A Change Of Pace

You can live as long as Methuselah if . . .

By Steele Coddington | January 14, 2009

December and January have become dangerous months for your health and welfare. In that period of time the amount of superfluous advice dispensed to Americans on how they should conduct themselves in 2009 politically, medically, financially and mentally exceeds the advice disseminated by over 2.4 million Jewish mothers-in-law during the same period. It is also estimated that each piece of individual New Year’s advice surpasses the number of pills dispensed by Wal Mart and Walgreens combined, during what are the year’s greatest months for pill sales. December and January are considered “Super Pill sale months” by pharmacists, mainly for headaches caused by visiting relatives and barking dogs or wives hung-over from excessive football fatigue.

The same old, same old advice for the new year is always personal: How to be a new you; Lose that ugly tummy; Refuse to be a fatso; Improve your diet; Exercise more; Walk; Jog or run your way to happiness; Build happy muscles; Have more sex; Have less sex; Stop Smoking; Try Acupuncture; See a psycho-therapist; Buy a vibrator; Buy a Bow Flex; etc, etc, etc. Every one of those suggestions was an article extracted from a December or January magazine, newspaper or catalogue. Why does a footwear catalogue advertise a vibrator? Oh – my wife says “to stimulate your feet.” Hmmm – possibly a gift for a weirdo with a foot fetish.

Well probably the best advice according to my grandfather is to dump all that questionable health advice like you did your 2008 financial advisor who filed for bankruptcy after giving you investment advice all year. All those bank stocks he recommended that went down with your net worth. Ugh!

Grandfather has two solutions for 2009 that have worth. One is to drink more wine and bourbon and the other is to form habits that prevent germs. Regarding the latter, he likes the words of ancient Greek physicist Archimedes, considered the father of today’s phobia for sterile environments “A body immersed in water needs soap.” That is the gold standard for today’s health advice, embodied in his famous manifesto: “Wash thy hands dirt bag.”

After hands are washed, they should not touch another hand. Start thinking of shaking hands as a bacterial exchange – more unsanitary then coughing, sneezing, smooching or vacationing at a nudist colony for over a week.

The second great resolution, according to Saint Grandfather, to improve your mental health and welfare is to follow the words of the Apostle Paul in his first epistle to Timothy: “Drink no longer water but use a little wine for thy stomach’s sake.” He likes the famous words of Methuselah who proved beyond a doubt that “age improves with wine.” The good patriarch lived for 969 years alternating one day with bourbon and one day with wine. He never shook hands until his 969th birthday when he welcomed everyone at his party. That, ancient CSI surmised, was his first and last mistake, because it was in a time when hand sanitizers – and worse – toilet paper hadn’t been invented. His demise was attributed to unwashed hands. Oh dear and ugh!


The Preacher’s Son

An old country preacher had a teenage son, and it was getting time the boy should give some thought to choosing a profession.

Like many young men, the boy didn’t really know what he wanted to do, and he didn’t seem too concerned about it.

One day, while the boy was away to school, his father decided to try an experiment. He went into the boy’s room and placed on his study table four objects:
A Bible
A silver dollar
A bottle of whisky
And, a Playboy magazine.

“I’ll just hide behind the door,” the old preacher said to himself. “When he comes home from school this afternoon, I’ll see which object he picks up.”

“If it’s the Bible, he’s going to be a preacher like me and what a blessing that would be!”

“If he picks up the dollar, he’s going to be a business man, and that would be okay, too.”

“But, if he picks up the bottle, he’s going to be a no-good drunkard, and Lord, what a shame that would be.”

“And worst of all if he picks up that magazine, he’s going to be a skirt-chasing bum.”

The old man waited anxiously, and soon heard his son’s footsteps as he steps entered the house whistling, and headed for his room.

The boy tossed his books on the bed, and as he turned to leave the room, he spotted the objects on the table. With curiosity in his eye, he walked over to inspect them.

Finally, he picked up the Bible and placed it under his arm.

He picked up the silver dollar and dropped into his pocket.

He uncorked the bottle and took a big drink while he admired this month’s centerfold.

“Lord have mercy,” the old preacher disgustedly whispered. “He’s gonna run for Congress!”