Concession

Concession: (n) something that is granted

A few obvious but still needfully shared concessions:

  1. I am not nearly as smart as I think, nor even as you project.
  2. I am not a stud. I don’t know a stud. What is a stud?
  3. Diets don’t work, but when I eat less I weigh less.
  4. Talent is overrated, leaving creativity orphaned.
  5. I am not the best at anything but in a pinch can pass.
  6. There is no difference between a Republican and a Democrat when they are both blind to real human need.
  7. Church does not make people better. Just pious.
  8. As long as men are trying to be superior, women will never be able to pull themselves up to equality.
  9. Even though I like to watch it, football is a dangerous sport.
  10. I can’t taste the beer in my bratwurst.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

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Brawn

j-r-practix-with-border-2

Brawn: (n) physical strength in contrast to intelligence.

When you’re sixteen years old, basically everything pisses you off.

One of the things that really drove me nuts was that the girls in my class were drawn to bad boys.Dictionary B

It seemed to me that if you were nice to a girl, she wanted to be friends. And if you were mean to her, she wanted to have sex.

Trouble was, I just didn’t have the brawn to pull off being the “dark knight of the night.”

So I had a lot of girls who wanted to be my friend. We would talk until I was sexually aroused–and they got sleepy.

I thought surely as time marched on (or crawled, depending on my disposition) that certainly these young ladies would lose their affinity for brawn and start looking for smarts.

And then along came Fifty Shades of Grey.

Even old ladies sat around and drooled over the prospect of being mauled by the stud.

I’m talking violence.

The temptation to desire being “taken” is more alluring to many women than the fulfillment of being included.

So as we speculate on what the next step may be in women’s liberation, well …  ladies might just want to free themselves from the predilection to be “over-brawned” by their prospective mate.

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Bode

Bode: (v) to be an omen of a particular outcome.

Dictionary B

If you talk long enough about farts, you’ll actually start smelling them.

Pardon my crude observation. I wanted to get your attention.

After all, in the United States, it is the way we get people’s heads to turn in our direction.

We shock, alarm, prophesy doom, threaten, warn and curse.

For after all, it is difficult to gather an audience around the idea of happiness. Matter of fact, sometimes I think we despise joy because it does not afford us enough opportunity to complain.

In this political season of furor, it seems that the only way to gain a second look is to express how things do not bode well.

I often wonder why–since our country is so screwed up, so perverted, so destitute and so absolutely bedraggled–individuals would want to become its presiding officer.

Could it be they are lying?

Is there the possibility of exaggeration?

Maybe we’re just geared toward a desire to see the world destroyed so we don’t have to deal with it anymore.

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Bod

Bod: (n) a body or physique.

Dictionary BMethinks I protest too little.

Yes, all my life I have joked about my appearance to the amusement of audiences, never really feeling diminished by being unable to be part of the chosen few who are considered to have “a good bod.”

Alphabetically, the front my body resembles the letter O, and sideways, a B. (That in itself, you see, is a bit of comedy at my own expense.)

I’ve been told by those who consider themselves to be psychologically astute, that such self deprecation can be harmful and disguises a hidden pain.

But … not really.

If there were no mirrors in the world and I was speculating on my appearance, then perhaps a case could be made that I needed to have greater generosity of spirit toward my own visage. But since I know what I look like and I realize that it falls outside the parameters listed for “leading man” or “stud,” there seems to be a healthy need to be realistic and use what I have to the best of my ability, without feeling that I need to place it in a better frame.

Yes, my picture is somewhat frameless.

But considering that, I’ve been blessed by quite a few women, who decided to look beyond my faults and see my need. Or my benefit.

So methinks I protest just enough.

And to these ladies aforementioned, I am most grateful that they helped me discover all the pleasures and joys on the romantic menu.

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Aerosol

Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter AAerosol: (n) a substance enclosed under pressure and able to be released as a fine spray, typically by means of a propellant gas.

It was called Right Guard. It was a man’s deodorant.

So many of my buddies who played football with me sprayed the stuff in the locker room that I felt I could just walk through, flap my arms and meet my deodorant need–because even though you aimed it directly at your pit area, it sprayed in a three-foot circumference, creating a great “cloud of witness” and confirmation of your sweet odor.

Another nice thing is that because it was in a spray can–aerosol–you could aim it at nooks and crannies on your body which shall remain nameless for the sake of propriety.

At the tail end of my showering experience with members of my own gender, it was suddenly discovered that these aerosol cans were polluting the environment, and were perhaps even dangerous for us to inhale repeatedly, threatening lethal conclusions.

So another great pleasure of Americana was ripped away by researchers who think a white coat is stylish.

We started using roll-ons. Speed stick.

It may have been at that point that some of the backbone that is supposed to be fused into the male of our species was removed–because once you start putting on girly deodorant instead of walking around in a purple haze of Right Guard, you begin to deteriorate in your confidence to be a stud.

Of course, this is just a theory.

  • Maybe Richard Nixon wouldn’t have wimped out and lied about Watergate if he was still spraying his underarms.
  • Or maybe our football team would have actually had a winning season if we weren’t putting creamy stuff in our pit hair.
  • Maybe men would be able to communicate better with women if they felt that all their hidden parts  were being “Right Guard-ed.”
  • Maybe women wouldn’t be so dissatisfied with their lives with men if the bathroom had TWO deodorants instead of the couple sharing an “ice-blue Secret.”

I know it’s ridiculous–but it’s also absolutely frivolous and stupid to think that everything on earth does not have SOME mission to kill us, if misused.

For instance, give me a bathroom spray that explodes with a gas of beautiful odor instead of trickling out after I get done using the pot. I want the whole room to smell like flowers, so no one will exactly know what I did in there.

(I also like Right Guard because it’s the position I played on the team.)