
Indianapolis resident Violette Hanalla said, “When the person with the drugs see’s this (sign) he will move. Because maybe will see police or somebody here. He will see the sign and move.”
Dorothy Mosley said, “God knows that we need that help and, unless they want to accept it or seek it, it’s going to be hard to change it because it’s been going on so long.”
As for the sign itself, people who saw it say a business as big as Dairy Queen taking a stand sent an unmistakable message to the entire neighborhood.
Ray said,” For the people that is observant and paying attention, it’s very powerful. Hopefully it keeps people off the premises and out of the area, and keep the area clean.”
The new sign posted Friday evening read “We love you Indy, thank you.”
Kevin Ratermann on Twitter
““PARKING LOT NOT FOR DRUG SALES” - Here’s a sign you never want to see in front of a Dairy Queen. Hopefully everything will calm down for the 71st & Michigan Rd restaurant here in Indianapolis. #NewsTracker #Daybreak8 @WISH_TV”
twitter.com
- Joined
- Sep 7, 2016
"I am the kind of woman who will never have an Alexa, because I will never let another woman’s name be said more than my own, in my home. Or anywhere else."
Crazy lady angry at Alexa because Japanese men marries their digital Nintendo babes and she fears the temptress that is a box with a robotic woman's voice could steal her man, all of this is mysteriously but appropriately enough published in Gay Magazine. It is very entertaining.
gay.medium.com
Full article/essay:
Crazy lady angry at Alexa because Japanese men marries their digital Nintendo babes and she fears the temptress that is a box with a robotic woman's voice could steal her man, all of this is mysteriously but appropriately enough published in Gay Magazine. It is very entertaining.
I’m Not Jealous, I’m Territorial
I trust my husband; I just don’t trust the rest of the world
gay.medium.com
Full article/essay:
I’m Not Jealous, I’m Territorial
I trust my husband; I just don’t trust the rest of the world
I heard a story about a woman who knew her husband had left her when she came home from work and their Alexa was missing.
The woman put something in the oven and said, “Alexa! Set the timer.”
Alexa did not respond.
“Alexa?”
The woman searched her house. Her husband had packed his bags, moved out, and taken Alexa.
This will never happen to me because I am the kind of woman who will never have an Alexa, because I will never let another woman’s name be said more than my own, in my home. Or anywhere else.
When my husband and I stayed at The Wynn Resort and Casino in Las Vegas, every room came with Alexa. Two robes, electric blackout drapes, HBO, and Alexa.
Alexa was beige and sat on the beige desk and blended into the beige wallpaper. She looked like one of those toads that blends into a desert. You don’t see it until it blinks. And then it is all you see. Breathing and blinking and listening and looking at you. Blink.
We overheard our hotel neighbor get his wife in the mood. “Alexa! Play Stevie Wonder!”
Alexa said, “Playing Stevie Wonder on SiriusXM.”
And then: “Alexa! Play ‘My Cherie Amour’!”
Alexa said, “Playing ‘My Cheri Amour.’”
And then, through muffled cries of passion: “Alexa! Play ‘Very Superstitious’!”
Alexa said, “I’m having trouble understanding you. Would you repeat that?”
“Play ‘Very Superstitious’!”
“Do you mean, ‘Superstition’?”
“Yes!”
“Ok. Playing ‘Superstition’.”
Yes, during a game of Tune in Tokyo with his wife, our neighbor had a full-on conversation with another woman. Robot lady or not, that is an open marriage. And my marriage is as shuttered up as a beach house in a hurricane.
I called housekeeping to have Alexa removed from our room.
No, I did not think my husband would fall in love with Alexa the same way some Japanese men marry their Nintendo virtual girlfriends. But you can never be too sure. These things happen. And Alexa knows all of your man’s things.
Alexa is never impatient or sullen or moody or mad. She never gets her period, so she never gets PMS. Menopause and gravity are as hysterical as Chip and Dale. Alexa speaks only when spoken to. She sits at the ready, ready to serve.
You’d call me crazy if I let another woman sit in the corner of my bedroom, all day, every day; never sleeping, or in want of food, water, chitchat, or a toilet; able to summon my husband’s every whim from Amazon like a modern day Barbara Eden in a bottle.
“Alexa! Order a cooling eye mask and a box of Nicorette.”
“Yes, Master.” Blink.
Nuh-uh, no way. I Dream of Jeanie genie, Jeff Bezos robot lady, or Playboy centerfold — they are all the same to me. I ain’t letting none of them in my house. Because it’s my house and my husband is mine. I’m not jealous, I’m territorial.
It’s not that I don’t trust my husband. I trust him.
But, it’s like Mama used to say when I started to drive, “I trust you, Helen Michelle, I just don’t trust the rest of the world.” Mama taught me: “Before you get in a car, check the backseat for a crouched murderer; and then check under the car because that’s where murderers like to hide and slice your ankles.”
I’m not going to let my husband and thereby my marriage be preyed upon. We’re all human and susceptible to temptation. Honestly, if fold-out Farrah Fawcett came to life in that red one-piece, she’d have my hall pass. Hall passes are imaginary Get Out of Jail Free cards that married people give each other to fantasize about cheating with celebrities or dead people, before they got old or died. But, a fantasy is cheating. That’s why you keep it to yourself. My husband and I do not have hall passes.
If my husband cheats on me in my dreams, I wake up furious. Or I used to. A few years back, I made it a New Year’s resolution to stop chastising him as soon as he opened his chocolaty brown eyes because, as he has said: he didn’t DO anything.
When I went on book tour for three weeks, my husband lost seven pounds and I treated his healthy choices as a personal affront. In my absence, he’d ordered twenty-one lunches and twenty-one suppers from Chop’t Creative Salad Company. So, forty-two salads.
To me, a salad bar is as foreboding as a sex dungeon: chilly, and laid out with objects that I would never dare handle. I mean, Beets? Jicama? How do you even even begin to peel and cook those things? I imagined a Chop’t lady salad-chopper, clad in a latex apron and stud collar, side-stepping along a smorgasbord of kink, asking in the desensitized tone of a 9–1–1 operator: “And what else?”
“Ball gag.”
“And what else?”
“Anal beads.”
“And what else?”
“Avocado”
“Avocado is $1.99 extra.”
“Ok.”
“And what else?” Blink.
feed my husband pasta, potatoes, gluten, and carbs. I feed him these things because they make his eyes roll back in his head and he makes a little noise. I like to make him make that little noise, and Lipitor be damned, I will continue to make the food that makes him make that little noise until our hearts burst and we die.
And I make spaghetti. My husband has loved and eaten my spaghetti for twenty-some years. He loves my spaghetti and I am quite sure it is one of the many reasons why he married me. My spaghetti started out as a jar of Ragu and a pound of ground round; but with age and experimentation, developed into hand-rolled lamb and pork meatballs simmered in a homemade marinara, topped with sautéed mushrooms. Same dish, new tricks. But it’s still my spaghetti. Or as I like to call it: The Usual, Enhanced.
When my husband eats forty-two salads while I’m out of town, I get nervous because someone gave my husband something I could have, but didn’t.
I asked him: “Do you want me to make salads?”
My husband said, “Maybe sometimes.”
I asked: “Do you want me to buy a cat-o’-nine-tails and walk you around the living room on a leash?”
“What? No. Why would you ask me that?”
“Just checking.”
After all, we’ve spent half our lifetimes doing The Usual, Enhanced in bed. And for ages, I’ve worn pajamas with my married initials monogrammed on the pocket. Nothing says, Let’s get it on like embroidery. But you never know. So, every few years, it’s polite to ask.
Because I respect my marriage.
To people who are not respectful of my marriage, I am not polite.
here are marital lines you should not cross. And as a defensive wife, it’s my place to point them out to you. Usually it takes one comment from me for you to learn where the lines are. Once you identify them, we’ll get along fine; and you can maneuver around those lines like Tom Cruise did in that roomful of lasers in Mission Impossible.
A man at our home poker game had the habit of getting up from his seat to rub other men’s shoulders. I was the only woman at the table, and he knew better than to lay hands on me, but when he put his meat hooks onto the bare skin of my husband’s neck, I said, “Get your hands off my husband!”
“What?” he laughed.
All the men laughed.
I said, “Would you massage another man’s wife?”
Message received.
Other helpful hints include: Don’t call, text, or email my husband to make social plans, contact me. Don’t give my husband a gift, because I will construe whatever it is as too personal. Don’t talk about my husband’s butt, only I get to talk about his butt. Don’t post a picture of my husband with his shirt off on your Facebook page. No, it doesn’t matter that he was sitting on softball bleachers with six other men who had their shirts off on the hottest day in history. He is half-naked, and that glistening sun-kissed chest is mine, not yours to share.
And I ain’t sharing.
Those who don’t take my warnings seriously, fall off our Christmas card list. Sometimes, I let them live on in infamy with little nicknames like Baby Fish Mouth and The Drip. I can’t tell you what those nicknames stem from, or what those women did to offend me; because if they recognize themselves in print, won’t my face be red? So, let’s just say, they did something inappropriate in front of my husband. Like commando cartwheels. And then, after I expressly told them not to, cartwheeled again.
Not everyone who bothers me is such a femme fatale. A femme fatale used to be a 1940’s black-and-white movie actress, who smoked Pall Malls with a cigarette holder and could seduce a walnut; nowadays it’s any woman who’s younger and has a waist cinched like a Go-Gurt. But I’m an equal-opportunity hand-slapper. And no one deserves to get her hand slapped more than a person who tries to bust the chops of my marriage.
At a party, in front of me and a bunch of guests, a woman grabbed my husband’s left hand, and asked him where his wedding ring was. In truth, there have been three such women at three such parties. And the only reason any of these women would call attention to a missing wedding ring is to imply that my husband is in the market to cheat. My husband is Greek and thereby wears his ring on his right hand. He held up his right hand and showed this woman his ring.
The woman said, “Oh.”
And then I asked that woman in front of my husband and that very same bunch of guests: “Do you have many women friends?”
The woman said, “No.”
I said, “That kind of comment is why.”
When I told my friend Hannah about this, she said, “I don’t remember what you did years ago, but I figured out real-quick that I wasn’t supposed to say nice things about his suits.”
I said, “I probably dumped a bowl of spaghetti over your head.”
Hannah said, “No it wasn’t that.”
“Did I tell you flat out: don’t talk about my husband’s suits.”
Hannah said, “I think you gave me a look.”
Yeah, I can give a rough look. There’s nothing scarier than a happy peppy woman going dark in an instant. It’s like a Raggedy Ann doll foaming at the mouth. You see that once, you don’t ever want to see it again.
And Hannah hasn’t. A benefit of never again crossing one of my marital lines is that I am as fiercely appreciative of, loyal to, and protective of our friendship.
My friend Ann says, “Your ferocity is how you show love.”
I love my husband so much, I tell him: “If you cheat on me, I am going to jail. Because I will murder you. I have no fear of prison. I can be somebody’s bitch in two seconds.”
My husband has never cheated on me. I trust him because he knows my rules apply to him too.
He may compliment another woman’s intelligence, sense of humor, career, and accomplishments; but he may not compliment her appearance. He may hug a female friend hello (upon her initiation), but he may not otherwise touch her unless he’s administering the Heimlich maneuver, which out of respect for me, he has never bothered to learn. He doesn’t need to know the Heimlich maneuver, because I know the Heimlich maneuver, and the latest CPR method, and how to use an airport defibrillator. My husband knows how to dial 9–1–1.
A dispatcher asks, “9–1–1, what’s your emergency?”
“I’d like a serving platter for our twentieth wedding anniversary.”
“And what else?”
“Roses.”
“And what else?”
“Chocolates.”
“Soft center or nuts?”
“My wife isn’t nuts.”
Blink.
I trust my husband; I just don’t trust the rest of the world
I heard a story about a woman who knew her husband had left her when she came home from work and their Alexa was missing.
The woman put something in the oven and said, “Alexa! Set the timer.”
Alexa did not respond.
“Alexa?”
The woman searched her house. Her husband had packed his bags, moved out, and taken Alexa.
This will never happen to me because I am the kind of woman who will never have an Alexa, because I will never let another woman’s name be said more than my own, in my home. Or anywhere else.
When my husband and I stayed at The Wynn Resort and Casino in Las Vegas, every room came with Alexa. Two robes, electric blackout drapes, HBO, and Alexa.
Alexa was beige and sat on the beige desk and blended into the beige wallpaper. She looked like one of those toads that blends into a desert. You don’t see it until it blinks. And then it is all you see. Breathing and blinking and listening and looking at you. Blink.
We overheard our hotel neighbor get his wife in the mood. “Alexa! Play Stevie Wonder!”
Alexa said, “Playing Stevie Wonder on SiriusXM.”
And then: “Alexa! Play ‘My Cherie Amour’!”
Alexa said, “Playing ‘My Cheri Amour.’”
And then, through muffled cries of passion: “Alexa! Play ‘Very Superstitious’!”
Alexa said, “I’m having trouble understanding you. Would you repeat that?”
“Play ‘Very Superstitious’!”
“Do you mean, ‘Superstition’?”
“Yes!”
“Ok. Playing ‘Superstition’.”
Yes, during a game of Tune in Tokyo with his wife, our neighbor had a full-on conversation with another woman. Robot lady or not, that is an open marriage. And my marriage is as shuttered up as a beach house in a hurricane.
I called housekeeping to have Alexa removed from our room.
No, I did not think my husband would fall in love with Alexa the same way some Japanese men marry their Nintendo virtual girlfriends. But you can never be too sure. These things happen. And Alexa knows all of your man’s things.
Alexa is never impatient or sullen or moody or mad. She never gets her period, so she never gets PMS. Menopause and gravity are as hysterical as Chip and Dale. Alexa speaks only when spoken to. She sits at the ready, ready to serve.
You’d call me crazy if I let another woman sit in the corner of my bedroom, all day, every day; never sleeping, or in want of food, water, chitchat, or a toilet; able to summon my husband’s every whim from Amazon like a modern day Barbara Eden in a bottle.
“Alexa! Order a cooling eye mask and a box of Nicorette.”
“Yes, Master.” Blink.
Nuh-uh, no way. I Dream of Jeanie genie, Jeff Bezos robot lady, or Playboy centerfold — they are all the same to me. I ain’t letting none of them in my house. Because it’s my house and my husband is mine. I’m not jealous, I’m territorial.
It’s not that I don’t trust my husband. I trust him.
But, it’s like Mama used to say when I started to drive, “I trust you, Helen Michelle, I just don’t trust the rest of the world.” Mama taught me: “Before you get in a car, check the backseat for a crouched murderer; and then check under the car because that’s where murderers like to hide and slice your ankles.”
I’m not going to let my husband and thereby my marriage be preyed upon. We’re all human and susceptible to temptation. Honestly, if fold-out Farrah Fawcett came to life in that red one-piece, she’d have my hall pass. Hall passes are imaginary Get Out of Jail Free cards that married people give each other to fantasize about cheating with celebrities or dead people, before they got old or died. But, a fantasy is cheating. That’s why you keep it to yourself. My husband and I do not have hall passes.
If my husband cheats on me in my dreams, I wake up furious. Or I used to. A few years back, I made it a New Year’s resolution to stop chastising him as soon as he opened his chocolaty brown eyes because, as he has said: he didn’t DO anything.
My husband never does anything. So, I trust him. I just don’t trust the rest of the world.
When I went on book tour for three weeks, my husband lost seven pounds and I treated his healthy choices as a personal affront. In my absence, he’d ordered twenty-one lunches and twenty-one suppers from Chop’t Creative Salad Company. So, forty-two salads.
To me, a salad bar is as foreboding as a sex dungeon: chilly, and laid out with objects that I would never dare handle. I mean, Beets? Jicama? How do you even even begin to peel and cook those things? I imagined a Chop’t lady salad-chopper, clad in a latex apron and stud collar, side-stepping along a smorgasbord of kink, asking in the desensitized tone of a 9–1–1 operator: “And what else?”
“Ball gag.”
“And what else?”
“Anal beads.”
“And what else?”
“Avocado”
“Avocado is $1.99 extra.”
“Ok.”
“And what else?” Blink.
feed my husband pasta, potatoes, gluten, and carbs. I feed him these things because they make his eyes roll back in his head and he makes a little noise. I like to make him make that little noise, and Lipitor be damned, I will continue to make the food that makes him make that little noise until our hearts burst and we die.
And I make spaghetti. My husband has loved and eaten my spaghetti for twenty-some years. He loves my spaghetti and I am quite sure it is one of the many reasons why he married me. My spaghetti started out as a jar of Ragu and a pound of ground round; but with age and experimentation, developed into hand-rolled lamb and pork meatballs simmered in a homemade marinara, topped with sautéed mushrooms. Same dish, new tricks. But it’s still my spaghetti. Or as I like to call it: The Usual, Enhanced.
When my husband eats forty-two salads while I’m out of town, I get nervous because someone gave my husband something I could have, but didn’t.
I asked him: “Do you want me to make salads?”
My husband said, “Maybe sometimes.”
I asked: “Do you want me to buy a cat-o’-nine-tails and walk you around the living room on a leash?”
“What? No. Why would you ask me that?”
“Just checking.”
After all, we’ve spent half our lifetimes doing The Usual, Enhanced in bed. And for ages, I’ve worn pajamas with my married initials monogrammed on the pocket. Nothing says, Let’s get it on like embroidery. But you never know. So, every few years, it’s polite to ask.
Because I respect my marriage.
To people who are not respectful of my marriage, I am not polite.
here are marital lines you should not cross. And as a defensive wife, it’s my place to point them out to you. Usually it takes one comment from me for you to learn where the lines are. Once you identify them, we’ll get along fine; and you can maneuver around those lines like Tom Cruise did in that roomful of lasers in Mission Impossible.
A man at our home poker game had the habit of getting up from his seat to rub other men’s shoulders. I was the only woman at the table, and he knew better than to lay hands on me, but when he put his meat hooks onto the bare skin of my husband’s neck, I said, “Get your hands off my husband!”
“What?” he laughed.
All the men laughed.
I said, “Would you massage another man’s wife?”
Message received.
Other helpful hints include: Don’t call, text, or email my husband to make social plans, contact me. Don’t give my husband a gift, because I will construe whatever it is as too personal. Don’t talk about my husband’s butt, only I get to talk about his butt. Don’t post a picture of my husband with his shirt off on your Facebook page. No, it doesn’t matter that he was sitting on softball bleachers with six other men who had their shirts off on the hottest day in history. He is half-naked, and that glistening sun-kissed chest is mine, not yours to share.
And I ain’t sharing.
Those who don’t take my warnings seriously, fall off our Christmas card list. Sometimes, I let them live on in infamy with little nicknames like Baby Fish Mouth and The Drip. I can’t tell you what those nicknames stem from, or what those women did to offend me; because if they recognize themselves in print, won’t my face be red? So, let’s just say, they did something inappropriate in front of my husband. Like commando cartwheels. And then, after I expressly told them not to, cartwheeled again.
Not everyone who bothers me is such a femme fatale. A femme fatale used to be a 1940’s black-and-white movie actress, who smoked Pall Malls with a cigarette holder and could seduce a walnut; nowadays it’s any woman who’s younger and has a waist cinched like a Go-Gurt. But I’m an equal-opportunity hand-slapper. And no one deserves to get her hand slapped more than a person who tries to bust the chops of my marriage.
At a party, in front of me and a bunch of guests, a woman grabbed my husband’s left hand, and asked him where his wedding ring was. In truth, there have been three such women at three such parties. And the only reason any of these women would call attention to a missing wedding ring is to imply that my husband is in the market to cheat. My husband is Greek and thereby wears his ring on his right hand. He held up his right hand and showed this woman his ring.
The woman said, “Oh.”
And then I asked that woman in front of my husband and that very same bunch of guests: “Do you have many women friends?”
The woman said, “No.”
I said, “That kind of comment is why.”
When I told my friend Hannah about this, she said, “I don’t remember what you did years ago, but I figured out real-quick that I wasn’t supposed to say nice things about his suits.”
I said, “I probably dumped a bowl of spaghetti over your head.”
Hannah said, “No it wasn’t that.”
“Did I tell you flat out: don’t talk about my husband’s suits.”
Hannah said, “I think you gave me a look.”
Yeah, I can give a rough look. There’s nothing scarier than a happy peppy woman going dark in an instant. It’s like a Raggedy Ann doll foaming at the mouth. You see that once, you don’t ever want to see it again.
And Hannah hasn’t. A benefit of never again crossing one of my marital lines is that I am as fiercely appreciative of, loyal to, and protective of our friendship.
My friend Ann says, “Your ferocity is how you show love.”
I love my husband so much, I tell him: “If you cheat on me, I am going to jail. Because I will murder you. I have no fear of prison. I can be somebody’s bitch in two seconds.”
My husband has never cheated on me. I trust him because he knows my rules apply to him too.
He may compliment another woman’s intelligence, sense of humor, career, and accomplishments; but he may not compliment her appearance. He may hug a female friend hello (upon her initiation), but he may not otherwise touch her unless he’s administering the Heimlich maneuver, which out of respect for me, he has never bothered to learn. He doesn’t need to know the Heimlich maneuver, because I know the Heimlich maneuver, and the latest CPR method, and how to use an airport defibrillator. My husband knows how to dial 9–1–1.
A dispatcher asks, “9–1–1, what’s your emergency?”
“I’d like a serving platter for our twentieth wedding anniversary.”
“And what else?”
“Roses.”
“And what else?”
“Chocolates.”
“Soft center or nuts?”
“My wife isn’t nuts.”
Blink.
- Joined
- Aug 4, 2018
"More youthful" she looks like a mortician was terrible at their job.
Corporate can suck a fat dick until they're the ones risking HIV.Dairy Queen removes message about drug sales in parking lot - WISH-TV | Indianapolis News | Indiana Weather | Indiana Traffic
Usually reserved for promoting deals for Blizzards and burgers, the sign at the 71st Street and Michigan Road Dairy Queen now reads a bit different.
Dairy Queen removes message about drug sales in parking lot
by: Jenny Dreasler and Staff Reports
Posted: Dec 13, 2019 / 05:59 AM EST / Updated: Dec 13, 2019 / 06:55 PM EST
INDIANAPOLIS (WISH) — An anti-drug message posted at a Dairy Queen on the northwest side was removed Friday after corporate executives told restaurant employees to take it off the sign.
Usually reserved for promoting deals for Blizzards and burgers, the sign at the Dairy Queen at West 71st Street and Michigan Road read a bit different for about 24 hours.
“Parking lot – not for drug sales,” the sign read, with a “thank you” at the bottom.
Employees with Dairy Queen say the sign was posted around 3 p.m. Thursday.
News 8 talked to employees. None would go on camera but said the parking lot has become a cesspool for drug use. Employees say have found needles in the parking lot and have dealt with multiple drug overdoses.
News 8 found everything from empty cigarettes and alcohol containers to blunt wraps and what appears to be drug paraphernalia in the parking lot Friday.
“You need more signs like that around everywhere,” said Indianapolis resident Lamonta Ray.
Some people News 8 talked with said the drug use doesn’t surprise them and the sign is a stark reminder that it needs to stay out of this area.
Indianapolis resident Violette Hanalla said, “When the person with the drugs see’s this (sign) he will move. Because maybe will see police or somebody here. He will see the sign and move.”
Dorothy Mosley said, “God knows that we need that help and, unless they want to accept it or seek it, it’s going to be hard to change it because it’s been going on so long.”
As for the sign itself, people who saw it say a business as big as Dairy Queen taking a stand sent an unmistakable message to the entire neighborhood.
Ray said,” For the people that is observant and paying attention, it’s very powerful. Hopefully it keeps people off the premises and out of the area, and keep the area clean.”
The new sign posted Friday evening read “We love you Indy, thank you.”
Kevin Ratermann on Twitter
““PARKING LOT NOT FOR DRUG SALES” - Here’s a sign you never want to see in front of a Dairy Queen. Hopefully everything will calm down for the 71st & Michigan Rd restaurant here in Indianapolis. #NewsTracker #Daybreak8 @WISH_TV”
View attachment 1050056
- Joined
- Jan 6, 2019
"I am the kind of woman who will never have an Alexa, because I will never let another woman’s name be said more than my own, in my home. Or anywhere else."
Crazy lady angry at Alexa because Japanese men marries their digital Nintendo babes and she fears the temptress that is a box with a robotic woman's voice could steal her man, all of this is mysteriously but appropriately enough published in Gay Magazine. It is very entertaining.
I’m Not Jealous, I’m Territorial
I trust my husband; I just don’t trust the rest of the world
Full article/essay:
I’m Not Jealous, I’m Territorial
I trust my husband; I just don’t trust the rest of the world
I heard a story about a woman who knew her husband had left her when she came home from work and their Alexa was missing.
The woman put something in the oven and said, “Alexa! Set the timer.”
Alexa did not respond.
“Alexa?”
The woman searched her house. Her husband had packed his bags, moved out, and taken Alexa.
This will never happen to me because I am the kind of woman who will never have an Alexa, because I will never let another woman’s name be said more than my own, in my home. Or anywhere else.
When my husband and I stayed at The Wynn Resort and Casino in Las Vegas, every room came with Alexa. Two robes, electric blackout drapes, HBO, and Alexa.
Alexa was beige and sat on the beige desk and blended into the beige wallpaper. She looked like one of those toads that blends into a desert. You don’t see it until it blinks. And then it is all you see. Breathing and blinking and listening and looking at you. Blink.
We overheard our hotel neighbor get his wife in the mood. “Alexa! Play Stevie Wonder!”
Alexa said, “Playing Stevie Wonder on SiriusXM.”
And then: “Alexa! Play ‘My Cherie Amour’!”
Alexa said, “Playing ‘My Cheri Amour.’”
And then, through muffled cries of passion: “Alexa! Play ‘Very Superstitious’!”
Alexa said, “I’m having trouble understanding you. Would you repeat that?”
“Play ‘Very Superstitious’!”
“Do you mean, ‘Superstition’?”
“Yes!”
“Ok. Playing ‘Superstition’.”
Yes, during a game of Tune in Tokyo with his wife, our neighbor had a full-on conversation with another woman. Robot lady or not, that is an open marriage. And my marriage is as shuttered up as a beach house in a hurricane.
I called housekeeping to have Alexa removed from our room.
No, I did not think my husband would fall in love with Alexa the same way some Japanese men marry their Nintendo virtual girlfriends. But you can never be too sure. These things happen. And Alexa knows all of your man’s things.
Alexa is never impatient or sullen or moody or mad. She never gets her period, so she never gets PMS. Menopause and gravity are as hysterical as Chip and Dale. Alexa speaks only when spoken to. She sits at the ready, ready to serve.
You’d call me crazy if I let another woman sit in the corner of my bedroom, all day, every day; never sleeping, or in want of food, water, chitchat, or a toilet; able to summon my husband’s every whim from Amazon like a modern day Barbara Eden in a bottle.
“Alexa! Order a cooling eye mask and a box of Nicorette.”
“Yes, Master.” Blink.
Nuh-uh, no way. I Dream of Jeanie genie, Jeff Bezos robot lady, or Playboy centerfold — they are all the same to me. I ain’t letting none of them in my house. Because it’s my house and my husband is mine. I’m not jealous, I’m territorial.
It’s not that I don’t trust my husband. I trust him.
But, it’s like Mama used to say when I started to drive, “I trust you, Helen Michelle, I just don’t trust the rest of the world.” Mama taught me: “Before you get in a car, check the backseat for a crouched murderer; and then check under the car because that’s where murderers like to hide and slice your ankles.”
I’m not going to let my husband and thereby my marriage be preyed upon. We’re all human and susceptible to temptation. Honestly, if fold-out Farrah Fawcett came to life in that red one-piece, she’d have my hall pass. Hall passes are imaginary Get Out of Jail Free cards that married people give each other to fantasize about cheating with celebrities or dead people, before they got old or died. But, a fantasy is cheating. That’s why you keep it to yourself. My husband and I do not have hall passes.
If my husband cheats on me in my dreams, I wake up furious. Or I used to. A few years back, I made it a New Year’s resolution to stop chastising him as soon as he opened his chocolaty brown eyes because, as he has said: he didn’t DO anything.
My husband never does anything. So, I trust him. I just don’t trust the rest of the world.
When I went on book tour for three weeks, my husband lost seven pounds and I treated his healthy choices as a personal affront. In my absence, he’d ordered twenty-one lunches and twenty-one suppers from Chop’t Creative Salad Company. So, forty-two salads.
To me, a salad bar is as foreboding as a sex dungeon: chilly, and laid out with objects that I would never dare handle. I mean, Beets? Jicama? How do you even even begin to peel and cook those things? I imagined a Chop’t lady salad-chopper, clad in a latex apron and stud collar, side-stepping along a smorgasbord of kink, asking in the desensitized tone of a 9–1–1 operator: “And what else?”
“Ball gag.”
“And what else?”
“Anal beads.”
“And what else?”
“Avocado”
“Avocado is $1.99 extra.”
“Ok.”
“And what else?” Blink.
feed my husband pasta, potatoes, gluten, and carbs. I feed him these things because they make his eyes roll back in his head and he makes a little noise. I like to make him make that little noise, and Lipitor be damned, I will continue to make the food that makes him make that little noise until our hearts burst and we die.
And I make spaghetti. My husband has loved and eaten my spaghetti for twenty-some years. He loves my spaghetti and I am quite sure it is one of the many reasons why he married me. My spaghetti started out as a jar of Ragu and a pound of ground round; but with age and experimentation, developed into hand-rolled lamb and pork meatballs simmered in a homemade marinara, topped with sautéed mushrooms. Same dish, new tricks. But it’s still my spaghetti. Or as I like to call it: The Usual, Enhanced.
When my husband eats forty-two salads while I’m out of town, I get nervous because someone gave my husband something I could have, but didn’t.
I asked him: “Do you want me to make salads?”
My husband said, “Maybe sometimes.”
I asked: “Do you want me to buy a cat-o’-nine-tails and walk you around the living room on a leash?”
“What? No. Why would you ask me that?”
“Just checking.”
After all, we’ve spent half our lifetimes doing The Usual, Enhanced in bed. And for ages, I’ve worn pajamas with my married initials monogrammed on the pocket. Nothing says, Let’s get it on like embroidery. But you never know. So, every few years, it’s polite to ask.
Because I respect my marriage.
To people who are not respectful of my marriage, I am not polite.
here are marital lines you should not cross. And as a defensive wife, it’s my place to point them out to you. Usually it takes one comment from me for you to learn where the lines are. Once you identify them, we’ll get along fine; and you can maneuver around those lines like Tom Cruise did in that roomful of lasers in Mission Impossible.
A man at our home poker game had the habit of getting up from his seat to rub other men’s shoulders. I was the only woman at the table, and he knew better than to lay hands on me, but when he put his meat hooks onto the bare skin of my husband’s neck, I said, “Get your hands off my husband!”
“What?” he laughed.
All the men laughed.
I said, “Would you massage another man’s wife?”
Message received.
Other helpful hints include: Don’t call, text, or email my husband to make social plans, contact me. Don’t give my husband a gift, because I will construe whatever it is as too personal. Don’t talk about my husband’s butt, only I get to talk about his butt. Don’t post a picture of my husband with his shirt off on your Facebook page. No, it doesn’t matter that he was sitting on softball bleachers with six other men who had their shirts off on the hottest day in history. He is half-naked, and that glistening sun-kissed chest is mine, not yours to share.
And I ain’t sharing.
Those who don’t take my warnings seriously, fall off our Christmas card list. Sometimes, I let them live on in infamy with little nicknames like Baby Fish Mouth and The Drip. I can’t tell you what those nicknames stem from, or what those women did to offend me; because if they recognize themselves in print, won’t my face be red? So, let’s just say, they did something inappropriate in front of my husband. Like commando cartwheels. And then, after I expressly told them not to, cartwheeled again.
Not everyone who bothers me is such a femme fatale. A femme fatale used to be a 1940’s black-and-white movie actress, who smoked Pall Malls with a cigarette holder and could seduce a walnut; nowadays it’s any woman who’s younger and has a waist cinched like a Go-Gurt. But I’m an equal-opportunity hand-slapper. And no one deserves to get her hand slapped more than a person who tries to bust the chops of my marriage.
At a party, in front of me and a bunch of guests, a woman grabbed my husband’s left hand, and asked him where his wedding ring was. In truth, there have been three such women at three such parties. And the only reason any of these women would call attention to a missing wedding ring is to imply that my husband is in the market to cheat. My husband is Greek and thereby wears his ring on his right hand. He held up his right hand and showed this woman his ring.
The woman said, “Oh.”
And then I asked that woman in front of my husband and that very same bunch of guests: “Do you have many women friends?”
The woman said, “No.”
I said, “That kind of comment is why.”
When I told my friend Hannah about this, she said, “I don’t remember what you did years ago, but I figured out real-quick that I wasn’t supposed to say nice things about his suits.”
I said, “I probably dumped a bowl of spaghetti over your head.”
Hannah said, “No it wasn’t that.”
“Did I tell you flat out: don’t talk about my husband’s suits.”
Hannah said, “I think you gave me a look.”
Yeah, I can give a rough look. There’s nothing scarier than a happy peppy woman going dark in an instant. It’s like a Raggedy Ann doll foaming at the mouth. You see that once, you don’t ever want to see it again.
And Hannah hasn’t. A benefit of never again crossing one of my marital lines is that I am as fiercely appreciative of, loyal to, and protective of our friendship.
My friend Ann says, “Your ferocity is how you show love.”
I love my husband so much, I tell him: “If you cheat on me, I am going to jail. Because I will murder you. I have no fear of prison. I can be somebody’s bitch in two seconds.”
My husband has never cheated on me. I trust him because he knows my rules apply to him too.
He may compliment another woman’s intelligence, sense of humor, career, and accomplishments; but he may not compliment her appearance. He may hug a female friend hello (upon her initiation), but he may not otherwise touch her unless he’s administering the Heimlich maneuver, which out of respect for me, he has never bothered to learn. He doesn’t need to know the Heimlich maneuver, because I know the Heimlich maneuver, and the latest CPR method, and how to use an airport defibrillator. My husband knows how to dial 9–1–1.
A dispatcher asks, “9–1–1, what’s your emergency?”
“I’d like a serving platter for our twentieth wedding anniversary.”
“And what else?”
“Roses.”
“And what else?”
“Chocolates.”
“Soft center or nuts?”
“My wife isn’t nuts.”
Blink.
Look at this ugly cunt
Who brags about being a massive bitch to everyone around them all the time just so they can cow their husband into domestic slavery at the threat of murder?