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t she actually needed for her birthday was a dirty joke. It took a couple of days, but

My Mother raised me to be a Christian person, and my parents even sent me to parochial school for six years. There were Cathecism classes after that. Eventually, I went to college, and left home to find myself. I enjoy a good dirty joke if it isn't disgusting and revolting, but I guess that's a given with an off color jokes.

MY Mom tollerates much less than I do in communicative language. I've never heard her cuss I do, but in moderation and in appropriate company. One year, in the past ten (which would make it one of my Mom's 70-something birthdays) I gave her a coffee cup that said her age, and "I've lived thriough damn near everything". She displays her coffee cups, but that one got masking tape over the damn before it went on her display shelf. That's the prim and proper type of lady my Mother is, and tried to raise me to be--but it didn't take. Not that she didn't try.

She had her 89th birthday this week, and we're still celebrating. Lest you mistake my meaning, we plan to go out for pie and coffee as soon as the heat spell breaks or before the end of the week. Getting Mom out in 103 degree heat just isn't done. She knows to stay in and drink fluids, and I try to do the same. Damn hot is damn hot.

I was visiting at her home one afternoon recently, sitting in the bedroom chair (which leaves little moving space in the room because it also holds a full-sized bed and a Craftmatic twin-sized bed), and I decided it was worth the risk. The dirty joke had a point I couldn't make to her any other way, The point had to be made for her own good. Shit happens for a reason. That was the point I needed to explain, because her shit is often stuck. This becomes chronic with old people, and is really no laughing matter, though some comis will have a go at the topic.

My Mother is 89-years old as of last Monday, and she has the body of an 89-year old. She suffers with some symptoms of congestive heart failure, osteoporosis, and has occassional TIAs (little strokes), but the problem that bothers her most is constipation. It's a universal reality. Old people have trouble passing their digested food--to put it politely. If you prefer the HBO version, well, you're about to get some, but there's an important real-life lesson in this.

Time will tell if this information, and putting it to use in a diet, will improve anticipated results for my Mom, and any other people having trouble going. Fast-forward to any Saturday night I'm watching late night comedy on HBO, summer 2011. It's a guy on a stage, and I've never seen either before.

The part of his bit that caught my attention has to do with something that happened to him in Amsterdam, when his comedy tour passed through there. He evidently was in town for a few shows over a number of days. He spent some time sightseeing the things a tourist in Amsterdam would visit.

He visited what he described as the biggest sex toy warehouse one could ever imagine. He spent his time wanderi g around, looking around, as one is apt to do, mesmorized by variations on a theme or whatever. He eventually purchased one item, which went into a sack, and with him back to his hotel room.

He described the toy as egg-shaped, and battery powered, having some wires that came out of the egg to its battery source. When turned on it would vibrate. When he stuck it up as ass and turned it it, it vibrated.

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