Supercrone’s Weblog

Outrageous Observations of a Wicked Old Broad

Health Care Update: U.S. Seniors Supported by Socialist Security!

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Every time I hear reports of the Healthcare Bookies’ (aka insurance companies) puppets spreading panic by yelling “socialism” in crowded theaters, I wonder how far up their asses they keep their heads.  Especially the older ones who are obviously collecting Social Security checks every month and are therefore also receiving Medicare benefits.  The irony of their appearances is positively jaw dropping:  they arrive at the meetings on their motor scooters, paid for by Medicare.  They glare at the speaker with cataract-free eyes, paid for Medicare.  They spit their lunatic imprecations through dentures paid for by Medicare.  And they yell, “Get out of my yard!” at the passersby whose taxes support the Social Security checks that pay the mortgage on that yard.

Who the hell do they think is sending those checks and paying those medical bills…the arthritis fairy?  Those checks are signed by the Secretary of the Treasury, people. The United States Government is picking up your tab, whether you want to believe it or not.  Furthermore, this benevolence is just part of the government’s insidious plan to…hang on, now…share the wealth!  They’re taking the taxes that we all pay and using those funds to take care of our elderly citizens and a small percentage of your other needy neighbors.

And that’s not all.  They’re also giving your money to the guys who build the roads and bridges that you drive on, pay the firefighters and police forces that protect you, support the mailmen who deliver your Hallmark cards, and take care of the armed forces who fight your battles.  Your money is supporting people you never met!! Doesn’t that just burn your wrinkled old hides?

And, much as I hate to extinguish the fire of your indignation, this is the way our government wants to help us all receive the health care we need.  The plan is simply to use our taxes to help each other.  No death panels.  No grandmas on ice floes.  No rationing.  They’re simply offering to pay our medical bills.  The bastards!

Moreover, if you think those taxes are going to drive you into poverty, you need to check your math.  No plan will expect you to contribute more than you can afford, or cause you any financial hardship.  Maybe a few billionaires will have to think twice about buying that third private jet, but in the main, our lifestyles will continue on their accustomed paths, with nary a ripple in our wallets.  In fact, those of you who are currently lining the pockets of the bookies and big Pharma will be saving money by placing lower bets and getting reasonable prices for your medications.

Of course, if you like giving those enormous premiums to bookies who are betting against you and will do their damnedest to welsh on their bets, go ahead and keep paying them!  Wait till they refuse to cover that hip replacement because of a pre-existing wrist fracture (since everybody knows the wrist bone’s connected to the hip bone…thank you, Stephen Colbert) and place even bigger bets with them.  Those of us who are secure in our social system won’t stop you from cutting your own throats.  Assuming, that is, you can reach them from that position.

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A message about Ruth

Hi all,

This is Jessie I am Ruth’s granddaughter,  she was admitted to the hospital tonight.  We are not entirely sure what is wrong with her but she is having tests done.  She was having a very hard time breathing, vomiting and had a 102 fever, they think she has an infection but there may be more.

I will let you know when I know.

Thank you

Jessie

A NEW NON-SECTARIAN SECT FOR NON-BELIEVERS

PREFACE:

Anyone who has ever met me knows I am rabidly anti-religion. Believing in the unbelievable, taking preposterous notions “on faith”, insisting that books written by people actually contain the words of some supernatural entity, are all anathema to me. The dogma and precepts of any organized religion strike me as both hilariously silly and dangerously evil. Eight-plus decades of questioning, thousands of days spent poring over “holy” books, infinite hours of introspection and reasoned thought have brought me to the conclusion that every religion, without exception, is an exercise in self-deception. The idea of an anthropomorphic entity existing somewhere “out there” who is responsible to and for the organisms that inhabit this tiny speck of space detritus is simply too juvenile to consider seriously. It is truly incomprehensible to me that anyone past the age of five actually buys into the myths and folk tales that comprise every known religion. And yet, the planet is overrun with deluded humans, determined to brainwash each other into accepting every outlandish tenet they can invent to answer the unanswerable questions put forth by a terrified life form that calls itself “mankind”.

 

Please understand that I am an equal opportunity scoffer; I hold no more breach for Islam, Judaism, Hinduism or any other ‘ism than I do for Christianity, so I don’t want to be gang-prayed by ANY of you. Of course, if you’re so consumed with self-righteous zeal that you can’t restrain yourselves, have at it.  I won’t delete your comments, but be prepared to be mercilessly mocked.

 

FACE:

My reasoned rejection of all manmade deities has caused a minor quandary, in that I have been unable to attach an acceptable label to my lack of “faith”. When pressed, I call myself an atheist, but this appellation has acquired so many negative connotations, piled upon it by the piously judgmental, self-righteous, god worshiping/fearing populace, I hesitate to use it without fear of trampling.

 

So, I have taken it upon myself to create a new religion. Its precepts are simple: we do not believe in the actual existence of any mythical creatures, including but not limited to:

1) The tooth fairy

2) The Easter bunny

3) Santa Claus

4) Leprechauns

5) Unicorns

6) Honest politicians

7) Bigfoot

8) Satan

9) Dragons

10) Gods

 

We do believe in reason, proven theories and our own senses and sensibilities. We know the difference between right and wrong, good and evil, morality and venality and we opt for open minds and open hearts. We take nothing at face value, but insist on finding our own answers to all the Important Questions. We do not pray for guidance; we look at a map. We do not ask an invisible father figure for help; we solve our own problems.  We do not live in hope or fear of an afterlife; we make the best use of the matter and energy that comprise us today. We do not erect ornate edifices to honor invisible deities; we build shelters for humans. We do not pay clergymen ten percent of our earnings to read us folk tales; we fund education. We know we are not sheep, herded by an unseen shepherd; we are individuals, each with his own mind, self-determined and self-actualized.

 

And now, because this is the time of year to dispose of old ideas and to usher in fresh beginnings, I present to you a brand new non-belief system. As the Founder and preeminent member, I have taken it upon myself to give it an eponymous name and invite all self-declared atheists to adopt the new nomenclature. Henceforth, all like-minded anti-religionists shall be known as

RUTHERANS.

 

EPILOGUE:

Applications for charter membership are now being accepted. Please sign up below.

HOW TO HAVE A REALLY JOLLY HOLIDAY

I apologize for not posting this before Thanksgiving, since it might have averted the inevitable sibling sniping, auntipathy, cousin cuss-out, granny griping and other relatively irritating behaviors that so often occur at family dinners. However, since next month is fraught with possibilities of similar mayhem, herewith is a surefire recipe for unsullied high spirits.

Serve whatever you like for dinner. As long as at least one dish is homemade and the Special Secret Ingredient is added, you and your guests are guaranteed to enjoy a memorable meal.

I hear the more mushy-minded among you whispering, “Oh, she means ‘love’…how sweet!” Others of a more realistic mindset will be thinking “booze”, which would be a dreadful mistake. Alcohol often has the opposite of the desired effect and, in my opinion, should be served sparingly, if at all, at family gatherings. Nothing puts a damper on festivities like Uncle Uggo falling face first into the flan or Cousin Lucky playing grab-ass with every passing human…and sometimes the family pet.

No, my dears. The never-fail, gut-busting laugh-making joy-generator is simply a fistful of homegrown, blendered to pepper consistency and mixed into, say, the turkey stuffing (so it infuses the entire bird). It’s equally efficacious as a seasoning in any cooked course, since heating seems to increase potency and effect, as well as giving any dish a giant boost in the delicious department. The fact is, even if your cooking is not exactly up to gourmet standards, guests will think it’s the most nectar-like food ever to pass their palates, so effective is the magic of the blessed herb.

At the risk of exposing myself to a visit from the local gendarmerie, I freely admit that this recipe has become a tradition at any family occasion to which I have access. Even faux family, such as the small American expat community of which I was a part when living abroad, has been treated to a Turkey Day to Remember (aptly enough, laced with product from Turkey, as I recall). Yesterday’s feast was no exception, and I am delighted to report it was as resounding a success as any that has gone before. A cousin I had not seen for sixty-some-odd years turned out to be one of the wittiest family members I ever met. Ten minutes after everyone’s plate was loaded, hilarity (and a couple of Depends changes) ensued and didn’t stop until the L-Tryptophan kicked in and everyone went home.

So, because we are approaching the season in which we are expected to spread joy, I am happy to divulge the seasoning assured to spread as much joy as you can swallow. Just remember: holidays are for sharing, so please don’t bogart the dressing.

SEX!

The following first appeared at Blogster.com, shortly after my 80th birthday. I republished it on Gather.com on my 81st. Now, several months after the 82nd anniversary of my birth, here it is again, at…um… what’s this place… iron out your thoughts? Mangle your sentences? Something like that….so, anyhow:

 

Now that I have your attention, what I really want to talk about is…. sex. I’ve discovered that, contrary to popular opinion, the carnal urge does not decrease with age. Even after a quad bypass, raging emphysema, sags and wrinkles where once there were lithe curves, I’m as lustful now as I was forty years ago.

Back then, men were as numerous as New York taxis and as easy to catch. As soon as one ride was over, there was always another waiting to pick me up, flag up and engine revving. It never occurred to me that they would one day stop running and slow down to a tottering walk.

Not that I couldn’t still nail some old geezer with the aid of a Viagra cocktail or two, but the very thought of touching one of those saggy bags of bones makes me gag. The fact is, no matter how old I get, prime man is still prime man (35-45) and he is the one who still catches my eye and jolts my libido. In other words, despite the depredations time has inflicted upon my corporeal body, the hot twenty-something girl who resides between my ears still rules my loins.

Unfortunately, the men who attract my attention don’t see her. What they see is just another anonymous old lady among the thousands of others who reside in America’s penis. If they do happen to glance my way, they either ignore me completely or ask if they can help me across the street, neither of which option is very satisfying. Evidently, drooling with desire is easily mistaken for drooling with senility.


I keep musing about “Harold and Maude”, deeply envious of the Ruth Gordon character, fully grasping the not-so-subtle subtext of the film. Unfortunately, the chances of finding my Harold are severely limited. I can’t exactly drive my scooter backwards down the street, trolling for boys, or even play grab-ass with the bag boy at Publix without fear of arrest. And even if I were lucky enough to find some hot kid with an unlimited sense of adventure, how could I expect him to undergo the trauma of finding himself on top of a dead lady, regardless of the smile on her face?


I used to think I wanted to die by being shot by a jealous wife, but now I think I just want to be screwed to death. Imagine the wonder of coming and going simultaneously! Sadly, I’m afraid I’ll never know. I’ve finally come to accept the fact that of all the aches, pains, losses and disappointments that accompany the aging process, knowing that I’ll never again feel a hard young body grinding against mine is the most difficult to accept.


So I gave myself a birthday present. I went to the dildo store, bought a lovely little device called a rabbit and named it “Harold”.

Wish me luck.

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