I was sitting around the other day wondering about the number of brain cells killed by alcohol. This thought occurred to me as I was changing in the locker room after working out and observed an obviously inebriated gentleman walk by with his underwear on backwards. There’s a lot to be said for country clubs wherein tuxedoed waitstaff, white towels draped over their forearms, take your drink order while you’re doing bench presses. Such is the good life.
It occurred to me as well, that if we can make drugs that will allow a man to grow breasts, why can’t we make intelligent alcohol? Target the ‘bad’ brain cells, so to speak? Depression? No problem. Drink three of these, stay away from the neighbor’s dog, and check back next week. Recuperating from disabilitating disorders can be exhausting and frustrating and the inherent stress can lead to further ailments. Shouldn’t sick people be happy too? Anxiety? How about Mike’s Hardly Worried Lemonade? Change the old mantra of “Oh poor me… I had my leg amputated!” to “Look at me! I’m a pogo-stick!!!”
14. August 2008 at 03:31
Funny philosophy, lol.
1. October 2008 at 05:42
I like that. I have been telling my doctors for years that I need a fix all pill.