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Saturday, May 28, 2016

The Penis-Attacking Python in Thailand │ Latest Study of Beer's Benefits

I was ready to get up for the day at 6:52 a.m., but I held off until 7:00 a.m.

Another night of an insufficient tally of total hours.

We're finally getting a really decent rain ─ it may have rained all night, and it was just pouring throughout the morning.

It's still raining somewhat now in the afternoon.

I had spent a few hours in the morning setting up a new post at my Lawless Spirit website ─ I probably should have worked more upon it, but it became tiresome.

If I finish today's post here early enough, I might return to my website to work upon it.

My younger brother Mark sought a nap late in the morning; and at 12:16 p.m., I was doing the same.

I spent 1¼ hours there, and must surely have napped at some point.  I just have no dreams that I can recall that would prove it.

Mark was down longer than I by far, but rose right after I had.

My youngest step-son Pote was watching soccer on the T.V. in the living room.  I didn't even know he followed international soccer anymore, but he was watching a tie game between two Spanish teams:  Real Madrid C.F. versus Atlético Madrid.

The game had actually gone into overtime.

His homeland Thailand fell to Korea yesterday 0 - 1.  Or I should say, it was "yesterday" in Thailand.  And it was Thailand's first loss in their current batch of five games in the World Cup. 

They've also had one tie; Korea has won all five of their games.

Speaking of Thailand, within the past few days there was quite a nasty incident involving a Thai man using one of those squat-style toilets.

He was about five minutes into the evacuation process when he suddenly experienced horrific pain on his penis.

Reflexively grabbing down between his legs, he was shocked to find himself with his hands wrapped around the head of what was to be a nine-foot (three-metre) python.

He yelled for help, and his wife came, but there wasn't anything she could do apart from bring him some rope that he called for.

Meantime, she went for help from a neighbour.

The poor guy's bloody struggle to try and free himself from the serpent that was trying to withdraw back into the drain (without releasing its mouthful of the hapless dude) apparently lasted for up to a half-hour.

You can read the story at abc.net.auPython in toilet bites Thai man on penis.

Supposedly, the snake would be getting released back into the wild somewhere.

Attaporn Boonmakchuay says he plans to replace the toilet with a Western-Style affair.

I couldn't initially figure out why he had wanted the rope or cord during his struggles; but now I think that it was so he could have the snake secured by it being roped to the door, preventing it from continually trying to retract itself ─ and his penis ─ back down into the drain.

Each time it had tried to withdraw into the toilet drain must have been hell when it was loose and able to do so. 

...And I just went downstairs for a few minutes to watch the shoot-out between the two Spanish teams.

Pote was leaning towards Atlético Madrid.  They were shooting second in the best of five kicks each team was given.

Real Madrid got their first four kicks into the net; Atlético foiled on the fourth.

Then Real got the fifth kick, and won the game.

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I want to post a fairly old photo ─ the description beneath it is from the Google album where I have the image filed:

A scan of an old photo glued into a photo album.

This is my younger brother Mark, and I expect that the photo was taken by his girlfriend of the time, Catherine Jeanette Gunther.

I cannot precisely date the photo other than to say it was taken sometime from 1973 - 1975.

Mark's birthday is in July; so if we use 1974 as a sample year, he was 21 years old prior to his birthday, and 22 years old afterwards.

It appears that he was photographed through a window ─ perhaps even that of some vehicle?
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I just love reports verifying the benefits of beer!

However, for many months now, I have been indulging in three 355-ml cans daily of strong (8% alcohol) beer over the evening.  And if I have any, I might also have two or three ounces of hard liquor.

Supposedly, that qualifies me as a binge-drinker.

But there's the report:

I just love Memorial Day weekend.

It reminds me of what makes this country so great -- and the flags, parades, and open display of politically-incorrect patriotism drown out all the nonsense for a couple of days.

And after we've taken some time to honor the brave Americans who made the ultimate sacrifice to defend our freedom, we get to partake in that other great national tradition: The Great Memorial Day Cookout.

So get the family together, reminisce about the old days, fire up the grill... and keep the cooler stocked, because you know it's not a BBQ without some cold brews on hand.

Go ahead and crack one open. Enjoy it. Savor it. And when you're done, I want you to do something else.

Have another!

I'm sure you've heard that wine is good for the heart, but new research finds beer is every bit as protective when it comes to keeping your ticker full of tocks.

And if you have 22 ounces a day or less -- about two cans of your favorite brew -- your heart disease risk will plunge by 25 percent, according to a review of 150 studies conducted by the prestigious Mediterranean Neurological Institute.

Beer will even boost your levels of heart-friendly HDL cholesterol -- and along with protecting your heart, an icy cold brew packs plenty of other benefits.

You know the story about the old beer belly? Well it's not beer in there -- because a study out of Spain a few years back found beer could actually help you LOSE weight (just don't eat a bowl of pretzels or chips with it).

In addition, beer slows the release of calcium from bone, which is why studies show that just one beer a day will cut your risk of painful kidney stones by up to 40 percent.

And ladies, beer is also the best natural source of dietary silicon, which can protect your bone and help prevent a crippling break.

I'm sure you've heard the killjoys running around claiming that booze can cause cancer.

But the new study finds that if guys drink two a day and gals stick to just one, you'll get all the benefits with none of the supposed health risks.

In other words, keep it moderate... and you'll be able to keep your eye on those sprinklers that are sure to set something on fire.

Cracking one open....
I've located the study:  Effects of moderate beer consumption on health and disease: A consensus document (doi: 10.1016/j.numecd.2016.03.007).

Boy, I sure wouldn't mind kicking back each evening and having a few with Simona Costanzo, one of the study authors:


Here are a couple of other reports on that study:



She is apparently behind this very colorful 27-page .pdf document that was released at the end of September 2014 at the 7th Annual European Beer and Health Symposium held in Brussels, Belgium:  BEER AND CARDIOVASCULAR HEALTH: EFFECTS ON MORBIDITY AND MORTALITY.

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I now finish off today's post with this entry from my journal of 41 years ago when I was 25 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.  

I would hike out to my mother Irene Dorosh's home in Surrey at least a couple of times a week.  The trek would take about 1½ hours at a pretty good pace.

Her home was my mailing address; so even though the little house no longer exists, I will always remember the address:  12106 - 90th Avenue.
WEDNESDAY, May 28, 1975

I arose this morning tired and stiff.

I've decided to postpone any sunning I do; the health of my skin is my present major concern, not a tanning which contributes nothing towards this end.  Anyway, today likely won't be any sunnier than yesterday.

I began my walk evidencing a great lack of energy, but this state gradually faded to average fatigue.

Arriving at mom's, I discovered a reply from Terri Kay Martin, who is quite probably younger than I'd supposed, but as with my other two correspondents ─ Jean and Ron ─ she is bright.

I was even given a tailed fine-toothed comb to replace the one I lost yesterday, and helped, slightly,  in the straightening-out of the storage shed.

I ate a moderately heavy meal, primarily carbohydrate; having forgotten to weigh myself upon arriving, I did so some while after eating and was surprised to learn I rate about 191 lbs ─ and this after eating; my last weighing before eating was about five pounds more.

Mom said Bill & I are invited to join everyone over at the Halversons' for a baseball game Sunday, according to Cathy.

I hope my tadpoles survive till Saturday when I toss them away into a ditch with Bill's aid; the water is really decaying.

Mark dropped by shortly after 6:00 p.m. to say dad would like my assistance Friday in actually moving him.

I think Art knocked at 7:37 p.m.

At 8:20 p.m. came a flurry more of knocks; it sounded like kids, probably Art's.

With luck I'll be in bed not much past 9:00 p.m.

I shaved my beard, narrowing the strip à la the Ancients.   
I was wrong about the sunning ─ it most definitely would have been beneficial for my complexion-troubled skin.  However, I tended to expose myself until I was burnt because I had to go to so much trouble to get somewhere in which I could sun in private.

Terri Kay Martin was someone in the States who had written a fan letter to Marvel Comics.  I had decided to write to her, and was happy to receive a reply.

Jean Michelle Martin (née Black) and Ron Bain were two other Americans I was already corresponding with. 

The Halversons were maternal relatives renting a home elsewhere in Surrey ─ over on 64th Avenue, not too far from Newton Junior High School.  My mother had relayed the message that my old friend William Alan Gill and I had been invited over for that baseball game planned for Sunday.

"Cathy" ─ the bearer of the message to my mother ─ was my younger brother Mark's girlfriend, Catherine Jeanette Gunther.

For something more than the previous 10 days, I had been in possession of some salamander tadpoles that were not faring well.  I knew of nowhere in New Westminster that I could safely release them, so I seem to have decided that Bill and I would drive them to a big ditch somewhere in Surrey.

In yesterday's journal entry, I wrote that I had received a letter from my father Hector in which he had given me his new address ─ he was moving from the Mount Pleasant area of Vancouver to Burnaby.

However, according to my brother Mark who must have visited me after I had walked back to my room in New Westminster, the move had not yet occurred ─ and my father wanted my assistance.

Art Smith ─ an older friend in his early 40s ─ was the person I suspected who next tried to visit me.  He was someone I tried to avoid answering the door to, for he always wanted me to drop absolutely everything and go back to his home to drink with him. 

So I feigned being absent, just as I did later when I suspected that maybe his kids were knocking ─ he had a couple of girls approaching their teens, and a much younger boy.

Anyone I cared to have visit me had a special identifying knock, or knew to call to me through the door.  Simply put, I just did not want the company of anyone I didn't consider a welcome presence.

So I rarely answered the door blindly.

I have no idea now what I meant about shaving my beard to a narrow strip "à la the Ancients."  Maybe I just meant the neat trim that one often saw in the movies of actors depicting ancient Greeks or Romans. 
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