Yo Wassup G-Spot!

Good news, I found the G-spot. Turns out we’ve been looking in the wrong place, it’s actually located at the intersection of Route 206 and Monmouth Road just outside of Mt. Holly, New Jersey! For the record, “topless” is not spelled “t-a-p-a-s” – Boy, was that ever an embarrassing discovery!

First, a quick hats off to Carrie Rubin of The Write Transition for bringing this nugget of medical news to my attention.  Apparently, a physician in Poland claims to have located the exact location of the infamous “G-spot” of an 83 year old deceased woman during the dissection of her remains.

OK – now go back and re-read that last sentence over again and explain how any card-carrying wise-ass could fail to find at least 20 good jokes in there.  To Ms. Rubin’s credit, she merely used the G-Spot reference as a teaser to get lots of us readers all charged up, then quickly changed her topic to something much more family friendly.  She does that a lot, and I fall for it every time.  Her recent post about periods turned out to be a discussion of punctuation!  She’s a crafty one!

For the righteous and snooty among you, the following attempts at humor will be about dead people, Polish people, sexual topics and worse.  If you don’t have the stomach for it, just hit “like” and go thumb through the Readers’ Digest over there on the coffee table while us grown-ups share a few ribald laughs!

Here now, in no particular order, are 20 quips about the story.

20.  The article fails to mention that the physician has been looking for this particular patient’s G-spot since she was 32 years old.

19. The article also fails to mention that it was actually another woman’s G-spot, and no one thought to look for it in an 83 year old woman in the morgue.

18. The “physician” was actually a confused, near-sighted veterinarian looking for a missing Schnauzer named Mitzi, and like most of us, he found the G-spot quite by accident.  Mitzi’s whereabouts remain unknown.

17. Sadly, when she died, she took the recipe for ice cubes with her, and now Poland must drink its vodka warm.

16. The physician, in an interview, replied to one reporter’s question by answering “Well actually, her toes were already curled before we started the dissection.”

15. The woman’s grieving husband stated he didn’t care so much about the location of the G-spot, but he wondered where she left the checkbook.

14. The physician, when questioned about his skills as an anatomist, stated that he did in fact know his ass from his elbow.

13. There have been no confirmations of pre-production talks for “Sex and the City – Krakow Nights”.

12. G-spot or not, she’s still frigid.

11. Great! Found my G-spot just in time for purgatory!

10. Ironically, the woman was not Dr. Ruth Westheimer, who despite being 83, is very much alive, (and with a few shots of peppermint schnapps might have shown the physician right where to look).

9.  Upon discovering the G-spot, the doctor yelled “Eureka!” at which the point the cadaver said, “Whaddya expect?  I’m dead!”

8. There have been no confirmations that the physician had to employ a special device from “The Love Toy Connexion”.

7. Stiff anti-smoking laws prevented the doctor and his subject from sharing a cigarette afterwards on hospital property.

6. There have been no confirmations that the male dominated review board of the Polish Journal of OBGYN had plans to issue a statement which essentially states “Who cares?”

5. The Polish physician admitted that he had located the G-spot earlier, but was confused because it was marked with an “X” in the text books and not a “G”

4. Shortly after locating the G-spot, the doctor became distracted by soccer highlights on a nearby TV, lost it and had start looking all over again.

3. The doctor’s wife, when reached for comment stated “No way, not MY Stosh!  He’s too busy practicing medicine to ever find a G-spot!”

2. Turns out there’s no correlation between G-spots and liver spots.

1. The physician reported that he would have found the G-spot years sooner, but every time he’d gotten close, he’d finish up and fall asleep.

Alright, it turns out that I’m nearly as guilty as Ms. Rubin on the false advertising accusation, as those 20 were not all good jokes.  Please, gentle readers, feel free to give me a one liner of your own.   Don’t forget to unclick the comment email notification box, or suffer the wrath of receiving emails about all 5 comments I’ll be getting.

R.I.P. Skippy! We miss you!!

Let me start this with a disclaimer.  While many people close to me know I’m not the world’s biggest pet lover, I understand that even the most cynical among us get attached to our pets.  When they pass away (see I didn’t say “die” – I’m sensitive that way), we miss them and mourn them like they were members of the family – because they were (kind of like that odd, flatulent aunt who sleeps on the floor in the sun and sniffs at herself).

Okay, that’s out of the way.

Just outside of the frame on the left, the Yeti was coming. Too fast, too hungry, too sad.

I re-activated my Facebook account to try to build my blog readership.  Self-serving, I know, but it’s Facebook – not the Little Sisters of the Poor.  In truth, the account was never deactivated, it will be active forever.  You can’t kill a Facebook account, believe me, I’ve tried.

I found the world of Facebook to be chugging right along without me.  When I suddenly reappeared on the site after more than a year away, there was no fanfare of trumpets or any such big deal.  Many of the same people who were posting what they had for breakfast or other such trivial blathering, were right there where I’d left them.  They were gloating about having just eaten the best bowl of steaming oatmeal known to man (Allow me to take a brief moment to “Like” Jimmy’s Diner in Newark, Delaware, home of the famous Bottomless Bowl of the World’s Best Oatmeal).

While I know I can’t change the way people use FB, I’ll be damned if I’m not going to make fun of some of the nonsense I see on there.

Today I went on and found the usual suspects, playing games and yakking about their grand kids, their breakfasts, their spiritual journeys and their grand kids’ breakfasts and/or spiritual journeys.  One post I saw caught my eye.  A friend of a friend (who wasn’t actually my friend), had posted something.  The adage about “any friend of so-and-so is a friend of mine” doesn’t apply to online friends in my humble opinion.  This person’s being a friend of a friend makes it permissible for me to find fault with how they live their FB lives, without actually insulting them, since they don’t know me.

Got it?

Not so??

Well, deal with it, because I’m doing it anyway.

Where was I?

This person posted that they missed their dog, who had passed away a year ago today.  They wrote something along the lines of “R.I.P. Skippy! We miss you!”.  I won’t bore you with a lengthy philosophical discussion about the canine afterlife.  Suffice to say that, as a hopeless romantic, I can only hope that doggie heaven is filled with rolling meadows, unlimited tennis balls and no shortage of decomposing possums to roll around in.  Come to think of it, I may have just stumbled upon what possum hell is like.  Further discussion of possum hell will have to wait for another post.

One thing I know with an egotistically high degree of certainty is this; even in doggie heaven, dogs can’t read.  Even if they could read, they would have a hard time getting the computer to go to Facebook – paws just don’t work that way.  I know this is getting increasingly far-fetched – yuk yuk!  Even if they could read, get onto Facebook and follow their former masters without technically friending them, why the hell would they?  I thought doggie heaven was filled with old slippers to gnaw on and various unlimited butts to sniff.  If Skippy has the option to be chasing squirrels and Buicks with Old Yeller and Rin Tin Tin, why in the world would you want him tied to a computer following you on Facebook?!  Your poor, deceased Schnauzer-mix is finally off the leash and running wild in doggie heaven and you’re tethering him to the laptop like the rest of us?!  You cruel bastard!

It doesn’t help your case that Skippy knows you went out and got that new puppy 3 months after he went onto the big kennel in the sky.  Did you think he’d see your R.I.P. note from doggie heaven and not see those cute puppy snap-shots you posted a few months back?  A Labra-doodle?!  Seriously?!  Skippy is barely cold and you went out and got that bitch?!

I hope you’re happy with yourself.  It’s people like you who are causing a huge upswing in dog-related poltergeists in this world and the afterworld.  Poor Skippy, he’s spinning in his grave out behind the garage right now. Rest in peace, my ass!