Tag: Robert Downey Jr.

Please Protect My Depends From Evil

Please Protect Depends from Evil

There is no doubt in my mind I’m not the only one who has to hire Hercules to open my packages nowadays. Does anyone but me say nowadays nowadays? Anywho I was talking about trying to open packages I receive from online and buy in stores.

It seems there is a movement underway to prevent anyone over sixty from accessing their purchases.

Not only are packages impossible to open, I can’t even understand how you would even find the right place to start anymore.

They come in convoluted boxes and plastic covers that are almost impossible to expose. Does it open on the side, the top, or somewhere in between? Is this a Martian ploy to drive us all crazy and move in?

The configuration is completely foreign to me. So I wind up slicing through the entire box until I find a crease that will produce the contents. Or just try to find a scissors strong enough to cut the container apart. Maybe Robert Downey Jr. will loan me his Iron Man suit?

If these newfangled and I’m not sure anyone says newfangled anymore either, boxes are a challenge, let me tell you about the bubble wrapped ones covered in plastic. They are built to withstand a nuclear holocaust and along with the roaches will be the only things left intact after World War III.

I have tried to open them with scissors, obscenities, knives, rocket launchers, a crowbar and a prayer. Nope, nothing works.

Some do allow access if you bend the entire wrapping backward. Then you can almost see a slight opening only someone who works out every day could even pull back.

By the time I open these damn packages, I’m too weak to use what’s inside.

So I must ask myself, is this a plan to kill off old people and lower the population?

I have heard of certain cultures that believe if someone lives too long, they’re outta there. So is this the new way of ridding the planet of those who are past their prime?

Ah, so I see, it’s an old people test of some sort.

Like a carnival arcade game.

Open the wrapping and prove you are fit to stay on earth.

Hmmm? If this sounds like some dystopian plot, have you tried to open those new boxes from Amazon that use the same glue as NASA on its rockets?

Not only can we tear every muscle trying to open up a new can opener or bottle of make-up, we can also go mad trying to figure out which end is up. Or worse slice our hand off trying to cut the darn things open.

I have spent a lifetime trying to figure out which end is up and now, just when I think I mastered the test, there are these boxes.

Ah but who is behind this evil plot? Is it SPECTRE? Or Austin Powers? Come back to us Sean Connery. Come back!

Just like there are senior friendly caps on prescriptions shouldn’t there be the same for boxes? I mean we could check a box on the order whether or not we are old. If that box isn’t too small to see of course. Then they could send us easy open containers.

I don’t want to get all Gray Power about this, but don’t seniors have rights? Shouldn’t we be allowed to open boxes as easily as a body builder? Can’t they test to see if anyone but Arnold Schwarzenegger can open these containers?

Even a bagel has a plastic support invention to cut it open safely.

I guess I have to ask myself, who are they protecting my face cream from?

Is there some type of corporate espionage we don’t know about?

Is Charmin secretly ordering boxes of Northern Quilted to copy their softness secrets? My ass is flattered they care so much. Perhaps Proctor and Gamble is protecting my Oil of Olay so that Chanel can’t steal its anti-wrinkle formula.

You would honestly think the key to Fort Knox was in those boxes. Well the joke is on them because the U.S. is so broke they will have to go somewhere else to find any money now.

I understand merchandise must be protected from shoplifters. But now that’s it’s all under lock and key can’t they ease up a bit on the packaging? I mean is Metamucil really in danger of being stolen by a herd of constipated elephants?

Can an eighty-year-old woman really shove a giant size box of Depends into her purse?

Is there a run on cases of Ensure in drug stores? And could an old person really lift one?
But are these products designed to be protected in the stores? Or as I am prone to believe, from anyone opening them post purchase? Perhaps they should return to using the blue dye attachments that spray your face?

Corporations spend a fortune protecting products with unopenable boxes each year.

Just a thought here. Perhaps the money would be better spent installing metal detectors in every school in America to protect kids instead of Ex lax? Just saying.  

What is Heaven and Am I Going?

What is Heaven and Am I Going?

So, there is a commercial on television now with some guy asking me if I’m going to heaven. How do you answer that question?

I guess I’d have an easier time if I knew for sure there actually is a heaven. Or what heaven is if it does exist.

How do I know if I want to go there if I don’t know what I’m signing up for? Didn’t your mother teach you to read everything before signing?

Cause now that we are watching this insane world you have to wonder; what is everyone’s version of heaven and whose do you want to go to?

I mean I have certain criteria here for how I’d like to spend the afterlife. I don’t mean to be snobby about this, but if I’m going to be in a place for all eternity, I’m not spending my days listening to politicians. 

I definitely don’t want to have to watch award programs and listen to hosts doing unfunny monologues and see Robert De Niro’s pissed off looks when Robert Downey Jr. wins instead of him.

Can you imagine having to spend eternity  listening to Oprah talk about her weight loss issues, car salesmen saying let me check with my manager and see if I can make that deal or watching Nancy Pelosi getting more Botox injections?

I want to go someplace where refrigerators are always fully stocked with unhealthy foods, your stomach is always empty and fat cells don’t exist.

Can someone promise me I won’t have to make a bed, wash a floor or clean a toilet?

A place where there is no traffic, the only newscasters are Huntley and Brinkley and Walter Cronkite and John Kennedy will actually tell me how many bullets really did kill him.

Where all the property is on the water, there are no UV rays and you can walk halfway across the ocean and find a sandbar to sunbathe on. Oh, and the fish are all no longer than 10 inches and in neon colors.

Where pina coladas flow all day and no one gets drunk, where children can play outside anywhere, anytime and no one would ever hurt them and you can pull apart monkey bread without getting your hands sticky.

A place where everything for sale that you want is always equal to the amount of money you’re carrying, chocolate chip cookies are always warm and coming out of the oven next to fresh cold milk, and you can have Thanksgiving any or every day you want with only the relatives you can stand.

Where Santa delivers 24/7 and the temperature is always a perfect 72 degrees with no rain or snow in sight. And the chocolate fountains on every corner are always flowing.

Where your cell phone never runs out of juice, and old Mickey Mouse Club shows and Bugs Bunny, Road Runner and Tweety and Sylvester cartoons are always playing, and Clarabell can talk.

A place where no one says anything nasty or mean to anyone else, where people say thank you and excuse me, and Harry and Meagan are not allowed to write books about how terrible life is in the palace.

A place where babies never cry because their needs are instantly met, where no one is judged by their skin color or religion and anyone who threatens to take over the world has to go back down and live in it again. 

There must be a sign at the gates of my heaven that reads, no politicians or members of Congress, assholes, or haters allowed and there is a no tolerance policy for those who mistreat others.

If a heaven exists with those features, I might be enticed to buy a ticket. 

However, since everyone has their own idea of what heaven or hell entails, I don’t want to get on the wrong train and wind up in the hell where Hamas gets its 72 virgins. 

I imagine my heaven train would be in a special station like the one to Hogwarts, where you have to go to a certain wall and push your stuff through or oops, no entrance for you.

So, in answer to the question, are you going to heaven, I’d have to say I’m not rushing to sign up like it’s a time share opportunity in Cabo.

When I’m sure what I’m in for, I’ll sign on the dotted line. Until then I’m still down here on earth, hell or whatever the name for this place is now. 
Maybe the question this guy on TV should be asking is; “Are you ready to turn earth into heaven by living like you’re already there?”

Now that’s a question I could easily answer?