Three Reasons Not to Suicide:

1)  You’ll spoil your record of perfect attendance.  You’ve been alive since you were born. Even when you’ve been knocked out cold you were still alive.  You’ve survived chicken pox, the dentist, learning how to ride a bike, maybe even had sex once or twice.  If you kill yourself, that all gets wiped out.

 

2)  Death is not an escape.  You know how life works, it’s the same shit over and over again in different packaging.  Do you really think the Designer of so nefarious a world would provide such an easy way out?  Have you ever tried getting out of a cell phone contract?  It doesn’t have to be the threat of a fiery Hell to stick around either:  you could come back to earth, only with a smaller penis, or as a Siamese twin, sharing a smaller penis.

 

3)  Death is guaranteed.  No one ever got to the ticket window and heard, “I’m sorry, we’re all out of death.”  Death is coming anyway, why pay extra for 2-day shipping?  God only kills happy people.  Make Him do the work.

 

 

There you have it, three reasons not to suicide.  Not very good reasons, but some kind of lubricant is always better than none.

From May 2014

Heart of Dentist

I’m somewhat ashamed to admit it’d been six years since I’d visited a dentist, and of those six years, there was an entire year I even had insurance but never quite got around to going, not due to fear (I broke my front teeth in a bike accident when I was a kid, so I’m used to dentistry) but sheer laziness.

After making an appointment a month ago, this morning I finally went in.

The cavity filling took only a half hour, but time in a dentist’s chair is measured by eternities; I’d say three or four passed. The Doc, who looked like a friendly, White, Toxic Avenger, swabbed the gumline to numb it before the needle. There’s nothing ironic about numbing the area for a needle which will then numb the hell out of everything.

“Slight pinch and some pressure,” lied Doc Tox. I tried to relax but there was little need: Doc was a pro, and should be since he looked like he was about 85. I barely felt the needle.

The entire right side of my face went numb. Three hours later it still is. I wondered if it drooped like Tom Cruise’s face in Minority Report…I was too scared to look in a mirror. Here came the hooks and drills, not bad at all. Non-metallic filling was injected and zapped a few times by a blue laser. The female assistant did a good job with the saliva-sucking wand.

Now the cleaning, done by a pleasant Asian woman. “It’s mostly going to be at the gumline,” she said. Silently I thanked the gods for the continuing numbth of the needle. Her drills sounded like whining puppies and screeching banshees and rattled my skull. Her suction wasn’t as good, one time I coughing up a wellspring of thick saliva and blood, drooling because of the numbing agent. She wiped my teeth with a cloth and it came away red. I imagined what the drainpipes under the building look like, converging in a River Styx of blood, drool, gum tissue and powdered tooth.

Riding the storm of splash, drill and suck I thought of grainy black-and-white 1950s films about primitive dentistry and felt lucky and thankful for Now, but also jealous of the future, when teeth would be replaced by nanotech-grown diamonds that never got cavities.

Sometimes while scraping and probing her sliver of a metal hook, the Asian Sweetheart would strike a nerve and I would see God, laughing. If I could focus on writing the way hook and nerve triggered complete and profound focus on pain, I’d be able to write an entire novel every day. I wrote several in that chair.

If this treatment works, I’ll have cheated all those times I should’ve flossed!!

Not so. Not so.

Finally it ended. I rinsed with a sweet liquid and my teeth were swabbed with something like toothpaste, only stronger.

“Leave that on. No food or drink for half and hour.”

The Asian Sweetheart showed me a printout for the additional work I’d require in the coming months, totaling almost two grand (!!) and that for just fighting periodontal disease, not fancy stuff like bridgework or retractable fangs. She told me there’s a connection between plaque on teeth and a plaque buildup in the heart. Next time, I thought, I’ll have to break the news that my heart’s shot anyway.

“Aren’t you going to scold me for not flossing?”

She smiled–her teeth were perfect, of course–and told me I should already know better.

I set up the next appointment and when I got to my car I finally looked at my face. It didn’t work right, my upper lip looked normal but felt bee-stung like Angelina Jolie’s and the right half of my face was numb, the muscles totally slack. Thankfully no one would be able to tell.

I went to the supermarket and filled the scrip she gave me for a rinse, the bottle warning THIS MEDICINE MAY STAIN TEETH.

For crying out loud, could it at least stain them white? I tossed the rinse in the back with the box of cupcakes.

I admired my poor teeth in the car again. With years of neglect drilled and blasted away the visible black gaps between them returned. I sighed and started the car. Somewhere I’d read: Caring costs, but not caring always costs more. I would have to start flossing again, diamond-teeth be damned.

The Dentist has such sights to show you

Went to the dentist for the first time in 7 years.

At one point during the last decade I was near-broke and living in my car. Flossing was the last fucking thing on my mind, though I’ve brushed my teeth twice a day every day for decades and had no problems or pain.

During my recent visit I was prepared to tell anyone wearing a smock, should they scold me for not flossing, to fuck off. This stems from a childhood dental experience where the bitch assistant asked if I flossed. When I replied in the affirmative she said, with deadly tone, “I don’t like liars.”

Fucking cunt.

I don’t hate the dentist like it is claimed most people do. I broke my two front teeth in a bike accident when I was 12, so I’m plenty familiar with dental work. My sole superpower is having no nerves in my two front teeth, which enables me to fearlessly bite into ice cream.

I fear nothing at the dentist’s office but the hair-thin needle they use to inject Novocain in the roof of the mouth, the irony being the worst pain of all is done in the name of numbing the area.

After I established my insurance status with the broads up front (one had a faint mustache) a fat-assed, professionally pleasant blonde led me to the back.

“So, did you eat any candy for Halloween?”

Jesus Christ, am I that unfuckable? Did she see me reading Highlights magazine in the waiting room? (“Goofus doesn’t use his napkin. Gallant slits the throats of squealers for the drug cartels”).

“Aren’t you guys and candy natural enemies?”

The blonde, who looked like a giant blueberry in her dark scrubs, did not laugh but took 15 x-rays. I don’t why the little cards used as a backdrop for firing the x-ray machine have razor-sharp edges, but after all these years they’ve never improved them. Whenever I bit down my eyes watered and I gagged. I’d make a lousy cock-sucking faggot.

The blueberry blonde finished doing her thing and left me waiting in the chair. When she returned with the x-rays I quickly sat up.

“The chairs are uncomfortable, aren’t they?”

“No chair is comfortable with a drill attached to it.”

The dentist was bald and had a strong handshake. His last name sounded like Zabzubab. I liked that, figuring anyone enduring endless roll calls in school with a last name beginning with Z was better at waiting patiently and thus could learn more.

Zabzubab briefly poked around with the tools…wherever the needle-like hook poked my swollen gums pain roared LOUDLY like a stack of stadium amps but with excruciating precision…I enjoyed it. Nothing like the dentist to make you understand the paradox of Pinhead from the Hellraiser flicks. (Who are dentists anyway? “Demons to some. Angels to others”).

Overall the Doc was pleased with my teeth, though of course I have a shitload of plaque…and three “small” cavities. The thing I don’t get about cavities is, the evil bacteria or whatever eats these holes, but they fill them up with an amalgam that the bacteria can’t destroy. Seems like you’d want some starter cavities in order to be made into a better cyborg.

I visit Dr. Zabzubab in a month for the official cleaning and fillings. I asked the girls at the front desk if my new fillings would be cream or chocolate. Mustache-girl quickly answered, “Chocolate!” while the cuter girl just grinned. I have no chance with either.

Cake beats steroids like paper covers rock

I keep seeing “hits” for my few posts about Androgel, a prescribed low-dose topical testosterone. I’m awaiting the results of the latest blood test, since the readings are thrown off for anyone even a slight bit overweight. I don’t expect to be diagnosed with low “T”.

I’ve learned since that Androgel isn’t worth a damn for bodybuilding anyway, the dosages are pathetically small.

Other problems abound.

The body adapts to the influx of T. When you first start taking Androgel there might be a surge of some kind, but in order to see real muscle gains T levels would have to keep rising and we all know regular prescriptions don’t rise like that. And like I wrote before somewhere around here, ‘roid hulks inject 200 times the normal amount of T per week. You’d have to fill a bathtub with Androgel to even come close to that.

With T from an outside source, the body stops making its own, which makes you totally dependent on a chemical your body makes for free; no good unless you really need it.

Scariest of all, testosterone aromatizes into estrogen…the hardcore hulks at the gym that know better take massive doses of estrogen-blockers on top of the ‘roids…very hard on the liver.

I hope no one’s coming here seeking health advice, I have none with the exception of “eat right and exercise.”

Personally, BFL aka Body-For-Life has yielded results for me, its effectiveness limited only by my love of Swiss cheese and cake.

Two workouts in one day – yeah right, blanco nino

Of course I didn’t get up and go the gym this morn before work…that’s insanity. But I did have a delightful workout in the evening.

Much to my amazement, arriving just a half-hour early made a huge difference…only 3 or 4 jerks were in the gym and they soon left, leaving me with thousands of square feet of space to myself. I put them to good use.

I’ve been super-pissed about gaining back some weight I’d lost…to my credit it took a lot of “work” to gain it back…whole pizzas and hamburgers and shakes over a week of lying there watching The Sniper Channel on Tivo.

By the end of October I hope to be a minimum of 10 pounds lighter. If I’m close, I could always cut off my head.

Update:  A few months later I did workout twice in one day.  Overrated.  Ha ha ha 

Bruce Banner gives up (for now)

My “experiment”with Androgel, using small-dose gel packs, was halted two days ago, after I saw the endocrine doc.  He’s a hell of a nice guy and beyond even Jeopardy-smart.

 Here’s what he said.

“There are two types of testoserone.  Total testosterone is bound to plasma proteins, and in people who are even a little bit overweight, that total testosterone will go down because the sex hormone-binding globulin (SHBG) is decreased.”

(I don’t know what he’s talking about exactly…but I understand the implications…read on…)

“If free testosterone (level) is normal, giving testosterone would not be a good thing because your body can aromatize it to estrogen.”

That’s all I had to hear to quit.  Only now am I learning more about steroids.  I don’t plan to use any that aren’t legal, but if that bitch Mother Nature is short-changing me, I want my due of testosterone. 

Hope this information helps someone who didn’t know it before.  Behold the power of internets! 

I’m Bruce Banner!

I acquired a supply of topical testosterone gel. The individual gel packs are a very low dose, only 5mg. However, the male body produces only 7-10mg per day, and I have tested low.

Intarweb info is worthless but at least it’s varied:

Hardcore bodybulders deem the gel ineffective for serious gains. These goons inject anabolic steroids in their butts, at least 33mg a day.

The gel is not good long term because it shuts down natural testosterone production.

Gel can (possibly) “enhance skeletal muscle mass by stimulating the muscle protein synthesis rate”.

My conclusion–at this juncture–is WTF, go ahead and try it. If anything, it will “keep me honest” and working out every day. I’m seeing my own doc in a few days (the one who ran the test-o-tests) so if he discommends any testosterone replacement (or in this case, a return to normal levels, what nature OWES me) then I’ll certainly stop.

For now I’ve got a small window to test results.

It’s not steroids, it’s justice.

Here at Meatlights I’ve christened all health-related posts for the Hit Points Category.

That said, I used to play Dungeons & Dragons as a kid but not religiously or seriously.

D&D greatest lesson for me was discovering that it’s damned near impossible even for 9-to-15-year-olds to share 4 hours of uninterrupted time free of outside distractions; this only gets worse as you grow older.

D&D also introduced the concept of Hit Points. Wikipedia, that glorious mecca for cut-n-paste losers, charlatans and the intellectually slothful, explains hit points this way:

Hit points, also known as health points, life points, HP, damage points, life bar, or just health (and countless other synonyms), are points used to determine a character’s health and show how much damage attacks deal in role-playing games, computer and video games and wargames.

I remember being amused as a yoot, reading an article in Dragon magazine about the estimated HP level of human non-characters (people in our “real world”). Our HP level hovers around a puny score of ‘8’ while role-played characters can have an almost infinite number…

——————

I’ve been struggling lately with my strength training, taking too many days off “in-between” when I’m supposed to be in that damned gym six days a week.

January 2007 I weighed at max 295…now at the end of September I weigh around 260, but with some decent muscle growth. Since I’m lifting as well as cardio’ing, I can only safely lose a max of 3lbs. per week. This way is better than crash diet/cardio-only exercise. I’ve made some great .  gains but want to do much better before the end of the year.

The routine does get boring as hell.

The worst, however, is since my gym’s renovation some months ago, membership has soared and the Asshole Factor has sextupled. The others around me in the gym piss me off so much I swear I’m going to wear out the heavy bag upstairs.

My biggest complaint about these roid-pussies, besides their mere presence, is that they saunter from machine to machine doing ONE set at a time, as if they were Tarzan and all the ‘chines were their personal vines. Circuit training my ass, they’re merely “maintaining” while I’m trying to get shit done!

I don’t like tanktopped apes flitting around me while I’m vulnerable lifting heavy weights…and the pricks just don’t seem to have any couth or courtesy. I allow them to get to me and it hampers my “performance” (gotta love quasi-gay gym-speak).

Today I lightly injured my shoulder and the overabundance of dickheads in there caused me to leave early (after whopping the crap out of the heavy bag).

That’s all I’ve got about the gym. Oh! A medical test has revealed my testosterone is one point low, so when I see the VA endocrinologist in mid-Oct, I’ll try to get some topical creme to make up for what I’m missing but deserve to have. It’s not steroids, it’s justice.