Just a thought

What the hell is a Cheeto? The bag says cheese flavored snacks. Now, I'm not sure about you, but I've never tasted a cheese that tastes like Cheetos. It's definitely not Camembert, or Brie, or Gruyére. Swiss? Provolone? Cheddar? Hmm... maybe a distant bastard child of cheddar. Really distant and really a bastard. No one would claim this little wannabe cheese flavor as their spawn would they?

Trying to figure out why these things are so popular. They stain your fingers orange. They aren't really made of anything... being mostly air after all. They are nice and crunchy though. Just don't think about how mealy they get as they crunch down to smaller bits and start melting on your tongue. And just think of what your mouth looks like if you fingers are orange after eating a few. Yeah, sorry 'bout that.

Technically, I guess they really aren't made out air. They are corn meal based, so perhaps that counts as somewhat healthy? What is corn meal? Sounds a lot like Meal Worms to me. Ewww... 10 bucks says you never eat another Cheeto after reading that. Meal worms? Oh, sorry, corn meal. OK, vegetable oil is the number two ingredient. This is strange for a dry product that the second largest component is actually oil. Hmmm... Further down the list we see artificial flavor and color.

No!!!! You are kidding me. Artificial color and flavor? Artificial cheese. Hmm.. guess we know what kind of cheese it is now. Artificial. The very last line is in bold. CONTAINS MILK INGREDIENTS. Well, I guess you lactose intolerant folks are just pretty much screwed huh? But, if there are milk products in it, I guess maybe it is healthy. Corn and milk. We've got the makings of cereal here. Has the product just been marketed wrong? Guess who ate their Cheetos today? I can see the Total commercial already. You'd need 44 bowls of Cheetos to equal the fiber of just one bowl of Total.

I wonder...

I want to find this blog... will someone please write it and let me know... I can see it already.

Poodles & Noodles - 101 recipes

# 48. Poodle Curry on a bed of Noodles. - Create a festive occasion by hosting a curry party. Serve this dish with steamed rice and an assortment of condiments in small ceramic bowls: quartered limes, chutney, chopped cucumber, spiced yogurt, grated coconut, nuts and raisins. Finish the meal with a bowl of chilled fruit ices.

#12 French Poodle with Prunes - A pretty wintertime supper dish with contrasting colors of carrots and prunes. Good with braised fennel or an orange, onion and avocado salad, and winter pears for dessert.

# 37 Poodle Casserole with Green Noodles - Casseroles are ideal for the cook who likes to entertain, because they usually demand a minimum of last minute attention and can be assembled in advance. All that is needed is a salad and dessert. Don't forget warm bread and wine.

#88 Poodle Paillard - If possible use a cast-iron frying pan for this recipe which cooks the poodle over high heat. Serve with crisp thin potatoes, skewers of grilled vegetables, and a salad of watercress and Blegian endive (chicory/witloof) tossed with herb vinaigrette. Offer horseradish-mustard sauce (recipe in sidebar).

(Note: the descriptions are actually from a cookbook for chicken.)

A new touch

Reading this blog, you might get the idea that I'm mostly always in a good mood. That I'm one of those 'cheerful' people. I don't see myself that way. In some aspects, I'm a much more positive person than I have been in the past, but I tend to see the world in a manner that displays it's flaws and finds 'fixes' for those flaws. While I don't intend these things to be negative, I think they come across that way.

How is it that improvement is negative? I'm not saying I hate something because I want to make it different. I'm saying there is another way or an improvement to be made. For my side, I never understood the status quo. How do people take everything as is and never want it to be better? I guess that is why there is such a thing as inventors, writers, artists and musicians. These people become the voice, if you will, for the masses at large.

I once read the greatest insult is to create something new. I've always loved this idea. I'm not sure it functions in the real world, but the idea itself is quite grand. Create something that no one has ever seen or heard, find a new way to touch someone. Whether it be their heart, their mind, their soul or even their physical presence. Make contact with someone on a new level. Who exactly you are insulting, I'm not sure, but I know by doing these things, you are making someone else's life brighter.

Ewww... a bug

You ever consider the life of a bug? Ever consider your life as though you were a bug? Oh, so many kinds to choose from. Just like people. Let’s see, we have bugs that slink in the night, that eat your house down around your knees. We have cute bugs that fly and kids love. Pretty as a button ‘Lady Bugs’. Twitchy, running bugs with feelers that serve no purpose except to make people cringe. Bugs that make a cacophony of noise that seem like it will drive you mad.

Slinking around. Skulking in the dark. Those are the kind of bugs I’m talking about. The kind of bugs that end up squished in a tissue or a few tiny squares of toilet paper. The ones that leave little brown smears on your wall after their lives are abruptly stopped by the equivalent of a two-ton heavy thing.

You know these bugs. You’ve ended more than a few of their lives, such as they are. Sometimes you might even feel like one of these little bugs. You are skating through life. Everything is joy. Happiness at the sumptuous meal you found after a long time of waiting. Then the shadow looms. The tissue comes for you. You run. The shadow changes shape. It withdraws. The position of attack comes from another quarter.

In the end, you are a snuff film. Every scene plays out different, but the end is the same. The big flush. Counter-clockwise or clockwise depending on the hemisphere you are in. Actually, that’s not really true. For every one that ends up as a swirl on the water, there are a few hundred that got the meal and got away. Or is it a few thousand? Quit skulking in the dark, you can be one that got away fat and happy. The looming shadow of the tissue only a dim nightmare.

Eventually, you take the risk. You run out in the daylight. Naked. Stark against the backdrop that is your playing field. The prize is yours. Can you take it and survive? It’s not just a numbers game. It’s not even a game. It’s you and sanctuary. Can you get there? It’s worth it. It’s only a short dash. Ready? Go.

Holiday spirit?

The holidays are upon us. I'm more than a little Humbuggered this year. I don't know why. I have a lot to be thankful for and I have more than many. I just deleted a long post I wrote about nothing. Strange how fickle the writing muse is. Sometimes she dumps a plethora in our little minds to type and others, she's on vacation and you stumble and stub your toes in the dark on furniture you thought should be a foot away.

What is it that causes us to walk around in the dark? The light switch is within easy reach after all. We'd rather stub our toe or jam our foot on something unseen in the dark than light our way and potentially come more awake. Or is it arrogance? I simply KNOW my home. Therefore, I can navigate that home without being able to see. Perhaps we even wonder what it would be like to be blind. Even for a few scary minutes. We tell ourselves - I could adjust. I could live life without seeing.

What about our other senses. I've often heard the question: If you had to choose to be blind or deaf, which would you choose? I used to have an irrational fear of something plunging into my eye when I was younger. Of becoming blind. Sometimes it comes back unbidden, uncalled. Especially when I feel eye fatigue. Those two round orbs sitting in their sockets. So delicate. So taken for granted.

I had the opportunity this week to listen to someone open a Christmas box. I couldn't be with them in person, so I listened via the phone. I closed my eyes and let myself transport to them via sound. From the tape being cut to the box being opened. Their fingers delving into the foam peanuts. The sound tiny squeals of delight from the foam bits as they rubbed against each other. The exuberance and joy of the person as they discovered each tiny treasure hidden in the foam became music to my ears.

In those moments, I rediscovered the joy of giving. Without physical contact, without seeing them. I had only my ears to guide me to create the picture of a reality in a room far away. The small intonation changes in their voice. Their in drawn breath of surprise. The gifts were small, inexpensive things, but carefully thought out. I'd never really considered the impact a small thoughtful gift could have on someone. Perhaps most of my life I've thought of gifts in terms of value.

I've given a lot of gifts in my time, but the joy of giving was quickly quenched. A surge of pleasure that never seemed to last as long as I hoped. Perhaps the difference was in not seeing, but hearing. Really hearing. As in listening. I've heard people say that blind people have sharper senses. I've heard a blind person say it's not true, claiming instead that they actually listen rather than simply hear.

So, my Christmas wish for you, as my reader, is that you are able to focus this holiday season and actually listen instead of simply hearing. Take the time and energy to slow down and really listen to the people around you. I think you will find your holidays will become much more than you imagined. And perhaps that will last much longer.

Holiday party etiquette

Dear party goer:

Since you seem to be so lost on party etiquette, I've typed a few rules that will make you (and everyone you socialize with) have a better party experience.

1. Eat as soon as you get to the party. This will aid you in the holding of a beverage later when you are shaking hands with people you haven't met and you aren't trying to juggle a plate, a glass, talking and shaking hands all at the same time.
2. Wipe your fingers after you eat hor devours, other guests don't want your greasy fingers on them.
3. Don't stand in front of the food table and socialize with Bob from accounting. I realize it's natural to congregate in close proximity to each other, but you are making it difficult for the rest of the guests to get to the food.
4. Don't stand in front of the bar. We realize you are a lush and need instant access to more alcohol, but we'd like to get our drinks too. Trying maneuver around your fat ass sucks.
5. Caviar is a garnish, not a main dish (unless there is a big bowl of it).
6. Overcome the urge to talk with food in your mouth. There is a reason naval cadets are only allowed 7 chews before they swallow. Practice this if you must. In other words, Say it, don't Spray it.
7. Open bar does not mean drink all you can. It means you don't pay for your drinks. Don't be the guy/girl everyone is laughing about the next day.
8. Don't be the last one at the party. You know the one that never seems to get the hint that it's over and NEVER leaves.
9. Do not talk business. This is a holiday party. I don't give a shit about the project we have spent all week/month working on. I'm trying to have a good time, you can help with that by talking about anything besides work.
10. This has got to be the biggest rule and I saved it for last for a reason. Do NOT hit on a co-worker you wouldn't hit on sober (refer to rule 7 if you find you are no longer sober) nor, should you leer or slobber over a co-worker's husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend. You will get caught at it and you can't say I'm sorry.

5 weird habits

Tagged by Annalis

Rules:
The 1st player of this "game" starts with the topic "5 weird habits of yourself" and people who get tagged need to write a blog entry about their 5 weird habits as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose the next 5 people to be tagged and list their names.

1. I always eat my sandwiches starting on the right side half. I never eat the left portion first.
2. The clock in my car is set about 18 minutes fast. It annoys the crap out of my friends, but I'm rarely late.
3. I must lay on my right and left side and then back to the right before I can fall asleep.
4. I keep my domicile 68 degrees, or less, year round.
5. I cannot sit with my back to a door.

Tag yourself if you want to play.

Check your fragile ego at the door

I often find during my creative process for design projects, munching a burger or a coke, or even driving in rush hour that I have gentle or even sometimes magnificent leaps of creative thought. As Stephen King once noted, a good writer can't tell you where an idea came from. Nor, can a most other creative people explain the creative process any better than a writer.

Some creative people call it intuition. It just feels right. Many people who don't feel they are creative must then by association with this theory lack intuition. I wonder if that is the case. I've been in brainstorming sessions with hundreds perhaps thousands of different people in my professional career. I've seen people who claim not to have a single 'creative bone' in their body come up with remarkable leaps of imagination and solve business crisis' with grace and aplomb. Is it simply a different kind of creativity? Branded differently?



I've been accused of being to creative and in need of reigning in many times in my past. Guilty as charged. I seem to have a zest for new fresh invigorating ideas. I don't care for the words, "you can't do that". If fact, those words are often the basis for me doing just that. Question the status quo, imagine the impossible, then try to achieve it. Only as you die gloriously aflame will you know in your heart that you gave it your best shot. If you never skinned your knees as a kid, I submit that you never experienced childhood. If you never fall down as an adult, I submit that you live in fear of trying or even worse, fear of success.

Being creative doesn't make me better than anyone else. It doesn't make me smarter or better looking. What it makes me is a risk taker. The one willing to dare. AUDACITY. What a fantastic word. Serve yourself up a cup and go forth and be audacious for a day. Hell, do it for a week. If you aren't dead yet, go for a month. In 30 days, come back and tell me what you achieved. Stand up and make a statement for yourself. Lock fear outside instead of inside. Let it howl to return safe and sound to your breast. Sneer at it and refuse. 30 days. That's all I ask.

Modern day Walter Mitty?

I'm not really the stealing kind of person, but I've had this bizarre desire to steal something since I was a teenager. A particular thing. Something you wouldn't really know what to do with. You certainly wouldn't have a place to put it. It's large, it's bulky, it's highly visible. Not an object you would have an easy time just making off with and no-one being the wiser.

What is this marvelous thing? A beer truck. Yes, the mid-size beer deliery truck you see on the streets on a regular basis. The one with the angeled sides. Hmm... nice cold beer in basically unlimited quantities. How great of a party could you throw with your very own beer truck? Why, you could even go find some homeless folks and dole them out a nice supply to tide them over for the holidays as well. lol

Now, I'm not a huge beer drinker. I have no idea where this strange urge comes from, but I don't think I've ever seen a beer truck in my adult life I didn't imagine driving away in. It's not a complulsion, I'll never actually do the deed, but I'll keep thinking about it. Beeeeer. Even on a freezing cold day, the bright images and the years of marketing come to bear. Change my whole Latitude. Indeed. Anyone with me? How about a nice cold beer from my little truck here? You know you want one... Come on, the first one's free. heh heh

Self diagnosis

I've lived long enough to know my body pretty well. I usually know what is wrong with it when it's not working properly. I've been sick for the last week. I called the Dr. yesterday in resignation that prescription drugs were going to be required to get back on track. A little prescription for a powerful decongestant and an antibiotic to kill the sinus infection.

I don't enjoy taking medicine to begin with. I fear that the more meds I ingest the less likely my body is to fight on it it's own in the future. It's a slippery slope. On one hand, you want to win the battle on your own, on the other, you want to be better. So, I made the call. Guess what? Prescriptions for antibiotics require a doctors visit.

The doctor isn't going to personally observe that you have an infection. I've never once in my life had a Dr. offer a spittoon or cup for me to provide a sample to be examined. How do they know live in person that you have an infection? You tell them. So why can't you tell them on the phone? Two hours to get in to see a Dr. spend 3.5 minutes with them and walk out with what?

A $115 doctor bill for the visit and prescriptions for the very two meds I asked for on the phone. What I have must be going around pretty well. The Dr. I saw had seen 15 people with the same problem earlier in the day. Hmmm... 15 x 3.5 is what? Close to an hour? So for an hour of work, they raked in over $1500. I'm not even going to comment on that.

Bottom's up. Mud in your eye. Cheers. Salute. Etc... OK, horse pills swallowed, I can get on with my day.

The ugly stick

I heard the line long ago, but I find it truer than true even today. Perhaps it applies even more to women than it does men. 'Fashion is something so ugly, it must be changed every six months'.

It's true. I'm not talking about style, which never goes out, but fashion. The current trend of the day in which people clothe their bodies in. Striped shirts for men are the big thing right now. I'm sure in a year, I will have a good selection of clothes that will will be highly collectable in a retro/vintage fashion shop in 30 years. Ah, I see you've got an excellent selection of '04-'06 vintage stripes sir. We'd be happy to either buy them outright or put them up for consignment for you.

Yes, I can see it now. The beautiful Green and White diagonal strip shirt that has about an 70% record for getting me laid. The pink and brown vertical stripe from Banana Republic. (Is there an age limit to shopping there? I definitely see people older than me in there, but as my stylist told me today, I 'do have a lot of premature gray hair'. For now, since I'm still getting carded on a regular basis I'll continue to shop there (or at least browse as I did today)). Then there is the wondrous dagr brand french cuff shirt I managed to pick up somewhere along the way and have only found excuses to wear twice. I'm sure in 30 years, it'll be helping some hipster kid score more than it's helped me, but whatever.

So what is on the horizon of fashion next? Paisley has been cropping up in a big way of late. But I'm thinking it's going to be a trend toward plain. Back we will go to the clean simple looks. Levi's instead of Lucky jeans and those hand painted and baubled denims. White cotton oxfords in solid colors. Perhaps even the little horse ala Polo will be in again. Who knows. But if you can peg it first, you too can be fashionable. I wish you luck. Oh, did you see those sweet kicks...

Cold hard machine

Once when I was in college, I was working on a team project and discovered what some of my peers thought of me. The actual situation isn't important compared to the memory of what was said.

After pointing out a hole in a set of logic, one girl, exasperated, turned to me and said, "Do you ever make mistakes? You are like a machine."

I paused to consider her statement. Then responded, "Yes, I make mistakes all the time. But I try to fix them before they become problems. You just never see them."

I think about that conversation 14 years later more than I should. I was known as wildly creative, yet machine like. I have a problem connecting these two vastly different concepts in my mind. I wonder if I'm still seen that way. Am I a machine? So rigid in my search for perfection that I find disappointment or create expectations in others minds that they cannot hope to meet? I hope not, but I wonder...

A new challenge

Have you ever taken on a challenge you didn't think you could master? Something really big. Like signing up to run a marathon or taking a vacation by yourself, or climbing a mountain? Once upon a time in a mind that very miserable, I decided to take on a personal challenge. I decided I was going to ride a bike 350-miles in 4 days.

Now, the facts at the time I made this decision are as follows. I hadn't done anything remotely physical other than 12 ounce weight lifting in 3 years. I didn't own a bike. I didn't have a training partner. I didn't know anyone else that was going to do the ride.

Daunting. Yes. Impossible? No.

I signed up for the ride in January. (Still without a bike.) Bought a bike in Feb. and spent the next 4 months training for the ride. My first 20-mile ride nearly killed me. How would I do it 17.5 times? What have I done?

On day three of the event as I rode the last mile to camp, I was overcome with a sense of accomplishment. I knew I was going to finish the whole event. No longer a couch potato, I wasn't really an athlete either, but as I finished the ride, I knew I wasn't the same person I'd been when I started the ride. I became a new me. A kinder, more caring, more thoughtful person. I raised over $8,000 for AIDS charities in the process of my training. Something else I'd never done was fundraise. Turns out I'm really good at it.

So, my question to you. What is stopping you from trying that thing you've always wanted to do? Make the commitment, I promise you won't be sorry. Life is what other people do while you are planning yours. Isn't it time to live?

Lumps of coal

The funny thing about Christmas is the commercialism ... I worked retail for several years in my 20s. Both full time and part time. I watched people come in and buy all kinds of stuff for people without a care in the world whether they would like it. I sold men's clothes at a somewhat exclusive store. People would come in. "Bob's wardrobe is so drab, let's get him some colorful sweaters." You try to talk these people out of it, but they buy it anyway. Bob walks in the day after Christmas to return the stuff. You see, Bob dresses blah because he likes it. And so many people fail to think about the personality they are buying a gift for. My favorite line at the Holidays when people were searching for a gift, was - How much do you love them? "Oh, about $50 worth." LMAO I was always cracking up inside.

Even the Peanuts Christmas special is laced with commentary on the commercialization of Christmas. Lucy wants land. Charlie's sister wants money - tens and twenties. When you go back to the office after Christmas, people will ask you (and you'll ask others) "Was Santa good to you this year?" "Yeah, I got 5 lumps of coal," is my answer this year.

Follicle challenges

I'm so psyched tonight. It seems in my mind lately that hair is the bane of my existence. As men age, it seems that hair sprouts from formerly hairless places, grows thinner in places you had it before and it's generally accepted that sometime in your life, it starts to shift color on you.

So hair where it didn't used to be. Can anyone say ears? Nose? Why in the hell would hair grow out of your ears? Did I not wash well enough as a child? Is this the fated 'potato' growing in my ear in a new form? Was potato simply a euphemism for hair growing out of your ears? I'll be honest, when I try out a new stylist, he or she gets rated on the attention they pay to trimming my ear hair. Do they just do the outside, or do they delve into that first little canyon and mow all of it down?

And the nose. I mean, as a 20 something, hair in the nose was non-existent. Now, said hair requires regular trimmings to keep up with the growing lawn. Granted, the stylist doesn't go there (and frankly who would want them to. That's just Ewwww on so many levels.) Minor detail, I admit, but it does consume grooming time.

Eyebrows... how is it that once placid eyebrows that needed no maintenance suddenly sprout into half inch long weeds that ruin the perfect silhouette your eyebrows once had. Nice, smooth lines have given way to craggy peaks and dips.

Then we have hair on the back of our necks. This little fuzz hair that serves no purpose, yet looks like you put Miracle Grow on it and it's sprouting in 10 different angles.

Going bald? Too bad, hope your head is shaped right. My hair has been thinning above my temples for years, but it can't seem to quite get there. Balding? Nope, I'm still in an ice age slow recession of the hairline. It's like watching a slow motion retreat of armies long gone. Orderly, peaceful, depressing. Almost so gradual you can't see it yourself. Then you look at old pictures. Hmm... no wonder I don't like my picture being taken. No pix, no evidence, no retreat. Sweet.

Color shift. I have silver hair coming in at my temples. Or is it white? In the right light, it's quite magnificent. You should see it, but you might be blinded by the light.

So why am I so psyched? Did I get a hair color? A laser treatment? A Wax? Nope. I got a professional hair clipper. You know, the nice quiet kind that is uber sharp that your stylist uses on you? Yes, that one. Cordless, complete with three blades (OK, I had to buy the third one, but at least I have a spare for the main blade I'll be using. No more worrying if the stylist got all the nasty ear hair.

No more fumbling with a super size Conair clipper that cost $13.95 at CVS. You know the kind. Loud as hell. Resembles what the army barbers use to make 18 year old men bald at boot camp. (Why is it that women want equality in the military, but don't have to shave their heads? Post for another time.) This is a small graceful clipper that fits just right in your hand. Easy to maneuver with a T shaped blade to get into those nooks and cranny's. And it's quiet. I can hardly wait to trim my goatee. The damn thing only needs to charge for another 12 hours and I'm in clipping nirvana.

Letter to the automotive industry

Dear engineers,

I'm writing today on behalf of the lazy people of the world whom drive your cars. Well, honestly, I'm writing on behalf of myself. See, I have this issue with car horns. Why do they sound so crappy. Horns serve varying purposes, and thus, I feel they should have different sounds available. This could be accomplished through multiple choice buttons to push.

Button 1 - This should be a nice pleasant chirp of some kind. Loud enough to get attention, but not an angry sound. For use when the idiot in front of you forgets to look up at the light and go when it turns green. Hey, buddy, let's go here... I got places to go and people to do...

Button 2 - Less pleasant than 1. A little longer and perhaps a little annoying. For use when you are the 3rd car in line and both the idiots in front of you aren't paying attention. Hey, dumbasses... it's the long pedal on the right.

Button 3 - For the guy who drifts into your lane. A nice long rude sound. Like the Effer just got slapped by his mama. Hey, jackass, wake up and pick a lane. Preferably, not the one I'm in.

Button 4 - For the guy who cuts you off in traffic. Augmentation of the visual sign you are sending. A long, loud rude sound. Something that makes him feel like someone just smeared feces on him and then laughed at him.

Button 5 - Especially for those who fail to yield or are creeping up the freeway entrance ramp at 35 MPH below traffic speed. This horn will play in conjunction with visual signals (often with both hands) and verbal accusations that his parents were never married and that he may have had sexual relations with the woman he calls mother.

Or course you may choose to leave the main horn button as is in every vehicle for those moments that none of the previous buttons addresses so that drivers may improvise like a jazz musician.

Thank you for your consideration in this matter. I look forward to your newest models and the increased communication these horns will introduce among our drivers.

Warmest regards,

Mad Munkey

Moo juice

OK, so I mixed two kinds of moo juice to have my morning cereal today. Come on, don't look at me like that. You'd have done it too. It's not like I blended wine from two different bottles together. No mixing my own blends of wine in this house. Definitely not.

Not only were the moo vintages different, they were entirely different brands of milk. One organic, one not so organic. To tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, the stuff tasted like milk to me. Skim milk. I don't know why I quit drinking real milk, I think I had some girlfriend in the past that had something against real whole milk and I just got used to drinking skim. So, the bottom line is that the cereal went down fine. I haven't imploded (or exploded for that matter) yet, so it must be OK.

Did I ever tell you about the time I blended Cool-Aid and milk? My very first bloody brain. LMAO. I must have been like 5-6. I was at camp. They had a dispenser that had the big 6 gallon milk bags and another one with Cool-Aid. We only got one glass and I wanted milk and Cool-Aid. So I did it. I mixed them. The stuff looked just like a bloody brain. Nasty. Cherry Cool-Aid. It actually tasted pretty good as I recall. (Not that you could pay me money to drink that concoction today.) I'll blend the moo juice together with another vintage of cow, but I draw the line with Cool-Aid and milk.

As long as we are on the subject, do you prefer white cow or brown cow? As in regular milk or Chocolate? I recently had a craving for chocolate milk (probably the first in 15 years). I quenched it with a bottle of premixed Nesquik (that rabbit still ain't dead). Wow. yummy stuff. Here's the weird thing though. The expiration date on a half gallon of milk is usually a week or two in the future. The Quick? Nearly the end of January. OK - two months and the milk isn't going to spoil? Uh, just what are they doing to this milk to make it 'healthy' for that kind of duration? I'm a little freaked out. If I die unexpectedly, check for brown cow poisoning. (Or the blended cow too. You never know.)

Endurance

The mental lash flickers like fire
Invisible pain rendered real
Alone... tormented, reviled
Human excrement to be cast off
Bound to impotence in self loathing
Where is the scourge to draw blood
Simple satisfaction in it's reality
Crimson drops coursing down my body
Again and again I draw the coiled venom
Across withering skin the bite is deep
Acceptance, willingness, resignation