Crush

Crush: (n) a brief but intense infatuation for someone

I have always wanted to sit down and rehearse the little speech.

I’m speaking of that gentle wording necessary to let someone down—someone who has a crush on you, who perhaps is too young, or it’s inappropriate in some other way, or maybe you just don’t share the infatuation.

I’ve considered my speech. What would I say?

Certain lines I would want to put in:

“Golly, if it was just another place, another time…”

“I love you too much as a person to just like you as a girl…”

“You’re the best, and someday you’re going to meet someone, and they’ll know you’re the best, just for them…”

Of course, if the person was persistent and found my speech adorable, then I have a whole different list:

“Because of a war wound, I cannot return your affection.”

“I snore—and not just when I sleep.”

“I am betrothed in marriage to a Bolivian coffee worker.”

I always thought it would be great for someone to have a crush on me. To have her think that everything I did was magnificent, and that my only competition is Jesus or God.

What a great blast of blarney.

I’ve had a crush or two and discovered very quickly why they call them crushes. When I tried to move on them and express my feelings, I ended up…

Well, crushed.

I think every one of us, once in our lives, needs to be the center of another person’s undying, wistful, overwhelming lust for us.

We may find this temporarily with our partner, husband or wife. Ah, but eventually it comes down to the point that we both know where the socks are supposed to go in the drawer.

Goddammit, I want someone to have a crush on me.

And I don’t want her to make it up now because she feels sorry for the loser.

I don’t want pity crushing. I can see it coming, so don’t fake.

Most of the people I had crushes on in my life have moved on, and probably don’t even remember who I am.

Because of that, I can tell my children and grandchildren that they counted as one of my girlfriends.

 

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Cruise

Cruise: (v) to sail about on a pleasure trip.

I stumbled upon a little piece of personal revelation, which after much thought, might just end up being worthy of universal application.

(Not everything I think falls into this category. Many things that I pursue pertain mostly to me, and would not be helpful or even interesting, to an outsider.)

For instance, my daily regimen in approaching healthy eating would certainly bore the most prideful listener.

But what I’ve discovered is that nothing in life has immediate appeal—nor is it dead-on-arrival.

Each one of us ends up talking ourselves into everything.

So it only stands to reason that we talk ourselves out of other things.

For me, one of those things is a cruise on a ship.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with such an adventure. There have even been television shows produced extolling the pleasures of food, fun and romance—even promising that the boat itself might just be “love.”

But somehow or another I have talked myself out of this.

I talked myself into being a musician. Honestly, there’s little that’s more tedious.

I convinced myself of the glories of fatherhood. Yet this did not happen until children were afoot.

But I’ve also talked myself out of… Let me see:

How about a daily run? I think a daily run would be possible for me if there were someone trailing me slowly in a jeep, firing a machine gun at my heels. Yes, I would need adequate motivation.

So as I think about a cruise, the following four things immediately annoy me:

  1. Walking up the plank to get on.

I don’t know why. It just seems like I’m lining up in a prison yard for daily gruel.

  1. Cramped quarters.

To make money, a cruise ship must have little cabins, and of course, the smaller they make them the more people they can put onto the ship, and therefore, the more profit.

I am a big man, constantly perturbed by living in a medium world.

  1. A constant barrage of food.

Perhaps I’m odd, but after I eat, the last thing I want to do is go dancing in the Mambo Room.

Doesn’t that sound horrible? Where is the time for digestion?

  1. And finally, the pool.

If the boat is for love, then people are peering extra carefully at one another for the potential of unexplainable romantic entanglements.

When I go swimming, I’m thinking more about cannonballs and floating. Probably not the mindset of Carnivale.

So you see, I have not given a cruise a chance—because I have convinced myself that it is not worthy of my consideration.

I probably should have done that with bologna and sausage years ago.

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Cross

Cross: (n) the structure on which Jesus was executed.

Word has it the angels appeared at his birth.

There were doves flying about as he was baptized.

He certainly favored his time with children.

His whole message about life began with the word, “Happy.”

He wanted us to consider lilies.

He told stories about sparrows.

He fed five thousand people with bread and fish.

His hands possessed some healing.

It says that he wept.

He marveled.

He talked about seeds, planting, fishing.

He favored the second mile.

They claim he personally emptied a tomb—more than once.

People walked after they met him. They hadn’t done that before.

People could see after an encounter with him—some of them born blind.

He was moved with compassion.

And he had the ability of looking at the world around him and discerning how things work—without bitching.

Yet with all this symbolism—all this imagery—all this amazing storytelling, he is known for a cross.

Unfair.


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Corpus Christi

Corpus Christi: (n) the body of Christ

I suppose they thought it was extremely clever, to manufacture a rubber bodysuit—bruised, beaten and bloodied.

When they made the movie, “The Passion of the Christ,” they had their actor don this monstrosity of an outfit, believing it would convey the suffering of Jesus on the cross.

It is a classic case of over-kill.

To understand the true indignity of the sacrifice of Jesus of Nazareth, you must step into an operating room in a hospital and breathe in deeply. The smell of funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
blood will rattle your nostrils. It is a nasty odor, meant to be foreign to our consciousness.

Perhaps you want to go on the scene of a horrible car wreck and see the blood still pouring out of the wounds of dying people to understand his situation—there was no time for clotting because the beating continued and the blood was pouring forth, dangerously leaving the body and threatening death long before he was nailed in the hands and feet.

Perhaps if you were around someone bleeding to death and you heard their screams of thirst and realized they were in agony just from the lack of water…

As always, Hollywood dramatizes but never actually captures the drama.

The most tender, gentle man who ever lived, who healed lepers, hugged children, granted women equality and offered love as an alternative to the futility of fear, was beat to a pulp by religious people who thought they were acting in the name of God.

May we learn from that image: Corpus Christi—the body of Christ—which was ravaged by the self-righteous.

May we quietly, humbly and reverently realize how the stupidity of hatred, lying, cheating and self-promotion continues to murder him today.


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Cooties

Cooties: (n) a louse, especially one affecting humans, as the body louse, head louse, or pubic louse.

I think cooties have been eradicated.

I’m not talking about the little bug—I’m speaking of the stigma that was placed upon very young girls by very young boys at a time in the funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
past when these fellows insisted that the lasses “had cooties.”

Matter of fact, as a young boy in the third grade, I was desperately trying to keep girls from touching me because their fingertips could transfer these cooties onto, or into, my body.

Of course, it was all purely sexual tension.

Every young dude secretly hoped that some soft hand would graze his back as he ran away, and that he would embrace that early sexual sensation of exhilaration.

But what really concerns me, since it is nearly completely impossible that some eight-year-old mind was aware of a louse called a “cootie,” that there apparently was some mother or father began this rumor, trying to keep their children romantically separated.

I don’t think any eight-year-old boy went to the dictionary and said to himself, “What makes a girl so different? Oh! Aha! Here it is! Cooties!”

After it was hatched, I can see how the rumor spread—similar to the varmints themselves.

But this nasty representation of the female of the human species certainly had to begin in the mind of some mama or papa, who thought it best for their offspring to remain asexual as long as feasible.

What a waste of time—considering that within a few short months, these boys and girls would be all over each other, even if there were cooties in play.


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Connive

Connive: (v) to secretly allow bad things to occur

Do you want to live a happier life?

That may sound like the beginning of an infomercial, but there is a way to live a more powerful existence.

Simply make sure you do the things you want to do, not the things other people are doing–and don’t sit around acting discouraged because the world is a mess.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Let’s start off with a cleansing principle:

Your children are your children as long as they live in your house and receive an allowance. Once they leave the house, they may love you dearly, but they yearn to be their own person.

If you follow their careers, their actions and their whims too closely, you will find yourself conniving to either justify what they do or imitate it.

Or take this into consideration:

We may have a government in Washington, D.C. that is corrupt. This does not give us a free pass to come up with our own rendition of corruption. We do not have permission to connive deals and lie to our friends, families and working associates because it appears to be the popular pastime.

Happiness is when you find what you want to do and you do it, even if you’re the only person who has found it.

I want to make it clear–I do love my family, but not enough to follow their ways nor to stall my life to gain their approval.

 

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Condom

Condom: (n) a thin rubber sheath worn on a man’s penis during sexual intercourse

Sometimes I scold myself for being too candid about my life. There are even family members who think I should spare the public the vivid details of my inanity. But I find that you can never truly achieve heaven until you can say “what the hell?”

I have attempted to use a condom ONCE. (Maybe that’s why I have so many children. I’m thinking there’s a connection somewhere, but shall funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
not waste your time searching for it.)

I had no instructor on how to place it on my device. I’m sure I did it wrong.

It immediately created two battles: (a) staying on, and (b) me remaining erect enough to grant it a home.

It slipped and slid and I ended up reaching down in the fury and passion of pleasure and ripping it off, finishing ala naturale.

I do understand–this is way too much information. But if I haven’t lost you by now, let me conclude with this thought:

I do not offer my story of the condom because I am suggesting they are worthless, meaningless or should not be applied.

As always, I am poking fun at my fun-poker.

 

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