Menopausal Wheel of Prempro Fortune

Top of the morning gents,

You boys are a blessing to this murderous piece of shit.

I knew I could count on you. I ask for some strokes, and well shit, turd buckets full of hoorahs and fuck you's came piling in. Brings a tear to my red baked eyes.

Fuck me running, I get tired of typing. But as promised to all of you and especially Nolton, I'd rail away at those issues we gotta sniff daily.

Since I got steered yer way, I scooped up Waller and last month Squish phoned me and requested some abuse. What loonies, huh?

I ran into Octuck at Freddy's, he was trying on women's bras and pantys, on my last trip to the Fairbanks courthouse. Kidding, but I gotta raz the boys, it's my nature.

I've got the whole team on board, except Blanchard, Wallace, and Erlich. I last saw Blanchard in Walla Walla and Spokane. Last saw Wallace in Anchoragua, he slugged me again. Erlich broke my heart. Heck of guy, tough as nails, until he's free to walk to a liquor store. He's got Mongol Asian blood and a Siberian spot anomaly on each 3 foot DNA strand coiled up in every single cell of his goddamn native body. Ain't no escaping who we are, wonderful and tragic.

* Tough guys need Health advice too.

The Mrs. requested I prep a lecture on menopause; cuz even the smartest man, never understands the complexities and beauty of the female human organism.

"Chicks rule, men drool" Fuck you.

I've sat here in front of the computer, day dreaming about the manifold effects .625 milligrams of conjugated estrogen and 2.5 milligrams of progesterone have on a gal's body after the age of 40.
I'm rattling the Prempro wheel of fortune as we speak.

Eskimo culture may inhibit you men from even broaching the subject. Due to the respect of elders, but not children, we'll all know if a girl is bleeding, we get to start breeding. But if any of you Siberian Mongoloid motherfuckers ever ask an elderly Eskimo woman why she's got a red face, funny smelling sweat, leg cramps, back aches, night sweats, irritability and poor sleep, well you already get the picture. Ain't happening.
I've got a big fucking mouth, so I'm stepping up to the plate.

1. Ignore the quackery, puffery, and exaggerations from herbal and vitamin manufacturers.

2. HRT (hormone replacement therapy) is exactly that; hormone replacement. After birthing kidlets and expelling the bulk of her eggs, the ovaries receive instructions to roll back on the horny motherfucking stimulants and also discontinue it's 13 annual egg hatchings. Funny, like Eskimo thinking; groups of threes being both bad luck and good luck, 13 is also our lunar cycle, menstruation count, and superstitious bad luck for any building to put in a 13th floor.

3. As the female body throttles back on the high octane hormone streams into the bloodstream, the oxygen carrying capacity is reduced, thus lowering the amount of oxygen rich blood entering the brain, hence our mother's, grandmother's, and WIVES forgetfulness. We won't mention that aspect of femininity again, lest we change our name to Bobbit.

4. Our whole life is a constant cacophony of nagging, reminders, and scoldings. Now we're older, wiser, and at our most lethal time of our lives, us men need gently assume these same goddamn mommy oriented duties. Don't believe me? If your wife is thinking she's gonna go to the Lyons Club to grope filthy natives, simply hide her shoes. No shit, she'll inspect the entire neighborhood, never find them, and simply sit down and watch TV. Before she awakes, put the shoes back, she'll never remember she lost them.

So, whenever other men inquire about my Bessie Ootoyuk and mention they haven't seen her in a long time, I reply by advising them, "I took away her shoes."

5. The two powerful hormones can't be economically synthesized by harvesting a warehouse full of naked menstruating little girl's urine, so my folks sell horses to pharma-companies that collect and distill urine from female horses.

Don't believe me? Ely Lilly offers an acronymic product name: Premarine-ultra powerful birth control pill.
Premarine=Pregnant Mare Urine.

Just like another product you've likely never used: PUREX bleach. Company name is derived from Plutonium and Uranium Extraction, the primary revenue stream for this weird chemical conglomerate.

You chaps really ought to visit my old man at the horse farm, he'll surely brag to you the construction and development work his son's did. Good man, prefers ports and burgandys. 6931 Rivershore Road, Snohomish, Washington. Simply drive up and ask if a cop from Alaska is welcome 'round these parts.

He'll shit, then grin, then show you the farm, the tractors and equipment, the vault of guns I purchased from all of you and Pim, and he'll show you a slew of news clippings, patches, and badges someone left with him.

He won't ever discuss menopause though. When probed about the aging process of women, he'll fidget and fuss, then he'll ask you if you prefer an Australian red or an Irish Whiskey with your breakfast.
*Again, most of you men are blissfully naive. Wake up fuck.

No herbs or multivitamins will keep her hands off the guns or whips, and your children will soon fear mom's new decade of ovarian depletion viciousness.

So, despite the statistically insignificant cancer claims to Menopausal Hormone Treatments, trust me, the fear and anguish you all are headed towards ain't shit compared to the agonizing reversal of adolescence in your wives, moms, and sisters. Imagine if your fat gonads suddenly stopped functioning, instead of the 85-year slow and eventually relieving decline.

A long gradual downward slope in the agonizing stimulation of testosterone is far better than a 2-5 year shrinkage and virtual disappearance of your swollen testicular structures.

In the game of aging, birthing babies sucks. Ovaries are like grenades, they become non-functional in a very painful way. You boys go outside, look upwards, and thank God you were born with fat sacks stapled to the front of you, and not mind altering grapefruits stuffed up inside yer groinular region.

I wrote and meant 'mind altering' for numerous reasons. As you violent fucks "think with yer dick", a girl's body is tormented and manipulated far more than any silly chemical instructions arising from yer inflamed ball bag. Ever handle an ovary? Next time yer hired to do interrogative work for a foreign sovereign, evisceration will yield you a big ol' grapefruit that only you wish your testes could match in size. Larger the organ, the larger it's yield, yer testes really don't mess up yer thinking as much as the gal's ovaries you married.

Since most women are like men, cunts, meaning they Can't Understand Normal Thinking, you may now understand why women covertly derive more sex from an office than any of us. In covert ways, that only irritate all other women, the horny bitch blatantly advertising she is receptive to the biggest piece of wood to stuff in her oven. What nobody arguing with me?

Ask my sisters, women are cunning little runts, not running little cunts.

I'm digressing again, you bastards gotta shoot a couple over my lectern, not podium, and wake my shit up.
In closing, as you watch your kids grow and leave, it'll be time to pay extra attention to your spouse, that is if you can still stand her without dreaming of gunplay.

The best way to raise your children is to simply love your wife. Forgot how haven't you? If so, it's time for the only drug that provides so much relief and comfort to our blessed life mates.

PremPro is a medical miracle, fuck all.

You boys stay nasty, but love your wives, regardless of her race or cultural history of family wrought trauma.

Karl.