Saturday, September 29, 2007

shatterproof vaginal doors

I was 12, I think, when I realized that shatterproof didn’t mean the same thing as breakproof. I was at my friend’s house (Artie). His dad had a new tool thing on the workbench with a grinder wheel. This shatterproof glass flipped over the wheel to block flying debris. I read the little sticker, “Shatterproof Glass.” “Neat,” I thought, and then picked up a pair of pliers and whacked it! It fractured in place. “Oh,” I thought, “shatterproof. Shatter. Got it. Fuck me.” I put the pliers down and walked away. Knowing Artie’s dad, I am sure he got his ass kicked for that broken-but-not-shattered glass. The good news is that I learned the importance of words in a very concrete setting.

Still into my webcams. Well, not really. Regardless of the G rating for the ones I would look at, I only peruse the lists when I am blogging, and only view the Watering Hole linked before when I am not blogging. Webcams still suggest to me Bambi touching herself live just for you as she works her way through college, who then becomes Bambi working her way down bobo for $45 a pop when her full-time job doesn’t quite make enough for her.

This webcam ”Switzerland Live Webcam on authentic steamer cruise, Interlaken, Bernese Upper Country,” is not live, but takes a pic every 60 seconds. The neat part is that the database goes back a few months. When you go to the site, it takes you the last pic of the last day. Move yourself to the first pic of the day, then you can use your arrow keys to move from pic to pic through the day. It takes just a moment for each image to load. Beautiful country.

Last one. Since the Cubbies won the NL Central yesterday, here is the exterior of Wrigley Field. OK, I’m bored, too.

Put in an address and get satellite pics. It’s free but the database is old.

You want to know how well read I am? I thought Ezra Pound was a chick. Turns out he’s a dude! Go figure. He read and recorded a lot of own works. Here’s a comprehensive set of direct links. Guess I better start listening.

I’m watching the Nationals-Phillies game. I love finding out who I am by noting the commercials chosen to present during the things I like to view. I have an enlarged prostate. My dick don’t work. My grey hair is holding my back from banging complete strangers in bars. I eat crap fast food (no wonder my dick doesn’t work). I need a new razor, cell phone, and tv (“it’s the mirrors”). I’m a wreck with out-dated tools.

So I went to the Flomax site and pull the full prescribing information.

You know the line about telling your eye doc you’re taking Flomax if you are going to have cataract surgery? “Intraoperative Floppy Iris Syndrome (IFIS) has been observed during cataract surgery in some patients treated with alpha-1 blockers, including FLOMAX capsules.” Floppy Iris Syndrome? I don’t know what the hell that is, but anything followed by syndrome can’t be good.

It gets better: “The patient's ophthalmologist should be prepared for possible modifications to their surgical technique, such as the utilization of iris hooks, iris dilator rings, or viscoelastic substances.” A HOOK? Wait a minute. Help me understand. I got something inside my ass that somehow changes my urine stream, you give me medicine, and now I have a hook in my eye? WTF?

Oh, great. As I write, Avodart is advertising and some clown is squeezing a ball of clay to show how my ass obstruction will get smaller. He claims to be a modeler who makes detailed city scenes. He’s a liar. Know how I know? This highly detailed model of a series of city blocks – just beautiful – is shown. Looks real, full scale. Then his face comes into view and you learn it is a model. Then – wait for it – then this ass-obstructionist put a cup of coffee down right in the middle of the street! A ring on the bottom, a bump and spill – and a-o is explaining to the client why he is $15K over budget and one week delayed. People get fired for stupid stuff like that. Must be a urine back-up clouding his thinking.

Where was I? Flomax, OK. The bit about sperm counts? “Studies in rats revealed significantly reduced fertility in males dosed with single or multiple daily doses of 300 mg/kg/day of tamsulosin hydrochloride (AUC exposure in rats about 50 times the human exposure with the maximum therapeutic dose). The mechanism of decreased fertility in male rats is considered to be an effect of the compound on the vaginal plug formation possibly due to changes of semen content or impairment of ejaculation.”

Well, “significantly reduced” is soft language – just means they can measure it and attribute it to the drug. Big enough so it isn’t a false positive. The second part is what I like – a “vaginal plug.” What a great concept. The reduction is so significant that a biological function arises inside the woman that says, “You must be kidding? Is that the best you got?”

So how many vaginal doors get slammed? They label the observation, “Abnormal Ejaculation.” The placebo group abnormally ejaculated 0.2% of the time. For the first dosage level of the anti-ass-obstruction-but-hook-in-your-eye “medical solution” AE’d 8.4%, and the next dosage level 18.1%.

Ouch! One out of five guys gets a hook in his eye, and the door slammed on the one-eyed guy – but he can piss up a Cat 2 Hurricane! I want some!

My heart isn’t strong enough to read the pharm data on the dick medicine that tells us that if your erection lasts longer than four hours you need to see a doctor. Four hours? That’s normal, ain’t it? But I am sure if I read it I would find that I am at risk of inner ear prolapse – but not slamming vaginas. So I guess it’s a balance.

I need to walk around. My privates are not relaxed with all this talk. You should be ashamed of yourself for reading this smut. Go find a webcam.

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