MW taking care of large roach problem...
Archives of Mr. Wonderful
Explains Current Events

Last Updated:

Best Viewed with
Internet Explorer
Medium Text  1024x768

My Other Pages:

Current Events Archives

Photos by Mr.Wonderful
National Politics
Arizona Politics & Happenings
MW Exposes Internet Fraud


Contact Mr.Wonderful

Return to Archive Index Page
December 28th, 2004:
Scared and Stuck
At 4:05AM this morning the "beep-beep-beep-beep" stabbed into my dream. I reset my alarm clock to 4:30AM and before my head hit the pillow, my dreams were sliced through again. I stumbled out into the kitchen to make my morning coffee using the fresh grounds my 95 decibel grinder spit out the other day. Suddenly I was consumed with heart-thumping fear. Fear that if I came down with the flu (as I felt I might have contracted yesterday evening) without any liquid savings, I could be homeless in days. (Flu was on my mind because I had phoned my doctor's office Monday afternoon checking for the flu potion that, due to the idiotic bullshit shortage-mania foisted on the ignorant public by the DeMedia, had been so hard to get, and discovered all I had to was to drop down and roll up my sleeve.) As I habitually tugged my pink Sweet & Lows out of the cupboard dwelling blue topped Tupperware container, a list of monthly bills scrolled down my retinas like the white fonted ending credits of a movie floating against a black background. MW Stuck I realized that, not for the first time, as a security officer, unless I doubled my hourly pay rate, I would have to continue to labor 16 hours of overtime each week merely to stay solvent and another 16 to 24 hours to even begin to inch ahead. As is Man's wont, the end of the calendar year involuntarily focuses our attention on what we have not achieved over the past twelve months. Sadly, like so many adults in America, where life is easier than anywhere on the planet, I've avoided the failure of not achieving my goals by carefully setting none. A goal-less existence which results in my life wobbling aimlessly like a dreidel ending its spin. My continued employment is controlled by a manager who is so slow that he cannot comprehend my humor. Humor that I must consciously and meticulously strip from my language during any conversation. Hell, to avoid discussions with him, since supply orders must pass his half-witted scrutiny, 65% of the things we use in the guardhouse are purchased with my dollars. Even the, copy paper, paper towels and toilet paper. I could replace him in his managerial position and improve this division's bottom line profitability by probably 50%. However, as I was telling myself as I worked Christmas day at another gate, "I'm not a security officer. I hate the main things this job consists of: which is telling people NO, and telling them what they cannot do." It just rubs me the wrong way. Like when the dentist is jabbing with his stainless steel ice pick digging out the roots during a root canal. Everyone has things they hate to do. But to be willingly sentenced to a job you hate is, well, insane. It's like Mr.Wonderful III observed years ago when he was much younger as he asked me how anyone could be an accountant and write down numbers all day for a living. I explained to him that some people, by their nature, enjoy the process of putting things in order, the feeling of a pencil scraping numbers onto a page and trying to make each integer more perfect than the last. And that explanation puts the meat on the bone as I am describing a job, in this case, accounting, fitting onto the personality style of a person. I enjoy putting things in order, as is evidenced by my personal library which is organized by category only waiting for labels to be placed on the shelves. My Microsoft Millionaire resident explained to me two years ago that things that I found easy, very many people found difficult or grating or impossible. And he added that corporations would pay for talents like mine, even though I carried not a university degree but decades of wisdom gained from actual experience. Why then am I in the position that most people starting their working life would be in? Or the job where many Social Security recipient's supplement their retirement with, rather than in a job I could prosper in, a job I could enjoy?
Mr.Wonderful Talks Current Events @

December 21st, 2004:
"Bah Humbug ?"
Feeling really down this morning. Didn't know how down until a resident, while handing me a $100 tip cleverly hidden inside a Christmas card, told me to smile. A resident whose own spouse is currently undergoing chemotherapy for some usually fatal disease. And my favorite guard, "Nine-fingered Bill" will never see another Christmas because of his own terminal medical prognosis. While doing a "guest appearance" at another gate, shortly before 9PM one night, in the midst of handling traffic for six separate holiday parties, I answered the gate-house phone to hear a resident advise me that Hansen Mortuary would be coming in shortly. So why the hell am I so sad? It could be that I'm suffering a crappy and demeaning job and while working up to 92 hours a week I still gross merely one-seventh as much as I did when I worked for myself. I've enjoyed only three days of paid vacation in over three years. My job has no room for advancement to a superior shitty position. ("Shitty" being an improvement over "crappy".) I've lost my wife, I had to put my two dog friends to sleep, and I live in an apartment not much larger than the master bedroom of my former residence of twenty-six years. The last day I've had off, and by this I mean a single day in which I did not report to work for at least eight hours of labor, was way back in the first week of August 2004, over one hundred forty days ago. And, due to my crushing and acerbic intellect <grin>, I have no close friends. I think it may be the Monday evening three shots of medicinal Cuervo Gold that are wreaking their Tuesday revenge on me this morning. Things aren't that bad. I've got my health, while virtually everyone I work with is suffering from diabetes or a surgically removed organ or an addiction to tobacco and typically consumes more calories than a six-foot four inch, two hundred and twenty-five pound lumberjack chain-sawing trees in northern Montana. While I've gained weight over the year, I'm still thirty five pounds lighter than I was in 2002. I live in the greatest country the world has ever known, the United States of America. Since I operate on a cash basis, all my overtime pay has allowed me to purchase well-crafted and bountiful gifts for my three children . . . and most importantly, for myself. In my micro-apartment I dwell with my youngest boy who I love dearly. Our petite pad, where I can fold warm clothes on the lid of my Hotpoint® dryer (Hotpoint®, the brand of discriminating and cheap-bastard landlords) and still watch television over my shoulder. I've got only about two hundred square feet of carpet to vacuum, which I've managed to postpone for fourteen months. All my appliance and upkeep expenses are included in my rent. If I need to know how to say something in Spanish or Hungarian or Nigerian I only have to step over to any of my neighbors and politely ask. One of the five swimming pools in the complex is a mere twenty feet from my bedroom window where I can lay on my bed and stare out at the two-pieces bouncing around and . . . dream. My coke can-sized mailbox is also only feet from my front door. The largest electric bill for keeping the place at 72F degrees this 100F plus summer, was under $150 versus the easily over $400 bill my house could run up. I guess things aren't all that bad. "Merry Christmas!"
Mr.Wonderful Talks Current Events @

December 15th, 2004:
"Happy Holidays !"
The seasonal battle over whether to say "Happy Holidays" versus "Merry Christmas" has risen to the top of the talk radio scene as surely as if it was an angel to be placed at the summit of a Christmas (aka: "Holiday") tree. Apparently at a few very large retail businesses, supposedly in an attempt to not upset any customers, employees are being instructed that they cannot say, "Merry Christmas" and instead must only utter "Happy Holidays." Of course this is along the lines of novelist George Orwell's prediction of a future world government destroying institutions and freedoms by simply eliminating the words that we attach to them. As I explained this morning to The Nearly Famous Barry Young, these evil individuals have their cousins laboring away in Hollywood. Their relatives are busy attacking the mores of the majority of American's by being sure that virtually every movie produced by Hollywood includes either a grappling sexual encounter that contributes absolutely nothing to the plot or, lately, throwing in a scene involving urination. Or both. Little by little, day by day, season by season, these godless elves are relentless in their attempts to move our sensitivities away from what is normal and wholesome and right; from an understood and knowable moral code and a codified system of beliefs to a mash-potato mix of anything goes. To a spineless attitude of offending no one, except the 'incredibly ignorant' and intolerant members of the status quo. And worshipping not a loving God-creator, but a manifestation of evolutionary-pantheism, where everything that exists is simply a fortunate accident.

definition: mores  ("more rays")  noun folkways of central importance accepted without question and embodying the fundamental moral views of a social group - Webster's College Dictionary Copyright 1991 by Random House, Inc.

Mr.Wonderful Talks Current Events @

October 22nd, 2004:
No God, My Gawd
Monday night I was listening to the Art Bell show. I was especially intrigued because there was to be a Ph.D interviewed who was labeled as being skeptical of most items of interest mentioned on the show. Art invited the doctor onto the program to argue with him over all the kinds of things that late night radio listener's blithely accept as fact: ghosts, alien abductions, shadow-people, remote viewing and UFOs being from outer space, among other things. The guest was, I believe, the editor of some 'skeptic' magazine. Of course, he easily shot down virtually all the things that have made Art Bell and his weeknight replacement, George Noory, wealthy men. And then they turned to religion. As the current incantation of PC-ism dictates, Judaism, Christianity and Islam were all crowded together, under the mantle of 'religion.' To pour Islamic beliefs in with the teachings of Jesus or Moses is like topping a bowl of cherry Jell-O with horseradish (Amoracia rusticana). Be that as it may, I listened as Art's guest attacked the Bible and the peculiar Old Testament laws and punishments. He even pointed out that the Bible was edited by men, not God. Gosh. But then, almost in the same breath, he expressed sincere dismay that "secularism" did not provide the same quality of answers and comfort as religion. In defense he pointed out, " . . . religion has been around for four thousand years and secularism has only been here two hundred." And now I can't speak for today's Judaism, but I can for Christianity and I don't believe that even given another thirty-eight centuries secular-humanism will improve much on its answers as to why we are here or provide superior moral guidance. Or be able to generate a yearning spanning all of Mankind to deny its in-born passions, aka, 'original sins.' In-born passions that experienced their full bloom in Besian, Russia, in the year 2004, when Muslim terrorists first, teased at gun point and then, murdered scores of mostly Christian school children and adults. I can't remember if the radio conversation went on to discuss evolution, but with only two choices, "Creation" or an accident followed by "Evolution" to explain our existence, I would have to assume that Art's guest believes in Darwin's concept of evolution. Evolution, the theory which can be shaken to its roots by the simple reading of a single book, Icons of Evolution: Science or Myth?. My own doubts of the claims of evolution (which must consume billions of years in order to evolve pond scum into the blonde goddess, Morgan Fairchild) have themselves, been evolving since the first Lunar Landing of last century. Earth scientists were concerned that over the thousands of millions of years the moon had been flying through the cosmos that it was calculated it should be covered with three to four feet of very fine planetary particles. They feared that the lunar module would settle and then disappear into this powdery surface like the croaked-voiced Ted Kennedy tumbling into a vat of malted barley. But in a crushing defeat for the Darwin crowd, our astronauts were met with not much more dust than is to be found in Mr. Wonderful's apartment after a mere thirteen months without vacuuming, demonstrating the moon to be thousands, not billions of years old.
Mr.Wonderful Talks Current Events @

October 12th, 2004:
Face It Europe Hates U.S.
Many European governments, despite their creaking economies, whose wheels are encrusted with the lumpy and cancerous sloth of federal socialism sorely depending on the goods and services only a free-market America can supply, despise this nation as much as Middle Eastern Muslim madmen do. The EU (European Union) is hoping to injure us fiscally in the same manner the 9/11 attacks did physically. They will not be happy until they have Uncle Sam prancing around on the end of a bejeweled dog leash, duplicating the way Teresa Heinz, behind the closed double doors of her twenty-four hundred square foot boudoir, forces her whimpering and catsup spotted husband, John, to perform. If you doubt my claim about the absolute disgust our cousin's across the Atlantic hold us in, simply plop down one dollar on the shiny conveyor belt of any major grocery store and pick up and read the pink painted pages of the Financial Times. To demonstrate the extreme lean left of this London-based newspaper the other day I was shocked as a columnist described our New York Times as being a conservative publication.
Mr.Wonderful Talks Current Events @

September 10th, 2004:
Jeopardy! and CortiSlim
Ken Jennings is rumored to have surceased his $2 million winning streak on Jeopardy!. And your Mr. Wonderful doesn't give a rabbit turd. The only reason I know this game show expert has won so much money is from what the talk radio "news" has told me. That and occasionally Mr. Wonderful III has been watching it on the screen at our tony Paradise Valley townhouse. <grin> What I would really like to see broadcast just as widely, is the amount that the IRS is subtracting from the payday that Mr. Jennings worked so hard and so long to earn. And I would like the Jeopardy! audience to consider exactly what our federal government did to earn the 30 to 50 percent they will be withholding in taxes from this citizen's legitimate earnings. I think it would be great if for once the DeMedia (Major Media) would gleefully announce, ". . . and out of Mr. Jennings two and one-half million dollars winnings, the federal government will rip $1,000,000. That one million dollars will pay for approximately twenty seconds of NASA Mar's rovers sniffing for dampness on the surface of that rust-red orb."

Click to visit homepage of CortiSlim Cortisol, a hormone that is produced in response to stress and is thought by some researchers to promote fat accumulation around the waist, has been discovered to have the magical properties of turning "bitter orange, magnolia bark, and theanine," when printed on the label of a blue and white bottle, into gold. Of course, I'm writing about CortiSlim TM, Relacore and other non-prescription potions that claim to inhibit cortisol production, thereby enabling rapid weight loss. Recently, CortiSlim TM (whose commercial exposure must run millions of dollar per month) is promoting the proof of their claims with a "scientific study" that involves a laughable sample of fifty persons. Twenty-five subjects took CortiSlim TM and twenty-five took a placebo. Guffaw, guffaw. Since they do not mention their proof being a double-blind study, which might give it a sliver of standing scientifically, this study, if it was even commissioned at all, is worthless. If one attempts to check the facts on CortiSlim TM via an internet search engine you will be greeted with somewhere around 87,200 links to the product. The first several hundred all trying to sell you CortiSlim TM! I find it simply odd that their radio spokesman is Phil Hendrie whose claim to fame is taping his impersonation of a whacky individual and then replaying the tape and pretending that his own impersonation is an actual listener phoning the radio show. I know a doctor who is on the AMA panel that studies new prescription drugs, the ones that actually must perform as advertised. Part of the testing a legitimate drug must go through involves five hundred monkeys (or liberal Democrats) that must be precisely dosed with the drug, euthanized and then autopsied to discover exactly what the drug has done. Good or bad. What tests are required to be performed on products such as CortiSlim TM? None. What about the ingredients listed on the side of the bottle, who checks them? No one. Who assays the contents to discover if illegal or dangerous ingredients (that may cause temporary weight loss, or feelings of wellness, for example) are not in the product? Again, no one. And, this might require some thought, but, given the non-stop print, radio, broadcast, cable and satellite advertising that CortiSlim TM enjoys, what are the chances that it actually promotes weight loss that would not otherwise occur? None. One final question: Are you an idiot if you purchase this unregulated, unproven and untested product? Yes. Federal Trade Commision goes after Cortislim.
Mr.Wonderful Talks Current Events @

August 8th, 2004:
In Reality, a Beautiful Country
As I sit at my monitor watching Iron Chef in the reflection of my strategically placed glassed-in poster, I wonder when this "reality programming" will end. It just struck me, after having watched the Iron Chef for years, that there is no way that these chefs actually do everything they need to do in one hour. But for this show, who cares if they are fudging the facts? It's obviously entertainment, nothing more. I know in ten or twenty years all the doofs who are watching these reality shows, begun with Survivor!, are going to be laughing their fannies off seeing re-runs of these same shows that are about as close to reality as the Penthouse Letter's were. Speaking of reality, I recently read in the Wall Street Journal about more middle-aged bankruptcies, the offshoring of jobs and then Friday I recognized that the DeMedia was frothed up about only 32,000 American jobs being created last month, when 215,000 were predicted. June storm coming into El Paso Texas. Click to enlarge It's almost as if, under their breath, they are chanting, "When John Kerry is President . . . " he will cease middleaged bankruptcies, end the exporting of American citizen's jobs ("nod, nod, wink, wink") and somehow produce 215,000 jobs month after month, ad infinitum. And he will do this by snatching back the Bush Tax Cut those evil few who earn more than $200,000 benefited from. Adjusted for inflation, your Mr. Wonderful's income in the 1980s would have easily been in this area. Do you know how I earned that much money? My brother and I owned, and managed, and worked six days a week at a company that also employed fifty-six citizens of the United States. We offered excellent health insurance coverage along with a pension and profit sharing plan. So what do you imagine would happen if President John Kerry, in a supposed effort to create jobs, increases taxes on the everyone who reports more than $200,000 in annual income. A income classification that numbers four out of five of its members as small businessmen. (Know that, small businesses, those with less than 500 employees, create eight out of every ten new American jobs.) Understand that President Kerry is going to charge IRS agents to collect a larger portion of the income from these businessmen and women who earned it. Which will deprive them of either investing these dollars in their own company or in our economy, and instead wheelbarrow these same dollars off to the government coffers from whence they will be distributed which will somehow generate more jobs than if they had remained in their owner's purses. Does that make any sense to anyone? Speaking of government work, here in Arizona, after $60,000,000 tax dollars were spent on rebuilding my alma mater, "The Arizona State Mental Hospital" (aka: 24th Street and Van Buren) the clinic now faces sanctions from Medicare simply because, among other violations, the government employees did not realize it was against the rules to handcuff patients to the chairs. Gosh. Who would've thought? But this is the kind of insanity (pun intended) that has gone on in government work from Biblical times and continued on into the 21st Century. Last month, setting another 'shortest-time-to-drive-record', Northstar-powered, your Mr. Wonderful zoomed from Scottsdale, Arizona to Fort Worth, Texas. Along the way, I was amazed at the beauty of this nation. I cannot understand how the Major Media and many of those in the opposition party can scream such bad things about our citizen dotted countryside. This is a country so beautiful, several times my breath was taken away with what I was seeing. And as the 2000 "Red & Blue" map which showed 99% of Gore Democrat voters were in the asphalted and shrouded skies of the cities dependent on federal largese and welfare, the beauty I saw was on the open roads and the open skies of literally, Bush Country. Mr.Wonderful Talks Current Events @

July 8th, 2004:
Fires Fry Arizona Forests
An A.P.S. power plant burns while the fire departments stand helpless. Why don't they extinguish the blaze? Because the EPA has labeled the mineral oil that cools the industrial dumpster-sized transformers, as a toxic waste. So further attempts at fire abatement would only produce more 'toxic' slurry to be carried off. If the EPA were asked, which they indeed might be, by the Dairy Industry, they would also gleefully declare the Crisco vegetable oil you and I fry with as both a hazardous and toxic waste. Believe it or not they are currently studying whether microwave popcorn fumes, inhaled as we step into our kitchens while our paused DVD waits for us in the other room, will kill us. Arizona Willow Fire. Click to enlarge Understand it is the job of EPA employees not to protect us, but to prove how badly they are needed. To assure us that every adult American would surely perish within one hundred and thirteen days (children would last three and one-half days longer. The aged and infirm would die twenty-one days sooner) if the EPA's budget was cut by as little as .01%. I'd be willing to wager that 5 out of each 100 American millionaires attained that rare seven-digit status by filling the mandates imposed by the EPA. At its core, the EPA is simply another means to covertly remove dollars, by increasing the cost of products, services, licenses and permits that meet EPA criteria, from the moth-eaten wallet of the oblivious taxpayer. These dollars are then used to pay an EPA employee, who does basically nothing, while simultaneously performing at only 30% of the efficiency any employee of a for-profit enterprise must deliver. The billions of tax dollars that are left over, after paying EPA employees, are distributed to the before mentioned millionaire/industrialists, whose lobbyist's most likely helped Congress craft the specific EPA regulations their product or service now fulfills. As the SNL Church Lady used to murmur, "Isn't that nice!" This reminds me how Ross Perot and Donald Trump cashed in on government contacts. The former, was made rich by providing software for Medicare reimbursements and the later by Section 8 housing. (And if you are at all familiar with Section 8 housing, you know that the people who benefit from these horrible, horrible, horrible, housing projects are, in no particular order: the drug dealers, the gang leaders, the contractors, the management companies and the owner's of the real property. Everyone profits, except the sad family-groups who inhabit these warrens of filth and degradation.) Today, with the Texas-county-sized forest fires flaming to the northeast threatening the 320KV utility lines feeding Phoenix, 105F degree plus daytime temperatures, 450,000 invisible illegal aliens sucking up electricity, and the aforementioned Sun City power plant laying, smoldering, like a labia-moistened, Clinton-era Oval Office cigar, the residents of Arizona are likely to get a taste of what life was like in The Valley of the Sun. In the 1950s. Before freon and refrigeration. Yes, we are facing the possibility of rolling black-outs. Rolling black-outs that will silence the hum of both our roof top mounted air conditioning units and the fans cooling the hot guts of our Pentium powered bedroom computers. With your Mr.Wonderful typically departing his tony Town of Paradise Valley apartment at 5AM and returning at 11PM, you needn't worry about my possible discomfort. You were concerned, weren't you? <grin> But why are we in this insane situation? This is the 21st Century and are we still to be subject to the capricious whims of nature? Our current predicament stems from the fact that the (USDA) Forest Service, a continent-crossing branch of our federal government, after, over the decades, harvesting billions of tax dollars and hiring thousands of employees, has basically completed only two tasks. It has watched the forest grow and has battled fires after they broke out. Other than that, USDA Rangers have told any taxpayers, who might have the gall to attempt use their national forest, under what exact and codified limitations they might proceed. But, the Forest Service has done nothing to even begin to narrow the devastation caused by forest fires. Forest fires, like the Willow Fire in northern Arizona, which is now predicted to consume 200,000 acres of sparse Arizona vegetation before it is finally extinguished. It has become clearly visible that the Forest Service has been a federal agency where individuals who enjoy the outdoors, may get paid . . . to simply enjoy the outdoors. What many, many American taxpayer's do not realize, is that certainly one half of our government agencies are less productive  than even the Forest Service. That is why Conservative Republican's, while they may spend billions in a foreign country to stem attacks against any of the fifty United States, territories or possessions, attacks that could consume thousands of lives and trillions of dollars, always want to shrink the largest money pit this planet has ever known, that has dug its way, like a terrestrial landed dark-hole, into the banks of the Potomac in Washington, D.C. And most times we feel like we're trying to shrink the swimming pool sized hemorrhoids of an always constipated Blue Whale, by applying match-head sized squeezes of Preparation-H. Mr.Wonderful Talks Current Events @

June 22nd, 2004:
Bassmasters, Jackson and Marion Jones
I was vacationing and staying at an old friend's house who could only afford the stripped-down version of Dish Network. I haven't seen anything so short on features since I witnessed Roseanne Barr in a micro-skirt. I'm forced to watch ESPN, where I see and hear, " . . . Bassmasters . . ." something, something, "It's the Super Bowl of fishing!" Oh wow. I still don't believe such a massive amount of time and effort and certainly billions and billions of dollars are involved in grown men playing games well. Games. click to visit CC USAI find that the Fox News Channel is unavailable, so I tuned to, gasp!, The Today Show. That's how uninteresting I find professional sports. Even during the seventeen years I was racing motorcycles pro-am, I'd have a difficult time naming off the top five professional motorcycle racers in the world. Phil Jackson - even in a world where sports celebrities are held in such reverence one would think that they could forever change the sports fan's life for the better with a simple wave of their championship trophy - my gut tells me that Phil Jackson is an immense prick. Later, back again at ESPN, while waiting to learn if one of my client's made the cut for the 2004 U.S. Open at Shinnecock, with an actor's ear I listen as female track mega-star Marion Jones precisely reads a prepared paragraph claiming that she does not and has not ever used " . . . performance enhancing drugs", with the emotion of a corporate Coca Cola® CPA articulating the monthly sales totals for Casa Grande, Arizona. Damn, girl! The USADA is accusing you of the illegal use of steroidal-type drugs.They are accusing your life of being a fraud. They are accusing you of being a cheat. And you cannot summon up some emotion? I assume that you have at least four more years of formal education than Mr.Wonderful (who finds it extremely difficult to obtain an office job without the sheepskin of an accredited institution of higher learning) and that you, Miss Marion, could both compose and memorize a passionate statement of innocence entirely on your own. Because your reading today could be summed up in two words, "I'm guilty."
Mr.Wonderful Talks Current Events @

June 2nd, 2004:
When Doctors Attack !
The em-effing American medical establishment just cannot refrain from attacking Dr. Atkins' diet. Your Mr. Wonderful is almost to the point of believing that urban legend about how wealthy American physician's want to keep their patients healthy, but not too healthy so that they might stop seeing their doctor on a regular basis. The latest bullshit that is spewing out is that the Atkins' Diet causes your kidneys to dry up and grow as hard and wrinkled as the useless pair of breasts that our dwarf governor (in the comfortable shoes) carries under her business suits. Dr. Atkins' advised that anyone on his admittedly high protein regime must drink more water than usual to keep things functioning as God intended. (Think about it - especially you numbskulls who actually believe in Darwin's Evolution Theory - can you imagine that ancient man, each one who had more testostorone than Republican's: hunter-Ted Nugent, actor-Charlton Heston and governor-Arnold Schwarzenegger combined, crouched around flashing their butt cracks while scraping around in the dirt, pulling up rutabaga roots, or instead, chasing down, clubbing to death and gnawing on the throbbing and hairy leg of still warm, raw meat?) click to visit Pringles web site! Attackers of Dr. Atkins' claim extra water intake will make the diet no safer. As my reader's know, by strictly adhering to the Atkins' Diet, coupled with massive and regular exercise, I have shed forty-eight pounds of globby fat. (Currently I'm in a Hank Hill-like funk, drinking alcohol like Homer Simpson and packing back on the pounds like Rosie O'Donnell at an all you can eat lesbian buffet. This is mostly due to, not my own poor choices, but the very addicting Fiery Hot Pringles® which keep flying off the Safeway shelf into my cart and once at my tony Town of Paradise Valley apartment, they again wing their way, unbroken, out of the hermetically sealed cannister to roost inside my mouth only to lay on my tongue and dissolve, not unlike a communion wafer from Satan.) Before I began the Atkins' Diet in February of 2003, both my kidneys ached almost every day. Visiting the toilet, as a CFA (Certified Fat Ass) I could read an entire seven page article in the Harvard Business Review, not while grunting out a bowel movement, but while trying to take a simple piss. Before I went on the so-called 'kidney killer diet' I was as likely to eat vegetables or a salad as I was to vote for Al Gore for President. I often finished a large, steaming Pizza Hut pepperoni pie piled with extra cheese all by myself. In a Jethro-sized bowl, I'd scoop massive amounts of Schwan's ice cream, from their 2 1/2 gallon container, and then bury it under a Fisher-Price toy dump-truck load of red skinned Spanish nuts with Hershey's chocolate syrup covering the mound like black lava. I carried around, twenty-four hours a day, the equivalent poundage of the largest sack of dry dog food found on any Petsmart shelf. Not surprisingly, most of my joints below my hips ached. Every waking moment, I was so tired . . . no, wearied, that I feared melting into a forty-five gallon flesh-colored pool of goo. For godsakes I was wandering the aisles of Ross, wondering what size came after XXXL! I still am a pig, but a pig that enjoys eating salads and barbecued chicken more than Kentucky Fried Chicken and Schwan's ice cream - but not more than Pizza Hut pizza. Our media-savvy flawless physician's would rather see all American's on one of their perfectly balanced diets, that few American's can adhere to without regular, constant and expensive consultation. Don't these doctorate-holding professionals realize that millions of currently obese people (facing strokes, heart attacks and surely adult-onset diabetes) who might have attempted the Atkins' Diet and seen success in the first time in their lives, now, hearing these fanatic physician warnings, have yet another excuse not to even try? Mr.Wonderful Talks Current Events @

Return to Archive Index Page