Sunday, August 7, 2011


No one disputes the power of words.  At least no one with a brain. If you do, please be quiet.

Consider the word BELT. 

Belt the jerk in the kisser.

Buckle your seat belt. Win the bull rider trophy belt. Drive around the beltway. Preserve the green belt. Get burned in the Sun Belt. Freeze your buns off in the Snow Belt. Have a stiff belt of Jack Daniels. Wear a funky belt with your new jeans. Belt out "I Did It My Way" in the shower. Move out of the Bible belt.
A Google search of BELT nets 27,900 results in .18 seconds. After scrolling past seductive shopping choices and the Wikifakepedia listing, a disturbing entry caught my eye.... In the ‘Stroke Belt,’ Erosion of Memory Is More Likely Too. *

The article states that folks living below the Grits Line “have long been known to have more strokes and to be more likely to die from them than people living elsewhere in the country.”
I once lived in Georgia. . . and moved away. I once lived in North Carolina. . . and moved away. I didn't realize the locations were lethal.  I just thought the music was bad.

In case you have never heard of the Grits Line, once you cross it going from north to south, it is the point at which you are automatically served grits instead of toast with your breakfast order.
Breakfast Below the Grits Line
"Southerners are also more likely to experience a decline in cognitive ability over several years - specifically, problems with memory and orientation." I knew living there was hot and sticky, but I had no idea it would make my mind move to Philadelphia while my body stayed in Dixie.

“Experts do not know exactly why more strokes occur in the region stretching across Alabama, Arkansas, Georgia, Louisiana, Mississippi, North Carolina, South Carolina and Tennessee (sometimes additional Southern states are included in the stroke belt).”

Is it the deep fried possum, fried catfish, hushpuppies, fried ham, red-eye gravy and Moon Pies craved by the sons and daughters of Dixie? Too much porch sitting? Too many hours of “Dukes of Hazard” reruns?
Maybe.  Maybe not.  Researchers continue to investigate.

Dr. Gustavo C. Roman, head of the neuroepidemiology section of the American Academy of Neurology says, “This should be a very strong alarm signal.”

Well, duh, Gustavo.  Do you live in Alabama?  Is it already happening to you?

“If you want to keep your marbles, you need to control your blood pressure, excessive weight and other risk factors for stroke.”
Probably Not Keeping Her Marbles

Oh, yes please.  I do want to keep my marbles.
Dr. George Howard, chairman of the biostatistics department at the University of Alabama and principal investigator of the study said, “One of the things we are concerned about is, it does sort of reinforce every negative stereotype about the South, that there are these slow hicks down here.”
Congratulations, Dr. Howard!  
Dr. Howard has just been awarded The Ulysses S. Grant Most Hated Man in the South Award for 2011.

©2011 Mimi McMouth
Content may not be used without the expressed permission of Mimi McMouth

Tuesday, July 26, 2011


The recent grizzly bear attack on seven teenagers can be blamed on Don Ford, the Alaska director of the National Outdoor Leadership School, the group operating the wilderness program.

Don claims he told the students to "Play dead if they spotted a grizzly."

Apparently he failed to add, "This does not include screaming "BEAR!" and trying to run away."

"The bear came really fast, that was super unusual."

Well excuse me, Don.  I guess the bear didn't attend your little briefing.

All of the injured will survive. 

Kind of a shame, don't you think?

Another opportunity for removing stupid people from the gene pool is lost.

Sunday, July 24, 2011


Don't tell me to stop whining about the heat.  Stuff it.  It's too freaking hot.
"Pretty soon you'll be complaining about the cold."

No.  I won't.  I can put on another sweater.  And gloves.  And a coat and a hat and leggings and more socks. 

I'm buck naked right now and it's still hot.  Not just naked and still hot, but Buck Naked.  That's the most naked a person can be.   

"Heat, ma'am!  It was so dreadful here, I found there was nothing left for it but to take off my flesh and sit in my bones." ~ Sydney Smith, Lady Holland's Memoir

What I hate most is what happens in my neighborhood.  My underwear neighborhood.  I never wear a thong on purpose, but when my normally reliable cotton underpants get sweaty (yes, I said sweaty underpants), they start that anti-gravity slide up the crack and before long they're stuck up there.  Look around.  Have you ever seen so many people picking their underpants out of their bums?

There is also the hot, sweaty boob crease.  Women and fat men know it - that area just beneath the breasts or moobs where the sun never shines.  I'm putting Secret there now.  It helps a little.  I'm so grateful I don't have testicles.  I think there is a band named Sweaty Balls.

The heat is making me feel a little light headed.  Confused.  Slow.  Stupid.  I don't aim to do nuthin'.  Ah cain't hardly move an' I sure cain't talk fast.

That must be what's wrong with people in Alabama.  Melted brains.

The good news is men now know how a hot flash feels.

©2011 Mimi McMouth