Saturday, May 14, 2016


The other day at a local bar while I was having a single Absolut on the rocks with a twist (some days I have two), a friend told me about his annual physical. 

This is a moderately expensive procedure for a man of sixty, so he thought, Why not be honest? 

When the doctor, pro forma, asked him how many drinks he had a week, my friend said, “About one hundred.” 

This is not an acceptable answer, needless to say. “You know, some days just a few pops,” he said, “but then a couple of days a week I’ll have thirty or so, then taper off to fifteen.” This is a remarkably sturdy fellow, of middle-European descent with a biggish body, no liver or kidney damage. 

I don’t know about his brain, though I did considerable study in brain physiology for a novel. 

In conversation he functions mentally at least as well as, maybe better than, our president. 


  1. Good for him, but he looks 90! Is he "stuck" in his own time? Gotta love him. Whenever he goes out, he'll go out happy!


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