Cherub: (n) a beautiful or innocent-looking child.

It takes a lot for me to become motivated to try to lose weight.

It’s similar to convincing an ant-eater that ant consumption is bad for its health. After all, you are named “ant-eater.” To suddenly stop eating ants not only removes your diet, but robs you of your identity.

I.e., if I am not a fat man, who am I?

If I’m not the guy talking about calories while lamenting my metabolism, how would I be able to find myself in a crowded mall?

My identity is wrapped up in my weaknesses just as much as my virtues. I don’t know why we take so much time to lie, cheat and cover up our frailties, when the
y are obviously going to pop up and announce their presence.

But every once in a while, I do become motivated to try to carve away some of the fat from my body. It usually takes a shock. One such occasion happened when a gentleman from a newspaper, reviewing my show and describing my face, wrote: “He is a chubby fellow with cherub-like features.”

I was appalled.

There is no man born on this Earth who wants to be a chubby cherub. Matter of fact, if you told a woman that her blind date was “chubby and cherub-like” she just might call in sick.

I became obsessed.

I went to my bathroom mirror and stood there for at least fifteen minutes, peering at my cheeks–my second chin which was thinking about adding on an addition–and eventually became convinced that I indeed was a cherub. Although that supposedly has angelic proportions, it also makes you look too child-like and too plump.

I immediately started a diet, which didn’t last long because I was motivated for all the wrong reasons.

So over the years I have tried to grow a beard, which was as successful as any other cherub, and I’ve sported a mustache–a goatee which I occasionally have to pencil in because it’s just not dark enough.

This whole story would be very pathetic except for the fact that deep in my heart, I really don’t care.

My confidence is not based on my appearance, but rather, the confidence my appearance may proffer to others.



Donate Button



Cafeteria: (n) a dining establishment in which customers serve themselves

My mother wouldn’t let me. (There are innumerable possibilities to go along with that statement.)

But in this case, it was eating in the cafeteria at school. Growing up, we lived so close to all of my schools that she insisted I come home
for lunch. So as is often the case in childhood, what you are forbidden to have becomes the source of your lust.

As I prepared to walk home to my house to eat my meager sandwich and soup, I would see all my friends on their way to the cafeteria to enjoy a mutual feast–and I assumed, great frivolity.

I felt cheated. I felt like an alien. I felt I had been presented a privilege which offered no visible benefit.

Then, one week my mother was going to be away helping out her sister, who was ill. She didn’t think it was right for me to come home without her there, so she gave me 75 cents a day, to eat in the cafeteria.

My joy knew no bounds. I was bouncing off the walls in anticipation. My friends squinted at me, confused about why I was so enthralled with eating at the common trough. They tried to explain to me that it was really pretty bad, and that I would be greatly disappointed.

But as I shuffled through the line, watching how my friends conducted themselves while conversing with the old women in hair nets who were dipping out the provision, I immediately noticed two obvious problems. All the food looked a little bit gray, and there wasn’t much of it.

For the first couple of days I pretended to enjoy the cuisine, but by the time Day Three came around, I found myself yearning for my fried bologna sandwich and tomato soup (with a few crackers.)

I made it through the fifth day, and when my mother returned on the weekend, she asked me if I would like to continue to eat in the cafeteria. I think she thought it was a pretty good deal–especially since she wouldn’t have to play cook and waitress for me at lunch time.

Inexplicably, I broke out in tears and was very embarrassed, but sobbed, “No, I wanna come home…”

It was pathetic.

But it was better than eating over-cooked macaroni, processed cheese and room temperature fruit cocktail.



Donate ButtonThank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) —  J.R. Practix 


Aureole: (n) a circle of light or brightness surrounding something, especially as depicted in art around the head or body of a person represented as holy.

I will freely admit to you that I have no scientific backing for my conclusions. These findings of mine are solely based upon years and years of observation of dictionary with letter Ahuman behavior.

There are three things that people will not accept from other folks:

  1. Arrogance.

We may even temporarily concede that certain people are “talented enough” that they have the right to be prideful, but we are simultaneously privately hoping they stumble and fall.

  1. Intolerance.

Even though we accept a certain amount of this nasty stuff in ourselves, we will not permit others to express this kind of fussiness and closed-minded approach with the world around them.

  1. Making the same dumb mistakes over and over again.

How many times can you say “I’m sorry” before people start hearing, “I’m pathetic”?

I bring these up to you because the Medieval artists began to place halos and aureoles around the heads of saints and angels–and especially Jesus of Nazareth.

I assume they felt this was an offering of respect for their good deeds or divinity.

But in the process they have taken a God who purposely became human and insisted that He be a human who was perfect–and a God.

It’s like turning to the Almighty and saying, “Your idea about becoming human like us was really stupid. We like people who wear hats that look like lightbulbs.”

I will tell you this–Jesus has no appeal to anybody when he’s proclaimed to be perfect.

  • We hate perfect people,
  • We plot their destruction.
  • We come up with pranks to make them look inept.

Likewise, Jesus does not have market when you insist he was a Jewish prophet for the Jewish people who was intolerant of Gentiles.

And Jesus does not have the ability to reach the world if his religion makes the same dumb mistakes over and over again that every religion has made.

So if you don’t mind, I would rather you remove the aureole from Jesus’ crown and have a more realistic representation.

How about a fly buzzing his head?

Donate Button

Thank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) —  J.R. Practix




A meeting place for folks who know they’re human

 $3.99 plus $2.00 S&H

$3.99 plus $2.00 Shipping  & Handling

$3.99 plus $2.00 Shipping & Handling

Buy Now Button




dictionary with letter A

Arraign: (v) to call or bring someone before a court to answer a criminal charge.

I’ve never been arrested, although I have been accused of having an arresting personality. (Pardon me, that was pathetic.)

I have thought about what it would be like to have my rights read to me by some austere cop, hand-cuffed and taken away in the squad car. Strange notions come to my mind during these reflections.

First of all, I wonder if they would be upset when their normal handcuffs wouldn’t work on my fat wrists.

Also, since I’ve tried during exercise to get my arms to reach behind my back, I wonder if they would be equally as aggravated as I am by the process.

Then there would be the procedure of getting into the back of the squad car handcuffed, which, with my girth, could require several attempts and some very painful head-hitting.

This has made me believe that there is a necessity for me to maintain the straight and narrow, to avoid the calamaties which might occur during my arrest.

I’ve also thought about what I would do when I appeared before the judge and charges were read, and it came my time to speak concerning my guilt or innocence. You know what I mean.

“And what do you plead?”

I’ve even rehearsed.

“Not guilty, Your Honor.”

How about this?

“What, bro? Yous gotta be kiddin’.”

“Absolutely not guilty!”

“Double dutch not guilty!”

Or should I add some comedy to the event?

“Guilty of overeating, but not guilty on these charges!”

What kind of attorney would they give me? Since I’m not very wealthy, he or she would be court appointed–a nervous novice who would be unable to pronounce my name. So in the midst of the reading of the indictment and my lawyer trying to explain the situation, I would find myself interrupting to correct the mispronunciations.

Would that anal-attentive attitude be a positive in front of the judge?

All in all, I think it’s just best to watch arraignments on television, and to personally avoid them–because I’m just afraid the handcuffs would chafe my wrists.

I have very sensitive skin.


Donate Button

Thank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) —  J.R. Practix

Amber Alert

dictionary with letter A

Amber Alert: (n) an emergency response system that disseminates information about a missing person (usually a child) by media broadcasting or electronic roadway signs.

All right. Get ready to buy me the T-shirt.

I guess it should read, “I am an unfeeling, anti-American, cynical unbeliever.”

Maybe it’s because I’ve done some follow-up on the concept of Amber Alerts. Even though there are many television shows that make hay off of children being abducted by strangers who torture and murder them, most of the kidnapping of little ones in our country is done by either the mother or the father, who no longer love each other and have decided to turn the child into the hunk of meat which they steal from the barn and hustle away through the woods.

If it weren’t so sad and pathetic, it would nearly be comical. We have actually created a system of marriage in this country which at least half of the time ends up in divorce, while contending that when it comes to the realm of the children, the couple is still together–even though they’ve moved on to other relationships, and now, because of human nature, are trying to prove to the children that this person is now their enemy and how much better off they would be if they didn’t have that rotten sperm donor or womb carrier.

Did you follow that?

In other words, like we always do in this country, we think we can establish a family, destroy it, pretend that it still exists, and then act alarmed when one of the parents steals the child, which sends out an Amber Alert and makes everyone concerned about their own offspring, when it really is just a Hatfield and McCoy feud.

There are exceptions, and for that reason, the Amber Alert should not be removed from our everyday lives.

But keep in mind–most of these are people who are fighting with each other, who once made love and produced a child, who has become at times little more than a bargaining chip.

Here’s the real Amber Alert, and may it sound out over the airwaves and be flashed on the freeways:

If you’re going to have children, try to keep your marriage together, and if you don’t stay together, please remember–and Solomon was wise enough to know this:

You can’t cut a kid in two.