The Conservative Cave
Current Events => The DUmpster => Topic started by: franksolich on November 28, 2012, 02:57:45 PM
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This is actually a thread that belongs in the Health and Physical Fitness forum here on conservativecave, but as one might reasonably guess, the Las Vegas Leviathan, the Systematic Chaos primitive, doesn’t check out that forum here, lurking only here in the DUmpster.
The Las Vegas Leviathan recently whined that his bad feet keep him from looking for work, hence his sitting pat in a recliner in the first-class parlor car of the disability gravy train, his every need and whim being catered to by the taxpayers.
I forget the size of the Las Vegas Leviathan’s shoes, but ostensibly each of his feet occupy the same square footage as a commode seat-and-lid. Probably he was born with normal-sized feet, but over time his incredible bulk squashed them down, spread them out.
Yesterday (Tuesday) evening about supper-time, I was in town delivering some accounting work when I decided to pay a short visit to the guy who shovels grain at the local elevator five and a half days a week. He lives just two houses away from where I was at the time.
This guy is 56 years old, wears bottle-bottomed eyeglasses, is 5’9†tall, and weighs 420 pounds.
His wife of 35 years is only half his weight, but that’s not to say she’s a small woman. She’s a hair-dresser, and a very popular one, usually booked up a month or more with appointments. Through frugal living and careful savings, they’ve accumulated quite a bankroll they hope to pass on to their children, and are looking around for ways to keep it out of the hands of the Democrat, liberal, and primitive kleptomaniacs.
This was about 5:45 p.m. that I was there; he’d just gotten off work fifteen minutes before, and was relaxing on a reclining chair in the living room, his feet up on an ottoman, and bare. His wife was in the kitchen making supper, which from odors wafting living-roomward, indicated something with a lot of grease.
I’ve spoken with this local expert on fatness before, about the Las Vegas Leviathan, seeking insight into the problems the Las Vegas Leviathan encounters because of his massive bulk. Having never been massive myself, there’s a lot of things about obesity that are a mystery to me.
True, all the older brothers and sisters had ended their days--alas long before their allotted threescore and ten--bloated and watery. It seemed to run in the family that as the more affluent one got, and the easier life got for one, the more the poundage piled on.
That franksolich lives an austere and tumultuous life is of course involuntary, but not wholly involuntary.
Beginning with the social niceties, I inquired how he found himself, how was his health.
He mentioned he was considering cutting his hours at work down if winter got rough. He works from 7:30 a.m. until 5:30 p.m. five days a week, and from 8:00 a.m. until noon on Saturdays. He shovels grain manually, using a grain-scoop, without the assistance of any mechanized objects to make the job easier; he does it exactly the same way the Egyptians were doing it circa 3,000 years ago. He’s been doing it since he was a hefty lad of 16 years and 200 pounds when in high school…..forty years ago.
He’s giving thought to cutting out work on Saturdays entirely, but apparently all depends upon whether or not his wife shuts her beauty salon early on Saturdays too.
Seeing an opening, I inquired perhaps his feet were getting sore?
No, that wasn’t it, he replied; he was just getting old.
So then I dove in, describing the predicament of the Las Vegas Leviathan and his sore feet.
“Oh,†he said, “your guy the Vegas fatty. He’s not on his feet yet, pounding the pavements looking for a job? Still having the wife bring home the bacon while he sits at home all day playing games on the computer and hanging around on the internet?â€
I confirmed it.
“Well, the longer he stays off his feet, the worse it’s going to get,†I was told.
“The more one uses his feet, the stronger and better they are,†he added. “Look at mine,†he said, wiggling his toes. “I see the diabetic doctor in the big city every two months. Diabetes isn’t good for the feet, but he says I have pretty good feet for my age and condition.â€
I wondered, though. franksolich is no podiatrist or other medical professional, and sure, his feet looked okay. A little bit red, but he’d just gotten off work after all. There didn’t appear to be any deformities or callouses or corns. His feet are pretty big, but everything’s in proper proportion to everything else.
What bothered me however were the thick ankles. “I hope that’s fat and not water,†I said.
“Well, no doctor’s ever told me I have dropsy,†he assured me, which comforted me greatly.
“You know,†he said, “thinking about your guy the Vegas fatty, that one job you thought’d be ideal for him, so as to both lose weight and heal the feet, probably is.
“For his feet to heal, he’s got to use them. It’d hurt at first, but over time, the more he walks, the better his feet’ll get.
“That job where he’d walk up and down the Strip in Las Vegas, a piece of plywood on his front, and another piece on his back, advertising something, would be great, especially if he could walk up and down the Strip twenty or so times before lunch.
“It wouldn’t be as good for his feet as shoveling grain, but I don’t imagine there’s any grain to shovel out there."
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Most times the simplest answer is the best. Use it or lose it.
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He will never do it.
Remember the picture of him with his pedal machine (with a table full of food and sodas within reach) talking about his legs hurting or complaining about his shoulder so couldn`t walk to the kitchen to help with Thanksgiving dinner because the floor was slippery and he might fall.
He is as useless as a second A hole.
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One of the LVL's big problems is that he doesn't understand that exercise is uncomfortable, sometimes even painful. The more out of shape you are, the most initial discomfort you have to go through to get into an exercise habit. He should be out walking everyday to work his muscle's back to a normal level of functioning.
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He should wedge a RATO pod between the cheeks of his immense ass and touch it off...the older and more unstable the better. It will solve several problems, from his and his wife's to the productive taxpayers.
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He should wedge a RATO pod between the cheeks of his immense ass and touch it off...the older and more unstable the better. It will solve several problems, from his and his wife's to the productive taxpayers.
Now, I had to go and nadin that.
rato (plural ratos)
1.An auxiliary rocket engine in a detachable unit that provides extra power for the takeoff of an aircraft
2.A takeoff assisted by such a unit
3.JATO
It sounds like a reasonable solution to me, if that's what it is.
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Now, I had to go and nadin that.
It sounds like a reasonable solution to me, if that's what it is.
Those rocket pods have been sold for years by the Acme Company.
All he'd need is one of those and a pair of roller skates.
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It sounds like a reasonable solution to me, if that's what it is.
Yep, that's it.
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Those rocket pods have been sold for years by the Acme Company.
All he'd need is one of those and a pair of roller skates.
Roller skates? A pair of pallet jacks maybe.
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I know how to help him get motivated.
The conversation would go sorta like this :
"This is a tazer. Start running. If I can catch you - BZZZZZZZZZZZZZT !"
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The weather has been great in Las Vegas. He should try going on short walks daily.
He can get out of the small apartment and see the town, he might even talk to a neighbor or two.
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Yep, that's it.
You know, I've always been less than, uh, sympathetic about certain "disabled" people, but I guess the recent elections made me even more so.
These disabililty giveaways are bleeding volumes of blood from social programs intended for other needs; if social security for example were limited to only those who paid into the system and only those 65 years of age or older, it'd be solvent.
If social programs intended for the disabled were limited to only those disabled through no fault of their own, they'd cost a great deal less. Even better if they were limited to only those severely disabled.
As someone who's de jure "seriously handicapped" (but not de facto), I find it loathesome that people get all sorts of goodies because of their poor lifestyle choices, their poor conduct and behavior, their poor attitudes. Things over which they themselves have control.
And usually afflictions that they themselves can remedy, by changing their piss-poor choices, behavior, and attitudes.
They're scum. I have no feelings for them other than sheer contempt.
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Dennis Miller just commented on the Bill O'Reilly television show that municipal workers in CA are lining up for disability after the election. Why work past 50 under Obama...it's too easy not to.
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Dennis Miller just commented on the Bill O'Reilly television show that municipal workers in CA are lining up for disability after the election. Why work past 50 under Obama...it's too easy not to.
Notice, please--this isn't directed at you, though, but at the sob-sisters among us--how I depict fat people differently.
The guy who shovels grain at the local elevator is actually in about as bad shape as the Las Vegas Leviathan, excepting not as flabbily flaccid and his feet are pretty good for the burden they bear.
However, despite his fatness, I depict him with his well-deserved dignity and respect, because he's aware there's consequences to his life-style, and doesn't whine about them. And he cheerfully pays for those mistakes, instead of demanding that other people pay for him.
(Apparently he's decided there's compensations that make up for the penalties of being obese.)
Compare that, please, with the depiction of the Las Vegas Leviathan.
God gave us the gift of judgement, and we're supposed to use it.
Some fat people--such as the fat primitives--deserve to be mocked and derided.
^^^the above message is for the sob-sisters among us.
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Dennis Miller just commented on the Bill O'Reilly television show that municipal workers in CA are lining up for disability after the election. Why work past 50 under Obama...it's too easy not to.
Ya know, I've got what one might call a "service-connected condition." My lower back is . . . well, significantly aged past my actual age, from that car crash in Germany (which I wasn't expected to survive, much less come back from), 24+ years ago. I've been told that I "earned it," referring to any disability money. I'm not doing it. Why? Because there's men and women coming back from the 'sandbox' missing arms, legs, and marbles (PTSD, and TBIs) who need it a heluva lot more than I do. Yeah, there's bad mornings and the like (this morning was tough), but within an hour or so (and a good shower), I feel better. I've got a wonderful, smart, pretty wife, who gave me a wonderful, smart, active, and (she will be--trust me!) pretty little girl; I just sent out the very first mortgage payment on the townhouse; we've got new (to us--their actual age is 3 years old) vehicles; I've got employment that I do fairly well (and so does my wife); and there's a cat running around somewhere who purrs almost every time she sees me. Could things be better? Certainly. Do I bitch, moan, or complain every waking moment? No effin' way. God has seen fit to bless me with these things, and I really, really need to thank Him more.
Kirk, you should learn from this little missive. Will you? Doubtful.
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You know, I'm very fortunate, because it seems God gave franksolich a good back, a great back.
Never even a backache in this life.
Which is absolutely incredible, given that I've been thoroughly run over by motor vehicles (since the age of 3; five times thus far in life) that did a great deal of damage otherwise, given that I used to make a living taking 380-pound 20-foot-long steel pipes and bending them into posts for basketball backboards, given all the places on which I slept while wandering around the socialist paradises of the workers and peasants, given a lot of manual jobs demanding a great deal of upper-body strength (I have awesome lower-body strength, not so great the upper half of me), and given a genetic propensity towards hunchbackery, it's a miracle, but it's never happened.
Maybe dumb luck, but luck is luck, whether smart or dumb, and so I'll take it.
The last close call was at the beginning of duck-hunting season here.
One night I woke up to empty the bladder.
Because of the new cat, and that the new cat won't get along with the other four cats, it's been necessary to shut all the doors inside the house, to keep them separated (I'll figure out later how to get the cats to get along with each other). When I was done and walking out of the bathroom so as to go to bed again, I noticed the light in the dining room was on, as seen through the crack at the bottom of that door.
I hadn't left the dining room light on, and wondered what was up.
By some odd quirk, just as I turned the knob from the kitchen side, I slipped on the linoleum, and crashed into the dining room.
It startled a great big rotund guy--surely in excess of 350 pounds--in hunting gear, who was leaving a note for me on the dining room table, to let me know he and some others were hunting here, and who they were (he identified himself as working for the steel company in the big city).
He thought for sure I'd hurt my back, and was going to summon the other hunters waiting outdoors, but I told him no, because I didn't have any clothes on. (Alas, they all came in anyway.) It took I dunno how long, but surely less than a full minute, before the stars had quit swirling and I was on my feet again. The guy was convinced I'd hurt my back, insisting I had to have, because of the way I fell, but nope.
<<knows how to fall so as to cause minimal injury; has much experience at it.
<<but has never mastered the art of falling where can't be seen.
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Ya know, I've got what one might call a "service-connected condition." My lower back is . . . well, significantly aged past my actual age, from that car crash in Germany (which I wasn't expected to survive, much less come back from), 24+ years ago. I've been told that I "earned it," referring to any disability money. I'm not doing it. Why? Because there's men and women coming back from the 'sandbox' missing arms, legs, and marbles (PTSD, and TBIs) who need it a heluva lot more than I do. Yeah, there's bad mornings and the like (this morning was tough), but within an hour or so (and a good shower), I feel better. I've got a wonderful, smart, pretty wife, who gave me a wonderful, smart, active, and (she will be--trust me!) pretty little girl; I just sent out the very first mortgage payment on the townhouse; we've got new (to us--their actual age is 3 years old) vehicles; I've got employment that I do fairly well (and so does my wife); and there's a cat running around somewhere who purrs almost every time she sees me. Could things be better? Certainly. Do I bitch, moan, or complain every waking moment? No effin' way. God has seen fit to bless me with these things, and I really, really need to thank Him more.
Kirk, you should learn from this little missive. Will you? Doubtful.
I deal with people on disability. Most of them are always happy and full of energy. I really never can see what their disability is! Of course, there are exceptions to this rule. A few of them are in pretty bad shape.
One lady amazes me, she is on disability, yet has several children, with different last names, on top of taking in foster children...of course her kids are on SSI for behavior issues.
I have had doctors suggest to me that I should not be working due to various issues with my spine. I simply smile and say "I like working."
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I have a trashed ankle that should have parked me 23 years ago. 2 bad knees that have been finicky and a lower back that swears at me several times a week. Yesterday I had shoulder surgery for a work related injury. I'm a wreck and I work every day (well not this week LOL) and I don't bitch, whine, cry and try to get everyone else to carry me through life. Why is that DUmmies? Because I'm a useful member of society who works for what I have, AKA working for a living. You scum should try it sometime.
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If I were legitimately disabled, I'd take the pension without a second thought, if the amount was satisfactory.
I have no gripe with people who are honestly collecting disability - as opposed to scamming DUmp democrats like lardass Kirk.
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I've been puzzled as late as to why Coach would want to spend the wonderful holidays in the presents of a primitive.
The constant whining and mewling about their lot in life would drive me nuts.
Then it dawned on me. Coach will be watching the greatest of mime circuses.
Get a primitive spooled up, and you're treated to an amazing display of arm flapping and prancing buffoonery that would impress that French guy.
I think I'm jealous.
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I've been puzzled as late as to why Coach would want to spend the wonderful holidays in the presents of a primitive.
The constant whining and mewling about their lot in life would drive me nuts.
Then it dawned on me. Coach will be watching the greatest of mime circuses.
Get a primitive spooled up, and you're treated to an amazing display of arm flapping and prancing buffoonery that would impress that French guy.
I think I'm jealous.
Uh, you got it; that's it.
It's always been a mah-vel-lus show; better than anything one can see on television or in a movie.
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This guy dare not show any sign of improvement. If he does the disability gravy train is over.
Massive weight is the only thing that got him in the program in the first place.
He's got the free money, and now he's a slave to it.
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I have a trashed ankle that should have parked me 23 years ago. 2 bad knees that have been finicky and a lower back that swears at me several times a week. Yesterday I had shoulder surgery for a work related injury. I'm a wreck and I work every day (well not this week LOL) and I don't bitch, whine, cry and try to get everyone else to carry me through life. Why is that DUmmies? Because I'm a useful member of society who works for what I have, AKA working for a living. You scum should try it sometime.
I hope your shoulder quickly heals!
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This guy dare not show any sign of improvement. If he does the disability gravy train is over.
Massive weight is the only thing that got him in the program in the first place.
He's got the free money, and now he's a slave to it.
The problem is, he's going to get less and less "free money" as the disability fund withers down. I think it's supposed to be depleted by 2014 or 2016, I forget which. Apparently it's not funded the way regular social security retirement is funded; I dunno the distinctions, because I never looked around for free money.
I of course have no problem with it, the disability gravy train getting derailed. The sooner the better.