Darling: (n) one dearly loved

Among the crowd who still know how to play Bingo, and sometimes even personally pursue it, there is an old saying:

“Is two enough? Is six too many?”

This question references how many prunes are beneficial to eat before you find yourself full of poop.

For those who are intimidated by constipation and blessed by regularity, this is an important inquiry.

But I also think the logic translates well over to the word “darling.”

There was an ancient song sung among “The Forty-Niners”—who were searching for gold in Sacramento. It was entitled, “Oh, My Darling Clementine.” Let me surmise the message of the tune.

One of these gold-diggers loved a woman named Clementine, who died. He missed her. So he sang about her—“My darling Clementine.”

I think in this case, using the word “darling” is acceptable, since the woman is dead and gone and some sort of mourning is in order.

But I do believe constantly calling our little children (especially females) “darling” sets these young ladies up for some of the greatest disappointments of their lives.

Here’s the issue:

Where do you go from darling?

I mean, if you’re trying to increase the level of appreciation or praise, what would be the word?

And, on the other hand, diminishing the term “darling” offers a whole series of insults that might leave our little darling devastated.

I would think it’s time for us to tell our children that they don’t need to be “darling” to be valuable.

Maybe a more specific series of words:

  • “That was a smart thing to do.”
  • “You really look good in that dress.”
  • “Oh, you combed your hair nicely.”
  • “Nice kick.”

But to sit and stare at a picture of your offspring and call her (or even him) “darling,” and expect to get Facebook likes to reinforce your opinion could be a tragic situation.

For after all, two prunes (or darlings) will keep things moving.

Six is just downright shit.



Constipation: (n) a condition in which there is difficulty in emptying the bowels

I want to ask those of you who are my friends to keep watch for the “thought police” and the politically correct lawyers as I try to discuss something very human without being critiqued for addressing a vulgar topic.

It is amazing to me what we are willing to talk about, which often is profane and nasty, as opposed to the things we are unwilling to talk funny wisdom on words that begin with a Cabout, which are human and common, but we have decided are uncouth.

There isn’t a person reading this who has not farted or had constipation, yet introducing the subject seems to make people uncomfortable. (The issue of human sexuality and masturbation are similar–things we like to do but don’t want to discuss.)

Everybody enjoys a good bowel movement. Matter of fact, I would guess that each and every one of you reading this article has turned a release of your innards into a religious experience by thanking God in some way during the evacuation.

If something so sacred as sitting on the pot is a taboo subject, then where is our race headed?

I have been constipated.

I have been unconstipated.

I can recommend the latter.

And if you don’t blush over your “Number 2,” then with me…you’re “Number 1.”


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dictionary with letter A

Animated: (adj.) full of life or excitement; an animated conversation.

Do you remember the old commercial where a woman with a sour expression on her face turns to the camera and laments the number of prunes necessary to alleviate her constipation?

“Is two enough? Is six too many?”

I remember when I first saw the commercial–it really grossed me out. I was young and the idea of a constricted bowel life was beyond my comprehension.

Time marches on. Or in the case of this discussion, somewhat stands still.

I feel the same way about living an animated life.

We have many different opinions on whether a certain amount of excitement is enough or if an additional degree of enthusiasm is too much.

Matter of fact, we tend to compartmentalize our lives into occasions where exuberance is acceptable, and those profiles where we normally choose to some degree to be more adult or somber.

What is an animated life?

1. Wherever you are, be there.

I don’t need people to be jumping up and down, but I do like to have the sense that they’re present and aware of their surroundings.

2. Care about something other than your cares.

One of the surest ways to become boring is to have no awareness whatsoever of the feelings, needs, or sentiments of others.

3. Match your surroundings.

The Good Book phrases it really well: “Rejoice with those who are rejoicing; weep with those who are weeping.”

What a fabulous idea.

4. Go for one more.

  • If you’re in a conversation, ask one more question.
  • If you’re enjoying a movie, hang around for one more minute to discuss it.
  • Take another sip of tea before you leave.
  • Think of a reason to express appreciation.

Just one more. It is the definition of the social second mile. It lets people know that you have fulfilled your commitment, but you’re animated enough to offer an additional footnote.

That’s what I think about being animated. I don’t require that people leap to their feet and applaud my efforts, but I would like to know that my presence in their lives was significant enough to create some sort of pleasurable expression on their face.

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dictionary with letter A

Anemia: (n.) a condition marked by a lack of red blood cells or hemoglobin in the blood, resulting in pallor and weariness.

When my doctor told me I was anemic, I fired back at her that she had a funny nose and big ears before I realized that she was just giving me the results of my blood test.

It seems that this exam pointed out that I didn’t have enough red cells doing their thing in my body.

She wanted to rectify this by having me take iron supplement pills.

Now, let me tell you–not only was this treatment fairly expensive, but it created constipation, which was only occasionally relieved by the painful arrival of bowel movements that resembled lumps of coal.

At my next appointment, she asked me if I felt better since beginning the iron supplements. I had to be honest and tell her that it was difficult to tell since it seemed that I had replaced one problem with another.

Without becoming too philosophical, that is often the case in modern life. In a noble attempt to improve one dilemma, we create a counter-irritant, which we convince ourselves is not as bad as the original in order to justify our actions in alleviating the former problem.

Well, back to my anemia.

Quietly, against her orders, without her permission and knowledge, I lessened the dose on the iron and loosened my difficulty. It was such a relief that I decided to stop taking the iron pills, and tell her that I did, so as to make her happy and keep myself…well, let us say, comfortable.

The truth is, I felt no more energy taking the iron pills than I did without them.

I just happen to be one of those big men who moves fairly slowly, still gets things accomplished, but looks rather ugly in the process.

So the next time somebody tells you you’re anemic and they’re not referring directly to your choices, lovemaking or personality, be fully aware that iron supplements are a two-edged sword.

And one of the edges of the sword really hurts during bathroom time.

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by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Ablaut: n. the change in vowel in related words or forms, e.g., in Germanic strong verbs (for example swim, swam, swum)

Come on. This one is easy.

What we’re talking about here is the glory, beauty, simplicity, joy, practicality and application of a vowel movement.

Did I miss something? I understand that the dictionary may lack some sense of humor or fear being considered gauche, but that’s really the best definition for this word, right? Ablaut means that we have a vowel movement.

It only occurs when we have adequate fiber, faber, fuber.

It demands that we sometimes make a commitment to the cause, cise, cose.

But in the long run (pardon the expression) we free ourselves of the constipation of ideas and allow for past-tense and future-tense to open us up, as it were.

Ablaut–a satisfying vowel movement, which changes the meaning of a word.

Hell, I don’t think I’m alone here. I think I’ve had vowel movements that have actually changed my life, lofe, lafe.