(Mythology) a member of a family of giants having a single round eye

Was the purpose of the mythology concerning this creature to generate the image of a horribly frightening being–not only terrifying by its brute strength but equally as intimidating by its ugly appearance?

Or was the writer trying to communicate a hidden moral to all of us about how having only a single eye offers little perspective on life as a whole?

I’m not positive.

But even though I run across human beings who seem to have two peepers, after talking to them for a brief period of time, I can tell they actually have a single outlook about life on Earth, and are incapable of truly recognizing anything outside that field of vision.

Now, the question would be, does it make them ugly to me?

As in the story of the Cyclops, merely having physical prowess and one way of looking at things leaves you quite vulnerable from the rear and the sides.

And although many travelers are proud of how they can only see things one way, when circumstance creeps up from the right, cunning comes from the left, and wisdom surprises from the rear, they are usually exposed as misguided and poorly prepared villains.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Cro-Magnon Man

Cro-Magnon Man: (n) an early type of modern man

There is an abiding thought that steers my thinking:

“If I end up being wrong, how can I survive it well?”

Because basically, my life thus far has told me that I’m going to be wrong—partially because I’m a little pig-headed, but also because on occasion, I follow the instincts of others who are likewise oinkers.

I remember one weekend sitting in a seminar in which the pros and cons of evolution were discussed. I immediately felt that the topic was a bit high minded, with low results. But I listened anyway.

It quickly boiled down to a single issue:

Those of a more religious inclination were very upset about man evolving from the animal kingdom.

And those who were less concerned about ecclesiastical matters didn’t seem to care much.

Now, here’s a fact:

None of them knew what the hell they were talking about.

We usually don’t.

Probably long, long ago, when there were Cro-Magnon people walking the Earth, they would have been equally upset to think they evolved from apes, even though the similarity was close enough that a gorilla would occasionally hit on one of the women.

Very early on, we decided what’s ugly, what’s stupid and what’s spiritual.

Yet I never heard a frog object to evolving from a fish, nor a two-cell organism insisting it was impossible to have once been singular.

It’s a fear in our race—that if we are not superior, then it’s just not fair and needs to be changed immediately.

I can tell you the truth—I don’t care.

I personally look nothing like a Cro-Magnon Man.

They were hairy, dark brown and stooped.

I, on the other hand, appear to have evolved from a marshmallow.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C


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Chest: (n) the front surface of a person’s or animal’s body

I’m always amused when people take credit for having beauty or they are depressed over some perceived ugliness. Did we have any choice?

Since there’s no genetically engineered children, all of us basically came out of the gene pool. Some of us got a towel and some didn’t.

That’s just how it works. This is what I thought of when I saw the word “chest.”

When I was a young man of seventeen, convinced of my maturity, I took a look at my chest. Where it was supposed to be muscular, it was a bit droopy and fat, threatening the appearance of small titties. My nipples didn’t harden to my satisfaction. Sometimes they just laid there, soft and full, with springtime promise.

And the main problem was that I had absolutely no hair. Today that’s considered a good thing, but when I was growing up, men had hair on their chest and women did not–and for some reason, women liked hair on a man’s chest.

I dreamed of a day when my chest would be much larger than my waist. (That’s the goal.) I’ve never achieved that.

So as I sit here and breathe today, I am extraordinarily grateful that I have found women over the years who have overlooked my soft, white, puffy, marshmallow chest area and have compensated in their minds by the fact that I’m conversational…and I know how to tip a waitress.

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Bowler: (n) a player at tenpin bowling, lawn bowling, or skittles

I am convinced that life is a big tease–just when you decide to become all worked up and excited, she suddenly turns into a prude.Dictionary B

You think it’s gonna work out. You even invest your energy and time, only to discover that the circumstances around you have decided that you’re too ugly for consideration.

That is my experience with bowling.

I have gone bowling about fifteen times in my life. (It could be sixteen.)

But I avoid bowling because I clearly remember how an evening at the alley ends up. There’s a reason they call it an alley–because you always end up sitting on your ass feeling like trash.

I always start out bowling trying to be sensible–taking the right number of steps, dropping the ball with style and grace–but then suddenly realize that if I just “whip it down there,” it starts hooking to the center–and knocks down more pins!

This works for two or three frames–strike, strike, spare, spare. So just about the time that I’m ready to tout my expertise and shout my score… my hook stops hooking.

Yes, the ball, rather than careening into the middle pin to create a strike, seeks erratic maneuvers and starts giving me historical splits.

So by the end of the evening I realize that my peak score occurred about an hour and a half earlier, and I’m back to bowling in the double digits again.

If you’ve never been bowling you may not understand some of my references. That’s good.

I would not want to encourage anyone to start bowling. 

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Boo-boo: (n) a minor mistake.

I think maybe you’re a little confused.Dictionary B

It’s understandable since you don’t necessarily know all the rules that have been established by my thinking. Let’s clarify:

You make mistakes. I had a boo-boo.

You are inconsiderate. I just didn’t notice.

You are really late. I was unavoidably delayed in traffic.

You are selfish. I was unaware.

You are a sinner. I am a victim of circumstance.

You are a bigot. I just have more experience with those types of people.

You are a hater. I’m just trying to point out some grievous errors.

You cheat. I misunderstood the directions.

You’re a big, fat flirt. I’m friendly.

You are a religious fanatic. I just know the Bible.

You are a political idiot. I am pulsing the new trends.

You have really bad breath. I had pasta for lunch.

You are getting fat. I am finding my natural body weight.

You are ugly. I have classical features.

You seem to fail at everything you do. I’m looking for my niche.

Now, is this clear? Because I wouldn’t want you to go through the rest of your life confused.


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Bombshell: (n) a very attractive woman.

Sometimes it’s just not enough to attract.Dictionary B

Even though we spend a lot of money and too many hours trying to become more attractive, we also expend equivalent energy insisting that we are loved for something other than our outward appearance.

I guess there’s a great advantage to being ugly–because you know if you attract anyone in your direction, it’s legitimate.

From time to time I think about the life of Marilyn Monroe.

Whatever she truly wanted to achieve, she failed to accomplish, causing her to misuse drugs and end up the victim of an overdose.

What did she want?

She wasn’t totally innocent–in the sense that she certainly did use her sexuality to gain prominence. But once that was acquired, she was stuck with the perception that she was nothing more than a blithe, flighty, unaware female with a good body, tempting every man to prove that he could be her supreme lover.

The smirks, the snickers and the lascivious smiles that trailed her probably exhausted her already-burdened spirit, and made her wish for anonymity.

Or maybe she was just a spoiled brat, who wouldn’t have been happy with anything.

I don’t know.

Does anybody know?

But since human sexuality encompasses such a small amount of space in our lives, to give much effort to blow it out of proportion is tiresomely vain.

Yes, I imagine the true problem of being a bombshell is that you just never know when it’s going to blow up in your face. 


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Avocado: (n) a fruit with tough leathery skin and a large stone

For years the avocado has taken great grief for being ugly on the outside and then having a pit or stone that is much too large for its contents.dictionary with letter A

I really sympathize.

Even though my skin does not resemble an alligator, I am not horribly attractive on the exterior, and being rather obese, I occasionally will take some teasing, or worse, inconsiderate advice from the meandering masses.

I think the avocado would probably agree with me when I say that the problem is not with the oversized pit, but rather, the undersized fruit.

In my case, I have it figured this way: I am not really fat–it’s just that I was intended to be 8 feet tall. Consider it a mistake of creation or a mutation of evolution–whichever your preference tends to be.

Also the avocado suffers from the malady of occasionally being tasteless. You will find one that is sweet and absolutely delectable, but often it is as flat as bargain-brand mayonnaise.

So the only claim to fame for the avocado, as far as I know. is that it is one of those “perfect” foods.

In other words, if you found yourself trapped on a desert island and all that grew there were avocados and bananas, you could live a full, long and healthy life. You’d probably want to kill yourself on Day Nine for want of the bacon and chicken breast to go with your avocado sandwich, but medically you would be sound.

The thing I do like about an avocado is that it draws out one of the better human attributes: looking for something good to say. 

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Attractive: (adj) pleasing or appealing to the senses.dictionary with letter A

As I was getting ready to write this essay to you fine folks, I glanced up and caught a glimpse in the mirror of an aging gent, who apparently had come to sit for a spell and act as an audience for my thoughts.

Yes, there was a brief second when I did not recognize the person in the mirror.

Certainly it is me. I am not in denial.

But there is a different “me” living inside, who is vibrant, young, energetic, playful and probably delightfully naive.

The fellow in the mirror is well-traveled, rugged, worn and definitely showing the effects of the passing years.

Sometimes I forget that he is the face of the project.

Maybe that’s why I like being a writer. It allows the other tenant who occupies my space to pull out his cleverness and “cute” ideas, without having to advertise Grandpa, on the front porch.

I’m not afraid of getting old. I’ve been getting older ever since I was born. It isn’t the first time I’ve been shocked by the process.

So I am fully aware that this is a part of life, and by no means do I resent it–it’s just that occasionally I’m surprised at how it physically manifests itself much more drastically than it does emotionally, mentally or spiritually.

I guess I would be greatly disheartened if my spirit looked the same way as my body does.

What is attractive? Attractive is what causes us to be attracted. So what attracts you to a person and what attracts me will certainly be somewhat different.

I know this to be true:

Anyone who is pleasant to the eye quickly becomes a disappointment if they aren’t able to hold up their end of a conversation.

And it is amazing how ugly a person can become once stupidity has been unleashed.

So I guess I’ll work on my outer core, to keep it from deteriorating too quickly, and trust that you will give my inner man the chance to show you how attractive he truly can be.


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dictionary with letter A

Aquiline: (adj) like an eagle, esp. referring to the nose. EX: “hooked like an eagle’s beak.”

It arrives at about age twelve, and hopefully, by the grace of God, disappears on one’s eighteenth birthday. Honestly, it will not disappear if we allow its friends to come and shack up.

“It” is insecurity.

When I was twelve years old, I was convinced of the following:

I believed my nose was aquiline because my dad was German and had a hooked nose. I failed to realize that my mother’s genes were also in there, so my hook was not as pronounced. (I once referred to my nose as a “hooker” until my Aunt Minnie explained that the term was inappropriate.)

I also believed that my lips were very large and that I possibly was the love child of my mother with a black man. (There was no basis for this since there were no black people within thirty miles of our community. But I chose to believe my mother had made some sort of journey.)

I also thought my eyes were crooked, and began to tilt my head to the left to compensate for the poor horizon of my peepers.

Keeping up this craziness was the notion that my B were “pinned to my head,” which I assumed was the sign of some sort of mental retardation.

Moving along, I totally was possessed with the frustration that I had horribly chubby cheeks, so I tried to elongate my face by holding my mouth in the shape of a small “O” all the time.

This insecurity is present in all adolescents, and is only dangerous if it’s allowed to link up with intensity, culminating in a bit of insanity, which in adulthood can lead to plastic surgery, therapy sessions and late-night heart-wrenching honesty with your mate, drenched in tears.

I know we think the answer to this question is to convince people that “we are all beautiful just the way we are.”

But since none of us really believe that deep in our hearts, wouldn’t it be more logical for us to come to the conclusion that we’re all ugly in our own way?


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