Turning Off the Fat Buds

The other day my buddy Bugs Butt was complaining that people put too much blame on their glands for their assorted ills. You can read about Mr. Pituitary and Mr. Thyroid by clicking here. Bugs is right that complaining is wrong.

But what he has done is given me the idea to solve American's obesity problem ("obesity" is shorthand for "fatso," in case you didn't major in English). This is my plan: When a baby is born, the doctor screws around with umbilical cords (and later on making a boy's knob nude). Well, while he's at it, he might as well take out the kid's taste buds.

Think of the prospects: Everything will taste the same because nothing will have any taste. Cauliflower and pureed peas will go down slicker 'n' whistle. The kid won't go back for seconds on fat fries because fat won't taste good. Won't taste bad either. Won't taste at all.

Think of this, too: A kid with no taste buds can survive on just about anything -- grass, cattails, skunk cabbage, fire ants, salamanders....

Mom: "Have you had dinner yet, son?"

Son: "No, Ma."

Mom: "Well, help yourself to some dandelions. Maybe later on I'll pickle some pansies."

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I love shotgun weddings.

See, this is what I get for noodling around on the Internet. You never know what you'll find. Here's something: I ran across a site that reported some "famous last words" of people who were about to be executed. Humor abounds in Googleland.

"How about this for a headline for tomorrow's paper? French Fries." -- James French, done in by electric chair, 1966.

"I did not get my Spaghetti-O's. I got spaghetti. I want the press to know this." -- Thomas J. Grasso, executed by injection, 1995.

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I better tell you some more of the 13,648 things about me or we will never get done:

91. In the 1960's there was a riot at the Oregon State Penitentiary. The convicts did have some legitimate complaints. Over time I became acquainted with several murderers by attending the meetings of their "Lifers' Club," and writing in my newspaper about some of their charitable efforts. Eventually they made me an honorary member of the club, so now I can go to jail anytime I want.

92. When I was down south with some travel editors in my role as a p.r. guy for the State of Oregon, I admired the ability of one of these writers to pick up women. One day in a bar I asked his secret. He said, "Have confidence in yourself. Ask good questions and pay attention to their answers. Be really interested in what they have to say." There was a single girl in a booth in the bar, so I immediately practiced my new-found wiles. That girl and I were married nine months later.

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My favorite word today is mnemonic. N. abstruse as hell. Def.: A useful word that 99 percent of the people can't define even when you tell them it's how you know all the colors of the rainbow in exact order because they spell out ROY G BIV.