Happy Canadian Thanksgiving

Heading down to Saskatchewan in a while for the holiday weekend. Got to hand to it Canadians, they know how to space their holidays. Back in the States it's feast of famine in terms of time away from the grind but up here the year seems to be evenly broken into a plethora of official holidays that result in three and four day weekends. That's another thing about Canadians, whenever possible, they hold their holidays on Monday. The school year, which would break the back of the average American kid, is ten whole months long but it has all these lovely holidays in addition to the official provincial and national ones. Yes, that's right. Provinces can schedule their own holidays. Puts U.S. states' rights in its rightful place, right between "weenie" and "wuss".

Monday is Thanksgiving here. We had planned to lay about. There is work to be done winterizing and since it seem to be snowing all around us, though not here yet, it's something we need to be moving a bit more swiftly on. However, Rob's mom is moving to B.C. in a few weeks and needed him to come down and take care of a few things his younger sister can't help out with. Yeah, there is a story there but I am not at liberty to tell it. Suffice to say that are issues and I am sure you can imagine the rest without any further assistance. I am just standing over here in the corner of my blog, not saying a word.

Saskatchewan is an eight hour drive through terrain that makes Nebraska seem interesting. Since I have made it once before, and much of it is on two lane highway (Canadians do not believe in mega highways like Americans do. Back in the states there are four lane highways in the middle of nowhere simply so farmers can get from the homestead to the back forty fifteen minutes faster). It takes forever to get there. Though once there, Regina is a somewhat interesting place. A place I won't see much more of this time than the first time I was there in June. Perhaps I will get a bit of real writing done as I will be internet inaccessible, but more likely I will work on yet another attempt at winning the mystery story contest in the Edmonton journal. Some other SAHM won it this week which means I have to read another chapter in this increasingly boring story. But, I am nothing if not pig-headed and single-minded when it comes to at least seeing this damn contest through to its end. I suppose I could write one of those "thankful" lists that people do when Thanksgiving comes around. When I was in grade school the nuns had us do this every year. It was a bit like having to think up sins for confession once a month. Not that I haven't much to be thankful for but the holiday itself is such a sham. Below the 49th it is sold as the day the pilgrims sat down with their friendly Native American neighbors and gave thanks for surviving their first year. Of course the real story behind the Plymouth pilgrims is more on the order of the sordid stuff that would have made it an awesome reality show had there been such a thing as television back then. Then, of course, is the reality that Thanksgiving was actually a propaganda tool of the Lincoln administration during that unpopular war he was stuck with known as the Civil War. But whatever, I am not at all sure what meaning Canadians have attached to it beyond the fact that it's been about six weeks since the last holiday Monday around here.

I am thankful for the six or ten of you who read this blog and want to wish you all a Happy Thanksgiving from Canada.

The Lovemaster

One of Rob's favorite comics, Craig Shoemaker, has this bit he does called The Lovemaster. Being a better than average mimic, Rob has the voice and timing down pat, and I have to admit I love it when he goes into that Looovemaster voice. "I'm four inches, baby......most women don't like it that wide." or "I'm two inches, baby,...from the floor. I can stir your drink from over here. I'll knock your front teeth out from up here, baby. Yeah, that's me tapping you on the shoulder, baby. I'd show it to you, baby, but it's stuck in my shoe." Okay, it's funnier with the voice, the sly smile and the bedroom eyes that Rob throws in just because he knows it makes me laugh harder, which is probably why he started reading his spam to me.

Have you ever heard this, "God! Your penis is so small!"?
Didn't you feel stupid?
Don't let girls prefer vibrator to you! Megadik will improve your situation once and forever! You should simply rely on this magic preparation!
"Oh! Your penis is so large!" Isn??t that what you just love to hear?
Soon you'll be the only one girls will hunt for! Megadik is your real cure!

Thanks to the unquestionably annoying miracle of email forwards, my husband's email address has been exposed to the world of penis spammers. A particularly vile, and probably very icky, group of people who prey upon male insecurity and entice them to part with their hard earned credit by purchasing all manner of enlarging devices and enhancement supplements. I can't begin to explain, without permission anyway, how truly ironic that is on several levels. Nor have I any idea why any man with a working penis would jeopardize its functionality with untested medicinals and unproven devices. It's not like women's breasts after all. If a woman still has a viable top layer of epidermis over a set of pecs, tone doesn't even matter, a good plastic surgeon can whip her up a serviceable pair of knockers in no time. But a penis is more complicated and, frankly, once it doesn't work anymore a man is left with only a paltry, and rather sad, set of options. Still those penis people are out there wooing the weak, pitching their wares because apparently size does matter though I would venture to say that given the choice between an anaconda-like member just lying there across a man's legs and an upright unit that's ready to go, without the need of a hoist, most women would choose the latter.

Choose your size with Manster!

Finally you won't be concerned with your size any more.
We have a new product that will make all your 'se^xual desires real.
Forget what you've known before. The new era for you begins!
Women will go crazy!
Friends will be jealous!
And you will Finally your new life! Like a real man with a real penis!
Try MegaDik and take advantage of your new size!

But you gotta love the names these people come up with like Manster! Wonder what brain trust thought to congeal the images of man and monster in the same thought process. Did they worry at all that someone might think they were talking about a genetic melding of man and hamster? Or the felching images this might conjure, even? There is something I don't quite understand here, however. How does size equate to pleasure? And is it more for her or for him? And does size really matter at all in drunken hook-up scenarios or when the whole "soul mate" issue is at stake? And how will a man's friends know about the manster in his pants? Do men talk about dick size the way women trying to conceive discuss the color and consistency of their various secretions? Do they go shopping for Speedos together? If they do, they really ought to be giving each other more practical advice like "Dude, if you lost the muffin top the member might stand out more." Finally, enhanced breasts don't make a woman "real". They just make her the chick with fake boobs. So wouldn't a man just be a guy with a fake rod?

Women will never complain.

At last you will never worry about your size any more.
We have an offer that will make all your 'se^xual wishes real.

There are many things sexual of which a woman might voice complaint, but size isn't one that I have ever heard discussed unless it was to remark on over-endowment and ask for discomfort remedies. But as an example of a bad complaint, speediness is never good. Truthfully, a tad more foreplay and a working knowledge of the female anatomy would serve most men better than a pee-pee growth potion or whatever scary contraptions might arrive through the post in brown wrapping. Worrying about appearances is really the last thing anyone should be concerned about when clothes start coming off and juices are flowing. I don't know how many articles in women's magazines I have read that over and over reiterate the fact, one that men confirm by the way, that by the time they are naked with us, they really aren't noticing much in terms of cellulite or rolls or wrinkles or anything else. While I admit that women aren't that oblivious, we do not equate size with function. We equate function with function. It just needs to work. But, if a gentleman is really worried then merely demonstrating his understanding that the tongue is a multipurpose tool should save him an embarrassing credit card statement.