The Monster Blue Bulldog's On A Rampage

Well, the results are in.
-Dyson vacuum: This issue aroused passions similar to those seen in mating pirahnna. The Dyson is either a gift from a loving god or the very tool of satan. Connoisseurs of carpet cleanliness spoke out with equal vehemence from either side of the issue. An impasse was reached. Thanks. Meanwhile, my Hoover dies by slow degrees, howling like one of those howling things that howls really loudly and is annoying and makes the neibors dogs bark.
-Opera-length fist fucking: only one person was actually rat enough to come out with a solid answer on this one. Unfortunately photographic evidence reveals his opinion to be nothing more that the wistful wish of a man in search of a country; a country of greasy buff guys in sweatpants.*
-Silos: Grain storage.
-Boobs: Wherever you want. Go ahead and get all crazy with 'em.
-Donny Rumbelow: Made up.
And finally:
-Do your insides turn into an undifferentiated bag of sloshing offal from repeated indulgence in the practice of opera-length fist fucking?: Nobody knows (or will admit to it, anyway.)
I say yes. I think that after a certain number of years you have to be really careful of what you eat because you could get gas, and be trying to impress your buddies by belching really loud and end up wearing several loops of pulsing gut on your chest. Or even worse, that same could come shooting out the opposite end after a few bowls of chili, and wouldn't that look nice poking out your trouser leg in the elevator at work?
So be careful. Don't go spelunking up past the wrist. Its just unnecessary.
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The playboy of the western world has decided to sell his house and move into assisted living!
Hooray!
You never saw a bunch of fat people move so damn quick. Man, we sprang into action like the Fantastic four. I was the really stretchy guy. I thought I would have to make the real estate arrangements, but it turns out the estate administrator has had an agent waiting in the wings...And he's a good one too; known around town and quite successful. Given the current strong real estate market and the great location and excellent condition of my father in laws' house, this could turn out ot be relatively painless! Lord, I sure hope so.

This latest hospital visit of his was necessitated by a trip down the basement stairs to do the laundry.
That's all it took. Nothing bad happened, thank God, but the man very nearly didn't make it back UP the stairs. In the meantime he blew out a bunch of capillaries in his lungs and landed in the emergency room. It was only luck that made a friend drop in for a visit just then and FORCE him to go to the hospital.

He had a caregiver for housekeeping and personal assistance. She was hired to do the laundry. She offered to do the laundry. She BEGGED to do the laundry. (Everyone offers to do the laundry for my father in law when they come to visit; it's like part of the greeting: Hi, Willie, need any laundry?') But no. Apparently all he allowed the caregiver to do was light housekeeping. We all expected that. So in choosing to prove, ONCE AGAIN, that he really didn't need any help, he almost killed himself.

Now, if this were a recent state of affairs, these efforts to retain self- sufficiency could be seen as heartbreaking and brave.
It isn't. They aren't
It's been going on for TEN SOLID YEARS. Without improvement. Quite the opposite.
You bet I'm pissed off.

I have sworn to my daughter that I will not do this to her. Now, it's somewhat easier for me to make this statement than it would be for a lot of people; I've had health issues all my life so I'm used to accepting the inevitable. Anyway, I have resolved that, when I get to the point where I am not able to do for myself I am going to RECOGNIZE THAT FACT and pretend to accept it gracefully with all my might. Because this fight for independence crap, after a certain point it doesn't impress anyone; it doesn't inspire admiration; it only creates dread.
Age doesn't go backwards. If there's one damn thing I've learned from all this, that's the one thing.
So remember. Nobody gets out of here alive.
And no fisting past the wrist.



* I understand he is shortly to be made supreme leader of such a country and is accepting applications for Royal Cabana boy, Imperial tanning emollient applicator and Executive in Charge of wearing a net thong.