4th Fattest Human in North Dakota

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Current mood: quixotic Category: Life It is official now. A letter from the State Capitol in Bismarck advised me that I am now the 4th fattest human in North Dakota. Decided to go to a doctor. All I wanted was a pill like I heard about on an episode of "Absolutely Fabulous," back in the slim 90's, before the dumb President Bush ruined the world. In that episode, Edina Monsoon (who always struggled with her weight on the show, even though she is svelte and beautiful in real life) urged her doctor to give her a pill so she could "just pee it all out in the morning." The "all," being her fat. The doctor told her no, as the patient might have a heart attack, he warned. Edina didn't care about that, and she pleaded. The doctor refused, and Edina remained fat. The doctor I went to was not, tragically for me, a "pill doctor." He was one of those who believe in such bizarre notions as exercise and change of diet. For example, he urged me to get out of bed an hour earlier each morning and walk. WALK! To where? He suggested the treadmill at the hotel. "I can't use it, because it is locked up in the exercise room. One must get the key from the front desk, and that is at least 20 feet away. Plus, someone else might come in and want to use the other equipment, and I hate most people." "Can't you swim?" he asked me. "Yes, I could," I explained, "but I am allergic to human urine and particles of feces. Pools are known recipients and receptacles of both. Haven't you seen the 'Southpark' episode where Eric Cartman was horrified by all the six year olds peeing up the pool?" "Lift weights, then," the doctor suggested. "I would but they are too heavy." "Run?" "No, it's too far. I get enough exercise drying off after I get out of the shower. I just need a little something to…take the edge off." Then he got off on the diet thing. I explained that I am living in a place where they put gravy on everything, including fresh fruit, and the only green vegetable I've seen is a pickle. Saw an olive in one place, but it was a fake. He went on and on about carbs. He lost me when he told me one of the Subway® sandwiches that Fat Jared recommends would basically KILL me because of all the carbs. I felt like saying, "nigga pleez (even though he was white like everyone else here). If Fat Jared's sandwich recommendations won't help me lose weight, then you're just going to have to do liposuction or something." He laughed; "you're not that fat," he assured me. Yet. But it is coming. "You need to eat fresh fruit. Eat whole grain, unprocessed cereals with fat free milk. No meat. Absolutely NO PIZZA. No bread. No soup. Certainly no Dairy Queen, either. Eat at least six light meals a day." This doctor was fat himself, but I was forced to endure all of this. What made it all worse, was he let me know right away that he wasn't a believer in "quick fixes." (which I hoped did not mean he didn't give magic diet pills). That is precisely what he meant. So all is lost. I've lost. I must be fat. I must endure the unendurable. Being grotesquely fat, and facing an Obama Presidency, and the end of all things. Not to be overly dramatic. *** I'll tell you what. I watched McCain and that awful infanticidic Obama on Rick Warren's program the other night. I was pleasantly surprised by McCain. I don't care for him, particularly, because he is a closet moderate, he cheated on his first wife, and I don't like his positions on such issues as campaign finance. I don't trust him NOT to appoint a gaggle of hideous judges that we will have to endure for a generation or more. All we need is another Souter. In spite of my misgivings, I'd still vote for him, because the other choice is unthinkable. McCain stuck to his guns on drilling for oil, so we can better use it all up in MY lifetime. He stuck up for poor Georgia, which the Russians are going to ravage prior to seizing and ravaging Ukraine. He stuck up for the Baby Jesus. He stuck up for babies. McCain is pro life. Obama is adamantly and radically pro death. McCain affirmed his commitment to exterminating our enemies. I don't think McCain would get us into another war without cause, but he is just nutty enough to keep our potential enemies wondering. He might just nuke mecca, which would be lovely. Reagan was masterful at this. The Commies were scared to death of him. McCain spoke out strongly against the Russian invasion of Georgia (which I thought was kyna coo, as it reminded me of Poland in 1939, and it has been years since we had a good European War, with tanks and planes and whatnot). You know what I'm sayin'. But I digress. When all of this broke almost two weeks ago, McCain was right out front, telling it like it is. Obama sent a fruit basket and a mix tape to the warring factions, and suggested we all get together at the World Court in The Hague, and let the French and Dutch sort it all out. Bush was, presumably, drunk, not unlike when he stated he'd looked into Tsar Putin's eyes and saw his soul. Putin, in contrast, allowed that when he looked into Bush's eyes, he spied a moron. Hence, we were caught off guard by the New Cold War, and we cain't do nuthin' about it. America is a country blessed with a number of highly educated and brilliant managers. Masterful politicians and communicators. Yet our choices, sadly, sucketh. I don't care about all that. I'm fat, and I want my Rolex back. *** Haven't the Olympics been swell? We're all justly proud of our national dolphin, Michael Phelps, the swimmers, the gymnastics team, the three black dudes who won all three medals jumping over stuff, and one of my favorites, Stephanie Brown-Trafton, who won the gold medal for throwing the discus. Nobody thought she could do it. She has no website. She is not famous. Probably no huge contracts to peddle Speedos®, which I myself cannot wear. And Girlfriend threw a DISCUS, for heaven's sake, and they are heavy. I guess they are heavy; I don't lift things. Anyway, I am proud of her, and I'm her new biggest creepy stalker fan. If I weren't fat, and old enough to be her father, I'd ask her to be my next babymama. And, I was impressed and entertained by all the little 16-year old Chinese gymnast girls, who still have their baby teeth. If that awful, cruel, selfish, Joseph Mengele Doctor I went to had given me some diet pills, I'd have a swimmer's build just like Michael Phelps; all I'd have to do is take one before bed and then pee it out in the morning. Might have to endure such side effects as anal leakage and erections that last more than 48 hours, but is there anything more important than being thin? No. *** Here's hoping Obama's pick for VP has some dreadful skeleton in his closet that will sink both of them. Here's hoping McCain picks Romney or Meg Whitman, former CEO of Ebay. Congratulations to my Babymama, Niki, and her husband, Eric, who helped, I should add, on their new baby boy. From the beautiful, Aryan State of North Dakota, Randall P. Hodge, Esq. ©Randall P. Hodge, Esq., and Morningwood Enterprises, Ltd.

Chinese Food for the Weiner

Saturday, August 09, 2008

Current mood: amused Category: Life I knew it was safe to watch the opening of the Olympic™ Games, because it happened yesterday. If there had been any terrorist trouble in Beijing, the news just might have interrupted the non-stop coverage of Caylee Anthony. This is the unfolding story of the little girl who has been missing for several weeks. It doesn't look good. Sounds like her kooky, hideous and truth-challenged mother (Casey) had something to do with it. I'm troubled by her theft of gas cans, as well as the inconsistencies that are exposed every single time she speaks. One can almost find sympathy for Casey, the presumed "disappearer," when one is exposed to innumerable "press conferences" by her media addicted mother. She is the one who smelled a dead body, later opined to be rancid pizza, in the trunk of Casey's car. I want some of whatever those dreadful people are on. They niggas is high on something, son. Furrrl. I thought the goofy dad was going to gut somebody right there in the yard today. Don't these people have jobs? But baby mama, and baby grandmamma. Please. Shut up. Self. Please. Stop watching the sh*t on Fox (my baby mama Greta Van Susteren), Headline News (my "Boo" Nancy Grace), and CourtTV (now TruTV, I guess). Why do we always have to have an O.J. story going? Reminds me of that "last summer of yesterday," in 2001. All of the world was transfixed with the silly story of the disappearance of Chandra Levy, yet another intern caught in, on or with a congressman's weiner. Yes, poor Chandra's disappearance was THE story, up until 9/11. August is notorious for notorious stories. They almost always involve someone's weiner. We learned today that John Edwards also have a "baby mamma," as the gangstahs phrase it. What a vomity phony. Alas, THE MAN is always going to bring you down if you're pretty and rich like John Edwards. Why he would cheat on his awesome wife, all to party with that tart, is beyond me. I don't know why Larry Craig chose an airport bathroom. I don't know why Bill Clinton chose the Oval Office. It's always about weiners, though. The whole world is on fire over some "breakaway" province in Georgia and Russia. Maybe the Germans will invade Poland. This potentially escalating conflict is right out of one of Tom Clancy's books. Remember "Sum of all Fears?" So we have this cool European war brewing over there, and all the media want to talk about is poor little Caylee Anthony and her putrid family, all of whom I'd like to set on fire, not unlike what they suspect the mother did to her little girl. Geez, I hope not. But I digress. Back to the Olympics. I've never seen anything more spectacular than tonight's opening ceremony. Maybe Kevin Federline's videos. What a magnificent combination of lights, pageantry, choreography, and foreigners. I will never forget the drums, the gnomes prancing around in the yellow union suits with blinking lights, or the menacing (and so very Communist China) goose stepping soldiers. I think Bush was drunk, by the way. It was fun watching all the countries on parade, particularly my favorites, the Police States. The Peoples Republic of Red Communist China marched in, proudly carrying the flag of Wal-Mart. I paused to reflect on the symbolism, and it hit me: every damn thing I was touching, using and looking at in my hotel room was made in China. On a serious note, it was particularly moving to see the very tall Yao Ming, who was actually reverse engineered, or something, from the parts of three different people. Yes. Chinese medical nerds managed to join them together, and voila! A tall Chinese basketball star who gets laid a lot here in America. Wait. That wasn't the moving part. It was the little boy walking with him. Seems the kid was a survivor of the earthquake last spring in Szechwan. I cannot believe I knew how to spell that word, Szechwan. Got lucky. The whole ceremony was incredible (other than drunk Bush taking off his jacket, and urinating over near a post). I'm jus' sayin'. I suppose 1.3 billion people, to whom we've sent several trillion dollars of our wealth, thanks to Wal-Mart, can throw a nice party. I hope the Chinese hosts have the best Olympic Games to date, but that Germany wins the most medals. I guess I'm lying about Bush taking off his jacket. He wouldn't do something that tacky in public. China just needs to free Tibet, so Richard Gere will shut up. And nuke North Korea and Iran, too. Did anyone notice the arab countries had very few women athletes? The only arab women allowed to participate were pretty much wrapped up like mummies. Not as bad as the taliban, who only permit little eye slits through the shroud, but bad, nonetheless. Way to be part of the 21st Century. It is a good day whenever the citizens of the world can come together without the muslims blowing it all up. I mean that in a nice way. ©Randall P. Hodge, Esq., and Morningwood Enterprises, LLC

Them Cows is Frins

Monday, August 04, 2008

Current mood: grateful I am gratified by friends who ask me when I'm going to post another entry. Thank you. I am busy here, and the more I learn, the more I enjoy the work. When I finish at the courthouse I usually work more at home. Why not – there isn't much else I want to do. If I want to experience the outdoors, I look out the window. We have a thirty mile drive to and from the courthouse in Stanton, the county seat of Mercer County. The population of Stanton is around 300. It is a charming little town with a railroad stop, a post office, a café, fire station, sheriff, water tower, and a small convenience store. I was struck the other day when I gassed up the car. I did not have to pay in advance. How's that? The clerk thought I was some kind of a nut when I asked her about it. As I've said before, in this state, I suspect if you needed the gas, they'd give it to you. All of the homes and yards in little Stanton are well kept. Outside the post office, which is downtown, there is a loud speaker with music playing for everyone to enjoy. We eat lunch every day in the same café, and it is always good. If you like gravy on fruit, that is a plus up here. These are gravy people, and I am a gravy person. Because it is such a lovely and scenic drive, we all enjoy it. It never gets tiresome. The farmers here don't waste anything. They bale the hay several times during the summer season. They even mow and bale the hay in the areas between the fence and the road. Something is planted on every square foot of every field. Wheat, sunflower, canola, corn, and what I guess is some kind of antelope food. We see the same group of antelope every morning in the same field. They don't seem to mind our intrusion. I have come to believe they own the property, or at least they have an interest in the minerals. It never gets old seeing the wildlife. We see deer so often it is boring. Not really. I never believed a deer could actually jump a fence, but they can. In every field, there is always a large area fenced and set aside for the state animal, the cow. I've been around cattle all my life, and they are cool animals. I wish we didn't eat them, but they shouldn't taste so good. I am amazed at some of the things cows do. For example, they bunch together. It's like a big group cow hug or something. They move and graze en masse. I am not kidding. I need to get a picture of this before they stop doing it. WHY do cows wander about as a group? As a confirmed isolationist, I just don't get it. I've obsessed on this question. I've asked and asked about it, and more than once I've embarrassed a colleague when I asked a store clerk about this cow phenomenon. The clerk looks at me like I'm an idiot, but she does it in a friendly way. One of my friends opined, "in winter, when it is forty below here, the cows bunch together so they won't freeze to death; perhaps it is a habit." I looked at my friend, and then back at the cows we were passing, and it hit me. "Them cows is frins," I said. Once in awhile we pass cows that are spread out across the pasture. Those cows are clearly not speaking to each other. And then there is the horse we pass each day. Without fail, this horse is standing in roughly the same place every morning. It is kind of creepy. He does not move. "Maybe he is stuck," someone said. I don't know, but that horse reminds me of myself. Only I don't stand around; I lie around. I enjoy the drive to Bismarck. On the way, off in the distance, is Mt. Cow. I'm not sure that is the legal name, but there is a hill with a large statue of a cow. In North Dakota, one doesn't often see what we always called "whole" milk. All they have here is 2% or skim. I'm not sure why this is the case. The store clerks don't know either, and they give me the same puzzled look when I ask them. Maybe there is some kind of secret deal with the cows here, and outsiders aren't in on it. Maybe the cows get to keep the whole milk for their own use. In exchange, the cows don't protest when we harvest their milk. We humans agreed that when we milk the cows, we would only take milk from the 2% and skim milk weiners. I don't know. It is entirely possible I am thinking about this too much. I only know there is something special about a lush field ripe for harvest that has ample space set aside for the cattle to graze. There is something special about baling hay all the way up to the roadside so the cows will have enough to eat when it is forty below. And, there is something special about a herd of cows that would rather bunch up together than spread out. Those cows are friends. If I were a cow, I'd haul off to some isolated area of the field and eat all the good grass myself. Real men don't share nuthin'. I look to the west, and sure enough, there is a small herd of cattle bunched together, but it is too far away to make a good picture. Someone forgot to tell them winter is over. Happy Birthday to my dear friend Cindy. From the peaceful, beautiful, Aryan State of North Dakota, Auf Wiedersehen! RPH, Esq. ©2008 Randall P. Hodge, Esquire and Morningwood Enterprises