Just Beachy...

Reptilius Wrinkilum, characterized by and resembling
shed snake skin, is an affliction shared by those
humans who don't look like pancake batter.

Add a little unwanted 'real estate' and behold--it's
a sight: Rippled layers of varnished, lizard-like skin
that appears to have been squashed by a Goodyear tire,
then stretched past the known capacity of nylon and spandex.
In other words, miles of beach-tanned, bikini-ed and
Speedo-ed torsos, frolicking back and forth under the
tropical Florida sun.

The men are a 'whisper' away from centerfold exposure.
The ladies prance along with dimpled, 'thonged' behinds--
looks like a Silly Putty convention...

I wore a swimsuit once, more of a flotation device--that,
when I began swimming, would billow out--much like
the inner tube I used to float on as a kid--drifting between
the pilings of the Santa Monica Pier...

Rising from the bathtub-warm waters of the Gulf, I
looked like a beached whale. Suddenly all the water
dumped out from my swimsuit--along with a slithery
Ramora I called Ramon--since it had clung to my ribcage
the entire time.

So now, bikini clad, I notice that I'm not far from being
in the select classification of Reptilius Wrinkilum--as I
enjoy the tropical outdoors. I'm also noticing that I need
to work out a little harder, too.
Gosh, that almond cookie was sooo good...
Sonia, I slipped...

Don't Kid Me!

Kidney beans, kidney pie, kidney stones--
whoa, not on my menu!
I've never had one of those excruciating
episodes and don't intend to.

I think my body is afraid to manufacture stones
since I hold my breath and swallow tablespoons
of raw, unfiltered apple cider vinegar during the day.
Gag me...

My son knows when something vile is crossing
my lips.
Sure isn't a candy bar...
The essence permeates from the kitchen to
where he's sitting a few feet away.

I've taken to a Dr. Weil and Dr. Oz way of good
health, for awhile now, side-stepping the amazing
bakery case at my favorite book store.

It's not always easy when I see a delicious apple
danish grinning back at me.
I figure it's either sacrifice something tasty and
live longer and healthier, or dunk into Donut Hole
Heaven, and eventually have hell to pay-- waddling
around like Cruiser, our resident duck...

I Have a Bone To Pick...

I'll have one Dino-Chicken with garlic mashed
potatoes, please.
Huh? How is it served up--rolled up to my table on a dolly?

It seems that a dino-chicken may be scientifically
created one day. A recent paleo-archaeologist discovered
a bone sticking out from a massive cliff face--a femur of
a very extinct dinosaur...60 million years old.
That's a lot of birthdays.

The find was so massive that an excavation crew was
brought to the site. The femur was broken into small
workable sections for removal.

Once back to the lab, the specimens were placed under
microscopes. What was discovered was active DNA :
thread-like, stringy blood vessels--and a gooey substance
from the femur's center--marrow.
How could that be?

So, I'm wondering, what will the scientists do with
this discovery? It's a scary thought to think that some
"mad" laboratory scientist could mix up a batch of hybrid dinosaurs.
Shades of a future Jurassic Park...?
Should Disney worry?

Will there be a super-chicken packaged in the poultry case?
Can I look forward to a super-sized roasting chicken,
instead of the paltry selection of scrawny rotisserie chickens
flashing their golden bony legs and flat chests?
One can only dream...