“I Need a New Drug…of the Pharmaceutical Kind”

We live in a crazy world…as if you didn’t already know that. I can’t believe what things have come to…this place is a can of mixed nuts…and not a classy can either; you know the kind with almonds, cashews and macadamia nuts…this can is full of just plain old peanuts.

I went to my local drugstore the other day…just to buy a drink…and I noticed a lot of things behind the counter that seemed out of place. Things like Sudafed, Krazy Glue and the most surprising Chore Boy. So of course me being the busybody that I am, I figured I would inquire within to see what was going on.

I was told these products…plus some others…where being used for drugs…and to purchase any of them you needed to show identification. They also told me that a record of your purchases were kept on file and depending on how much you purchased of one product or the other a red flag would come up and the proper authorities would be notified.

I just couldn’t believe what I was hearing…and honestly after speaking with the sales representative I started feeling all creepy and paranoid…thinking that they thought I was a drug user and/or dealer because I was asking these questions. I quickly dropped the subject…paid for my drink…and left with a quickness.

Stupid druggies…because of them we normal people can’t even buy things without feeling as if we’re doing something wrong and/or without having all our purchases scrutinized.  We should start a revolution…we need to take back what is ours and stop feeling like a prisoner…especially when we did nothing wrong.

This is what I propose (and no I’m not talking about your typical pot smoker here…but all those other crazy druggies out there, including alcoholics)…we need to lock them up (possibly somewhere in Washington D.C. so they can be around all their other criminal buddies aka politicians) and beat them all silly with Nerf baseball bats and other assorted accessories.

We need to show all these criminals…politicians and druggies alike…that we are not going to take it anymore. We are not just going to roll over and play dead…we are not going to just do as they tell us…we are going to do something about it for gosh darn sakes!

Well okay…we are going to take it…because of course there’s really nothing we can do about it…but it sound good didn’t it. We don’t have to be happy about it though…and to show my disgust I may just go loiter outside of their establishment…that’ll show them.

All in all I think it’s kind of funny…you can’t but Sudafed, Krazy Glue or Chore Boys from a pharmacy without being carded and recorded…but on the same token these are the people who are shoveling out “prescription” pills like as if they were candy. I guess they are just trying to eliminate their competition.

So what did we learn…crack, heroine and meth are bad…but Xanax, Percocet and Oxycontin are all okay…that is of course if you have a prescription.

MJM

“When Animals Attack”

Most people are stupid by nature…we all know this…and for those of us who can actually put together an intelligent thought without the aid of a shepherd…watching these stupid people in action is a great way to entertain ourselves.

One of the funniest things these people do is mess with wild animals and/or attempt to keep them as pets…it’s like watching Wile E Coyote set a trap for the Roadrunner…you know it’s going to blow up in his face (sometimes quite literally) so you just sit back and wait for the fun to happen.

Now first the pet thing…I never really understood having a pet that you couldn’t really…well um pet…and also kill you if they so decided to…like spiders, snakes and scorpions (which kind of sounds like the marshmallows in an evil version of Lucky Charms if you ask me).  Also monkeys…what in the poop flinging primate are these people thinking…if you want a small human like companion then adopt a kid…you’ll be doing the world a solid.

Next, incorporating wild animals into your show…not really a smart thing to do…just for your information, that bear you are about to sit down and interview…he wasn’t just stealing picnic baskets with Boo Boo at Jellystone Park.  That tiger you’re trying to get to balance on a ball…well he isn’t the spokesperson for Frosted Flakes…he will eat you if he gets the chance…all the while thinking to himself, “people…they’re gr-r-reat”.

Another stupid thing people do when it comes to wild animals…they invade their personal space then get all perturbed when these animals treat them like a piñata at a fat kids birthday party or as takeout. For example…the ocean…there are sharks out there…big dangerous hungry sharks…and we know this, we all saw Jaws, yet we all still go swimming…then get annoyed with the shark because he sampled the menu. The shark is not the one at fault here…it’s not like he came into your house covered in tartar sauce…you came into his house just asking to be bitten…just like a human vampire groupie.

I know this may sound harsh…but I don’t feel sympathy for anyone who messes with a wild animal and gets the stuffing beat out of them and/or killed dead…if anything I’m in the animal’s corner holding up a sign which reads, “I got jungle fever” and screaming like a little girl when Justin Bieber steps out onto the stage.

I also can’t stand when these “wild” animals go all normal (not crazy because they are just following their instincts) and kill and/or severely injure these fools and they kill the animals…I say screw that…kill the morons who were trying to play with them, who were keeping them as pets and/or invading their personal space…they’re the ones who deserve to be put down.

Where’s that crazy, “leave Britney alone” guy…the one who was crying like a beotch on YouTube…we need him to release a new video…this time telling all the freaks to leave the animals alone.

MJM

“The Truth About Cats and Dogs”

Victor Cruz (the cat) and Mulan (the dog)

I recently got a puppy and a kitten…and I must say I now know why I’m a cat person…this freaking puppy is driving me nuts…all the biting, whining and pooping/peeing all over the place…it’s like having a rabid old timer living with me. The kitten on the other hand…no worries…showed him the litter box and now he’s taking care of business...like well…nobody’s business.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I don’t love them both just the same…but dogs are a H E double hockey stick of a lot of work…way more so than cats are. I find myself yelling at the puppy all the time…just like as if I was Archie and she was Meathead…and just like with Meathead, she does do a lot of things just to aggravate the crap out of me.

I find wires all chewed up…I find her eating the cat food…and of course her nasty little surprises left all over the house. I’m running around chasing her all over the place…like as if we were playing tag and I was “it”. There are times when she is it…and she’s right under my feet…nipping at my toes and ankles just like as if she was Kujo and my feet were covered in barbeque sauce.

I don’t know what to do…when she’s calm and relaxed she’s so adorable and sweet…but when she hopped up on goof balls she’s the devil on four legs. After a day of dealing with that I need a little bit of that “hair of the dog that bit you” if you know what I mean.

Sometimes I just feel like calling it quits…and no I don’t mean by killing myself and/or getting rid of her…what I mean is packing up my hobo bag and hitting the trails. I can’t do that though…because I’m not a quitter…and I know with my luck if I did leave my girlfriend with the puppy and took off I’ll be stuck paying doggie support…which I cannot afford.

Why can’t she just be more like Scrappy Doo and just rock some puppy power…but no…I have a cross between Scooby Dum and Hong Kong Phooey on crack. I’m hoping when all is said and done I’m left with a Lassie who will one day save my life…or even a Brian Griffin (from Family Guy for those not in the know) who goes to college…or maybe even Snoopy aka the Red Baron…but I can tell from my short time with her I’m going to end up with Scooby Doo.

I guess I’m just stuck with her…who knows maybe she’ll grow on me…like a wart or something…but only time will tell. The moral of the story…dogs maybe be cute and all but they’re as dumb as a dog bone and a lot of work…while cats are cool, self-sufficient and very intelligent…so say no to dogs (just like drugs) and yes to cats.

MJM

"Love and Cookies"

In a cookie jar, far, far away...before they were a computer term and the reason so many people are fat...cookies were a yummy delicious treat that filled many hearts with warmth.

They were left for Santa to express our thanks for a job well done, our favorite muppet on Sesame Street enjoyed them immensely and they brought the family closer together as we baked them, ate them and licked the bowl clean of their batter.

 

Now however, within the society we live in, where people look for reasons to blame all the worlds problems on anything other than themselves, cookies have become the enemy. Santa is no longer greeted by the tasty treat, Cookie Monster is now a vegetarian and has been replaced by the annoying little red devil known as Elmo and the kitchens are now desolate and the members of the family are all off doing their own thing.

 

Cookies are not the problem and they shouldn't be used as the scapegoat for our lack of self-control and laziness...they have done nothing but make us happy and bring us closer together.

Think of how many altercations could have been solved without blood shed and/or hurt feelings if we just brought cookies instead of harmful words and/or weapons. So brush the "chip" off your shoulder and next time you're caught with your hand in the cookie jar take responsibility for your own actions and don't go looking to blame someone else for your mistakes...because that's just the way the cookie crumbles.

Now go and enjoy and nice warm cookie with a stranger...the world would be a better place for it.

So give peace (and cookies) a chance.

MJM

"The Cockroach, Such a Disgusting Little Bugger"

I was born and raised in New Jersey, where we had our fair share of disgusting bugs (and people).  Surprisingly, our cockroaches, as nasty as they were, weren't really all that bad.

They were small in size, hid when the lights came on, and, for the most part, only frequented dirty places.  When stepped on, they blew up like little jelly and cream filled donuts. A nuisance, yes . . . disgusting, yes . . . but nothing that a can of Black Flag or Raid couldn't handle.

Then, in the mid-90s, I moved to Florida. It was the land of palm trees, beautiful beaches, and the industrial size cockroach. Florida doesn’t want to scare people, so they call it a palmetto bug, but trust me. It's a cockroach.

The first time I came across one of these monstrosities, I had to do a double- take because I thought I was seeing things. The thing was the size of a freaking peanut butter jar and looked just as crunchy.

I kept my distance from it while trying to find something to smash it with, believing that I was fine, as long as I kept an eye on it. Boy, was I wrong. As I was scurrying about, trying to figure out what household item I should choose to become the bringer of death, the bastard started to move.

Being startled, I jumped back. Keeping my eye on it, I thought I was safe, as long as I could see where the little bastard was. Then, all of a sudden, the creepy brown bug of doom opened up its wings and took flight.

I stood there in awe, as if I were witnessing the second coming of Christ, while not moving a muscle. The nasty thing flew right at me and landed on my chest. I did what all grown men do in that situation. I ran out of the room screaming.

With that freakish critter clinging to the center of my chest as I ran, I looked like a white-trash version of Superman . . . Cockroach man.

It finally fell off of my chest and landed on the floor. Now, with tears running down my face, trying to catch my breath, I went into the kitchen and grabbed some roach spray. I was done playing around.

I came back to find it still sitting in the same spot on the floor, as if it were taunting me and telling me to make my move. It was like we were in a Wild West standoff. I unloaded, spraying nearly the entire can on it, the whole time laughing maniacally like a mad scientist and feeling vindicated. I got the last laugh!

The can was about empty, the cloud of poison was settling, and I was ready to see the dead body lying there so that I could pick it up, flush it down the toilet, and send it to its watery grave.

When all was said and done, it was still alive and kicking; staggering like it had just come home from the bar and had too much to drink. I couldn't believe my eyes. I was freaking out trying to kill this thing, and it was living it up. Partying like it was 1999.

I now had an intoxicated roach on my hands, who was no doubt getting a good laugh at my antics. I must say, I now know how Wile E. Coyote felt . . . stupid Road Runner.

Finally, having had enough, I decided that I was going to step on it and end it all. I didn't have shoes on, so I thought about dropping a piece of paper on it and then jumping on the paper with it under it, but I had a bad feeling that I would jump on the paper, he would take off, and leave me on a roach-powered skateboard. I wasn't having that.

I figured I would do the next best thing. I called the cops and waited outside until they showed up.  I had the officer go inside and kill it for me. The moral?  My tax dollars are working.

MJM

“The Heart of the Matter”

Mine has been broken…and even burnt (especially after eating spicy food)…but now it also beats to its own drum. I found out a few years ago that I have a fib…and at first I was scared…but then I realized maybe it’s not all that bad. Sure it’s not good by any means…but it’s also not the worst thing known to man.

A fib…also known as atrial fibrillation…and unfortunately a condition I suffer from. Basically all that means is that my heart jumps out of rhythm…for no reason whatsoever…other than just being a real pain in the donkey.

I can be lying in bed…not doing anything fun and/or exhilarating (get your mind out of the gutter)…and my heart will start beating like I just ran a marathon. Sometimes it goes real crazy…just like Ricky Ricardo on the bongos…and makes me feel like a cartoon character in love, where their heart is beating out of their chest.

Thankfully it doesn’t last too long…most of the time only for a few minutes or so…but I must admit, sometimes it does get a bit alarming. I was told it could be fixed with surgery…something about cutting a hole in my heart to make it beat regularly…which by the way, doesn’t sound fun and not really something I want to do.

I was also told that it could be shocked…yes you heard right…shocked back into a regular rhythm…using a defibrillator. Unfortunately this method doesn’t last; eventually my heart will jump back out of rhythm…it’s kind of like those girls on the playground playing double dutch, waiting for their time to jump in a join in on the fun.

There may be some other ways to fix the problem…but after hearing the first two options…the two options they so nicely decided to share with me…I didn’t stick around to hear anything else. Actually to be honest…I ran out of the hospital screaming like a young girl at a Justin Bieber concert…because that’s just how I roll.

I know a fib puts my at a higher risk of stroke and heart attack…but I guess that’s just par for the course…something I have to live with. I just have to take better care of myself and hope for the best…it’s the only thing a man can do.

Now I’m not complaining…because I know there are others who have it a lot worse than I do…but I just figured I would share. I have never met anyone else with a fib…I know I’m not the only one…but it does seem to be a pretty rare thing…at least here in my neck of the woods.

Well my friends…me and my crazy heart…(or as I like to call it my meth head heart, because just like a meth head when the bastard is sober he is nice and mellow…but once he gets some of that junk in him he’s bouncing off of walls)…have to go, so see you next time party peeps.

MJM

“A Side Effect of Getting Older”

As I write this I am sitting here in pain…I threw my back out and it is hurting like a mutha fracker. This is why I hate getting older…things just don’t work like they used to. Things snap…crackle…and pop like crazy now…sometimes I don’t know if I’m a person or a box of Rice Krispies.

When I was a kid I could get hit by a car…which by the way happened many times…and just get up, shake it off and go about my business like nothing ever happened. Now however…I bend down to pick something up…which was not heavy by the way…and my back goes out and leaves me looking like Hunchback of Notre Dame.

I really wish I could tell you I hurt my back doing something cool…like wrestling a bear…or even while having some wild and crazy adult fun…but unfortunately I can’t, I would be lying…I hurt my back bending down to pick something up…something that weighs probably as much as a case of soda. I know I’m lame…but what can I say…things popping out of place and hurting yourself while doing absolutely nothing at all is just a side effect of getting older.

  I should probably just go out and get myself a walker…and not the kind with the tennis balls either…I’m going to get a motorized walker…kind of like a cross between a walker and a scooter…a wooter if you will. This wooter will also have to be part forklift…that way I could pick stuff up without feeling as if Mike Tyson just punched me in my back…so I guess now we have a wooterlift.

For the record, when it comes to back pain…pain relievers do not work…not at all…at least not the OTC brands.  All that crap you see on TV about two pills and the pain is gone…that is such bullcrap… I’ve been popping them like M&Ms and nothing…not even a buzz.  I have so much of the garbage in me that if I was swallowed by a whale I would probably be its recommend dosage.

I thought about going to the liquor store and stocking up on some high octane alcohol…and just drinking my pain away…but with my luck I’ll probably get drunk and fall down a flight of stairs or something…sobering up to find myself even in more pain then when I stared.

I don’t know…what am I to do… should I head to the shady side of town to see if I could score some of those “good” pain relieving drugs…or maybe ever just lay in bed with an alcohol IV…or I could just man up and endure the pain and stop whining about it. Well obviously the latter option isn’t going to happen…no big surprise there am I right…so I have to figure something out…I’m just not sure what.

MJM