By Bruce Blackman

I got a call from my pharmacy this morning from what sounded like a 10-year old girl practicing her Evelyn Woods Speed Talking lessons. She said something like this,

“Bliddle-liddle-liddle–EMERGENCY-bliddle-liddle–DEATH-bliddle-liddle-liddle-CALL-bliddle-liddle-liddle … 3-4.”

She would have had heart failure if she knew what I was thinking.

Then I turned on the TV, and some yoga chick was demonstrating exercises for old people. “Let’s begin by touching our toes.” Sheeut. The only way I could touch my toes is if my arms were seven-feet long. I may not even have toes. Who knows?

I’ve tried yoga before, and the more I practiced the worse I got which proves that reverse miracles do happen. There’s no way I can do yoga. Not even if a German named Rudiker Berhardt Klausner from the Waffen SS threatened me with that giant Gustav gun Hitler made that weighed 1000 tons and shot 7-ton shells.

Moving on, the mail came and included a 491-page booklet from Medicare with little-bitty-teensy-weensy type, three columns to the page printed on ultra-thin paper so the print on the back of a page shows through to the front making it look like backwards hieroglyphics like I’m supposed to be able to read it which I couldn’t do with an electron microscope. The booklet explains what I have to do/not do about whatever, and woe be unto me if I don’t follow the instructions, and if I don’t I better start consulting with Jesus, but I won’t live long enough to read it, so I better go ‘head on with the consultation.

I know I shouldn’t get all tooky about it, but that right there is gin-you-winely you-know-whatted up.

You can visit with Bruce on his Facebook Page. Also, check out his website.

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