I AM A SAINT!

The judicial member went on a long whiny tangent yesterday about the Democrats, sounding for all intents like a sour old fossil upset about his prostate. Good thing he's retired, and can no longer influence matters. After finishing, he spent a long time in the bathroom. Damned prostate. I do not feel for him. The Irishman and the bald fellow just drank it up. They love talk like that. It was a good thing that the evil hobgoblin and the subcontinental weren't there, or there would have been hours of loud angry yelling.

The worst part of all this was lunch. Awful. The options are limited, and unappealing. I remain grateful for Sriracha. It makes America outside San Francisco bearable. Properly considered, Sriracha is the vegetable accompaniment to food in the suburbs. Full of good stuff. Vitamins and minerals. A growing boy needs fibre!


Capsaicin may have some inhibitory effects on P-cancer, but might make urine more acidic, thus potentially irritating the prostate. So it's a crap-shoot. Personally I think life in the twenty first century upsets his delicate prostate, he probably shouldn't upset his little head about it before going into the men's room poor bastard.

In any case, Sriracha will make his bland old man kibble taste better.
So it would improve his mood. Stupid Marinite.

It's a darn good thing women don't have prostates. It means that there is more balance and perspective in this world, which explains also why ninety percent plus of the demented old rightwing dingbats in the back room are men. Ninety nine percent plus. You understand, of course, that I am a saint for putting up with these reprehensible prostatatic heathens, and dammit I want a halo for all this.


Enlarged prostates are kind of like big egos, especially when the mad dog in question is a repulsive antiquated republican hosebag full of himself. Which is why I propose that to heal him, capsaicin-rich fruits be rammed upwards. It's the shortest path to his prostate. Forceful action now could cure him. Before it bloats up to unbearable size and we have to cut him open to relieve his condition.

He probably won't even notice a thing. A giant sphincter.
After it's all over he'll be ever so grateful.

I'll find a sterile plunger.



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