If You’re Alive, Say Aye

Aye Aye Captain, says I.  Aye.

7 Million, oops, Billion.  The problem about counting is the birth and death rate; so many of us are coming and going that it would be tough for anyone or any thing to get a good solid static count.  Oh well, so what, the cover of National Geographic says 7 Billion and we gotta trust someone to know so Geo is as good as it gets.  Right?

I’m 65, alive, and my blood sugar was 109 this morning, the lowest overnight reading in a few months.  Had a tooth ache a few weeks back and the sugar shot up, but Dr. Laskin, much better eating, and working longer and better, got it back under control.  Who knew a tooth ache would drive your sugar high.  No aye here.

So what’s up with all the aye’s?  Eye’s.  I watch TV more than is good for a human.  Too sedentary, yes, but warm and cozy in my newer Lazy Boy Recliner.    How appropriate is that name, ‘ay.  Do you realize how many sumptuous meals smother your senses each and every night?  I didn’t, until struggling with “da’ sugar.  I can taste ’em.  Even Mickey D looks good, and only a buck.  Whoa. 

At some point the medical pro’s got big tobacco to start telling it straight.  Their stuff kills humans faster than say eating mackerel.  Or inhaling springtime, which is not exactly in the air, but getting close; you can see the grass starting to green up.  You’d never know that smoking kills if you park a few hours in a Wa Wa parking lot.  And … not only can you get a $7.50 pack of butt’s but you can see a lot of big butt’s, male and female, coming and going.  Must be the food we get there.

Which brings this little piece full circle; back to the 7 Billion, many of whom are starving, and probably smoking, in India and China.  Airing the Olympics demonstrated that all Chinese can play the drums, and smoke, like it or not, Wa Wa or not.  But the eye’s here are focused on good-looking sumptuous dinners at Red Lobster, or, Denny’s, or Breakfast at Burger King.  Call them the TV dinners of the 21st century. 

Bill Geist and Pie Man

Frozen dinners, many at 350 calories, won’t kill you faster than the average American Meal.  But TV Dinners will kill: a slow, spit spattering spiral of fat and grease and salt.  That is, until you make it to the cast of The Big Loser.  I’ll add here that I know what it feels like to have your belly sit on your lap, so I’m qualified to comment on the sizes and shape and silliness of this idiot show, where you can see magnificent TV Dinners in the breaks.  Whoa.

So I think the FDA and the Fairness in Family Food Advertising (FFFADS), should now, like tobacco, require food advertising to include the following and only the following, in large letters at least 1/5th the height of the TV Screen, excluding all legal mumbo jumbo, like Viagra,  and, please excuse the shouting: THIS MEAL CONTAINS CALORIES, 2,000 CALORIES.

Of course we will have to accept the consequences, that is, faster population growth, of no smoking and good dinners, but then, for our betterment, the cost of medical insurance will fall as fast as the big losers shed those belly’s.  And I ain’t jiggling.

Let’s share the calories; give ’em to the folks who need them.  Seriously.

Don't Forget the Pretzel's, Aye

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