My cat Issie had one of those phantom runs around the house like cats do now and then? One night she knocked my ashy-tray to kingdom come, but, the next night, I was watching Alfred Hitchcock at a crazy hour (of course) and she landed for a second on my remote control? And the show became the size of a postage stamp all up in the corner of the screen?
And PARENTAL CONTROL blocking step-by-step instructions popped up endlessly and I could not get out of what the screen was suggesting to me? Almost picked something on the menu just to resume watching the show? Finally…I got out some way or other? Is that wild?
And how can talcum powder cause ovarian cancer? I swear these ads I sit through for Hillary and The Donald are freaking me out? WTF would that particular ad mean…and you can “class action suit” about it…talcum powder? But not everybody has ovaries. Which sounds like a new sitcom starring Ray Romano and Madame Bovary.
I am becoming a couch potato hypochondriac…and this election has turned my mind to cauliflower. Maybe Issie was trying to tell me something, and I should have continued down that PARENTAL CONTROL path …
Postscript … Progress! I just weeded out expired creams and salves and ointments ranging from hemorrhoidal cures to silky skin balms? May have achieved a record? One was an antique–“use by 1994”! The tube of whatever was the same age as a college graduate whose tuition Bernie Sanders would love to promise away during his heavily populated rallies of campaign 2016!