Problem Solved!

Although There Wasn't A Hell Of A Lot Of Sleeping

At about ten thirty last night, The Lifeguard received an urgent telephone call from Nurse Dagmar, formerly of Lufthansa, now of the local hospital.

Apparently, there were some abnormalities in The Lifeguard's physical exam, and he was required to present, immediately, at The Four Seasons for a thorough evaluation of The Lifeguard's medical concerns. (Unlike Lance Armstrong, there is no risk of the media learning about The Lifeguard's use of performance enhancing drugs.)

Following something like twelve hours of intensive testing, as well as frequent hydration (with a crate of Pol Roger), The Lifeguard stumbled into the chill January morning with a better understanding of his insomnia, as well as a solution to the twin problems of colo-rectal cancer and airport security.

All passengers will be required to fast for at least twenty four hours before flying, and to report to the airport at least six hours before their flight. The passengers will strip down to their underwear, and will don a hospital johnny before the pre-flight security screening and colonoscopy. As travel sucks already, this seemingly onerous burden will reduce to zero the likelihood of some crazed adherent of the Religion of Peace sneaking a shoe, underwear, or asshole bomb onto the flight; and, it will ensure the health (and regularity) of the traveling public.

Nothing says "refreshing" like a diet of clear liquids and a high colonic.

Nothing says "safety" like passengers who have had every cavity examined before flying.

And, for absolute peace of mind, the frequent colonoscopies will provide a baseline of the colons of every traveler, and will do it without the increased risk of cancer which has been linked to the full body scanners now being deployed at airports around the world.

Indeed, this new policy would be no less inconvenient than the grief endured by The Lifeguard as he traveled through Chicago's O'Hare International Airport.

Travel Sucks Already Agent: "Please (and The Lifeguard is not making this up) remove your shoes, your belt, take off your watch, empty your pockets, take off your coats, and any other metal items and place them in the bin."

The Lifeguard: [Stage Whisper] "The only thing in my pocket is lint."

TSA Agent: "Take that out, too. Seriously. Otherwise, you will be subjected to a pat-down by Karl."

[Karl smiles, waves.]

The Lifeguard: "If I get patted down, I probably won't even get a drink out of it."

[Karl licks his lips, smiles.]

Fortunately, The Lifeguard was cleared to travel, without the need for a pat down. (The Lifeguard, however, did feel a little like Karen Silkwood.)

The Lifeguard suggests that this will be the silver bullet, ensuring safe travel, and safer colons.

Until his dream becomes a reality, The Lifeguard is due for further testing with Nurse Dagmar and six of her colleagues.

Life during wartime...

The Lifeguard Gets A Physical.

For the first time in something like five years, The Lifeguard made an appointment for a physical examination. (The Lifeguard figured that with ObamaCare, it might be another five years before he could once more get into the doctor's office.) And, with the anticipated health-care rationing, it seemed likely that the next prostate examination might be a lubeless endeavour, with leather gloves and a miner's light. ("Sorry, Mr. Lifeguard, your particular health plan does not cover the added cost of lubricant.")

Blood pressure? Normal.

Temperature? Normal.

Weight? Need to lose a few pounds.

Then, the serious questioning began.

Doctor: "Do you have any concerns?"

Lifeguard: "Ummm. Well, there is this small problem. The Lifeguard has an...um...erectile issue...he thinks." (Former Senator Bob Dole is right. ED is a difficult matter to discuss, even with your physician.)

Doctor: "Tell me about this dysfunction." (The Lifeguard so wanted to wipe that smirk off of her face.)

Lifeguard: "Well, when The Lifeguard was in his twenties, he'd get an erection that he could not bend if he tried. Now, he can bend it a little. Does that mean The Lifeguard is getting stronger?"

And, so, The Lifeguard explained his difficulties achieving an erection after having had sex six or seven times.

Doctor: [Gasping in disbelief.] "Six...or...seven...times? Over what period?"

Lifeguard: "Twenty four hours."

Doctor: [With a HFWTFMF look on her face...and stammering.] "Seriously? That is not what I would consider erectile dysfunction. That's pretty amazing function, at your age. What do you think is normal?"

Lifeguard: "I dunno. Nine, ten, eleven times. And what the fuck do you mean, 'at my age?'"

Doctor: "Nine times a week?"

Lifeguard: "No. A day."

Thus ensued a discussion on what is in fact normal and what is normal for The Lifeguard. And for the record, the only time that Cialis was mentioned was when one nurse said to the other, "See, Alice, I can do a handstand on it."

The doctor was amazed. The nurses...well, let's just say that the No Smoking policy was lifted for the thirty minutes immediately following The Lifeguard's examination.

And, for some reason, The Lifeguard has to go in for a follow-up on Monday.

Whaaaa????

It Must Be Opposite Day?

The Internal Revenue Service (whose motto is, "What's yours is ours") announced that we, the poor, down-trodden working men and women of America have a few extra days to hold onto our money.

It seems that (Republican) President, Abraham Lincoln signed the Compensated Emancipation Act on April 16, 1862; and, this is a holiday in the District of Columbia. It also seems that our federal government (whose motto is, "We never met a holiday we didn't take) will celebrate that holiday on April 15, 2011.

Notwithstanding the irony of Emancipation Day coinciding with tax day, The Lifeguard thanks the Great Emancipator for a brief respite from the largest orgy in America. (You know, April 15th, the day we all get fucked.)

Maybe for that Gupta guy.

Sex Once A Week?

So many couples asked Dr. Gupta how often they should have sex, he wrote an article about it. He enumerated the reasons, the benefits, and the rationale for his conclusions. In all, it was a very thoughtful piece, which made The Lifeguard say, "HFWTFMF?!?"

Once a week?

Seriously?

Maybe for some, but The Lifeguard has a far different perspective on this topic. Once a week is not nearly enough. A more reasonable number is four or five times...a day.

Sure, once a week is nice, if one is trying to have sex once a week. But, like so many other endeavours, the bare minimum is a cop-out.

Regular, frequent sex is good for the body and mind. Once a week is good for the prostate? Five times a day is fucking awesome for the prostate. Once a week is good for work performance? Five times a day? Well, maybe it leaves one a little tired; but, who gives a shit. You got laid five times today.

Morning sex gets the blood flowing, energises the spirit, and helps start the day off right.

A little noon-time nookie is better than any lunch.

A romp before dinner? Builds an appetite.

After dinner? You won't need that bowl of ice cream.

Before bed? You will sleep the sleep of the dead.

And, with sex burning about 200 calories at a time, The Lifeguard sees this as a good way to burn off a cool grand a day. (Better than going to the gym. More fun than doing squat thrusts with a sweaty guy named, Ramon.)

So, you can go with Gupta (and a membership to Planet Fitness); or, with The Lifeguard (and an extra $30.00 a month to buy Vitamin E).

Your choice.

Happy New Year?

2010 Ended The Way 2011 Began...
...in a Pol Roger fueled binge involving at least five of the women in the above picture. (The other two are not into dudes, and were having their own party in the hot tub.) The best part of the weekend (it was the weekend, right?) was that The Lifeguard was able to clear out eight of his ten 2011 resolutions. (Nine and ten are pending results of the DNA test and the arraignment on Monday, respectively.)

That having been said, The Lifeguard has resolved to make several (positive) changes to his life this coming year. (The Lifeguard knows that you don't care; but, he's going to tell you anyway.)

First, The Lifeguard will be more tolerant of stupid people. The ignorant? Not so much.

Second, The Lifeguard promises more regular postings. Really. This shit is one giant catharsis, and The Lifeguard finds it much more satisfying to post here than to ramble on to Cinnamon or Allanah. ("HA" and "NE", in the picture above. They are such nice girls, but they aren't that smart.)

Third, The Lifeguard will continue his charitable work with unwed teenage mothers. (Helping them get their start.)

Fourth, The Lifeguard will cut back on his alcohol consumption. (He learned that, "Drink Canada Dry" was an advertising slogan, not a challenge.) He'll start as soon as this Bloody Mary is finished.

And, finally, The Lifeguard will be a better friend to all. (Except those of you who really pissed off The Lifeguard in 2010.)

Peace!

Well, it wasn't quite like that.

Mother Nature Opens A Can Of Whoop-Ass!

Typical of New Englanders, there were myriad complaints of cold weather (in December) and snow (in December, in the northeast). Then, a massive snowstorm was forecast, causing New Englanders to flock to the stores (to stock up on bottled water and shitty beer) and to forget all that they ever knew about driving in the snow.

Before flake one fell, The Lifeguard's neighbours were idling their cars (to warm their car interiors and the planet (with the emission of greenhouse gases)) and preparing buckets of sand and salt, organising snow shovels, and fueling snow blowers. They were filling their larders with staples, anticipating weeks--or months--of being snowed in by the Blizzard of 2010. A visit to the local supermarket was not unlike a shopping trip in Cuba: Empty shelves, and surly workers. (The only thing missing was a copy of Granma and a picture of the Maximum Leader.)

As the storm took hold, the plows began patrolling the streets, blades up, as empty Dunkin' Donuts Styrofoam accumulated in the dark recesses of their cabs. Indeed, America (or, at least the snowplows) run on Dunkin's. Indeed, with several inches on the ground, the plows were doing little (or nothing) to help the situation, as the blades were a good foot off of the ground; and, sand trucks were not sanding. (It is all a part of the Governor Deval Patrick's austerity plan, designed to close the Commonwealth's budget deficit.)

At midnight, the snow was still falling; and, The Lifeguard was settling in for a restful night with a tumbler of single malt and a good book. (That, and thoughts of digging out of the mess that will be left when the plows start plowing, in another hour or so.)

Then, came the morning, and an end to the snowfall. Gusting winds had caused the snow to drift against the house, and the plows had closed the end of the drive. (Thank Christ for snow blowers...and sons.) And, with the sun shining, and winds blowing, The Lifeguard took to his own little piece of Global Warming, and cleaned up.

Christmas Hangover...

The Reason For The Season...

...is apparently to spend assloads of cash on (often) meaningless gifts, for people we love (but, on whom we would never spend money). Then, there are the children.

The Lifeguard is all about the children, and ensuring that they have safe, happy homes. That they receive thoughtful gifts, and that they understand that the presents are merely an ancillary benefit of the day.

The Lifeguard knows people who brag about spending many thousands of dollars on their children, "...so that they can have a good day."

Now, truth be told, little eight year old Savannah is probably going to make the same life choices (including unwed motherhood and some sort of exotic dancing) regardless of whether or not she gets the new iPhone 4, or the newest attire from Hollister. And, clearly, when an eight year old receives $1,000.00 worth of gifts for Christmas, the bar is set so high that each subsequent Christmas requires greater and greater expenditures. (Not unlike the Obama Administration's effort to stimulate the economy.)

Much more agreeable to The Lifeguard is the friend who gave her daughter cards indicating donations to various charities. "Well done," The Lifeguard says. The meaningful contributions teach a variety of desirable behaviours, and ensure that the future generations have a true grasp of the real meaning of Christmas.

That having been said, The Lifeguard offers this final thought for this December 26th:

It's not too late to do something to make the world a better place. Rather than spending more cash at post-Christmas sales, give $50.00 to the local food bank. Maybe $25.00 to the church. Perhaps $100.00 to The Lifeguard. (Hey, it was worth a try.)

Life is good.

The Lifeguard offers this hope that every reader had a happy and joyous Christmas, and had the opportunity to reflect on the wonder of the season.

Santa, The Pimp!

Merry Christmas, Y'all!

The Lifeguard wishes you and yours a very Merry Christmas. One filled with peace, love, and good will toward men.

Peace!

(And, for the record, Santa is a pimp because he is always talking about "Hos.")

Need a gift for that special Muslim woman in your life?

Call 1-800-Burqa-Gram!

All orders come gift-wrapped in a beautiful organza gift box, along with a card written by our own team of professional greetings-writers. Greetings, such as:

This burqa is blue

Roses are red

With any luck

The infidels will be dead!

Order by December 7th to get free FedEx shipping and toner cartridge.

Orders over $100.00 get a free Spanish passport and suicide bomber vest.

Call 1-800-Burqa-Gram, now (since the electricity in your Third World shithole is likely to be shut off for the night, soon).

Another hiatus ending?

The Lifeguard has been receiving a lot of correspondence from his fans--all six of them--and there are a few common themes to the messages.

And, while The Lifeguard is not quite ready to "fuck off and die", he is ready to resume a more regular schedule of posting; and, a little Tweeting, as well.

You want more? You got it.

More to follow...

The best one-loss team in the nation?

President Barack Hussein Obama Is Still Not a Muslim...

...but his Kenyan grandmother prays that he will be. (This is opposed to his "...typical white person..." grandmother.) The big question is whether or not he will cede America to the ash heap of history before or after he converts.

The Obama administration has done much these last twenty-two months to speed the process, from over-seeing profligate spending (which made even President Bush fils look like a piker) to tolerating Janet Napolitano's incompetence. From the bailout of General Motors (wouldn't a mandate for diesel cars make more sense than the Chevy Volt?) to the insistence of letting the Bush tax cuts expire. On top of that, President Obama presided over the Democrat Party's biggest ass-whooping in something like fifty years.

The American public (living outside of New York, New England and California) have had enough of taxing, spending, silly-ass government mandates and turn-your-head-and-cough before you board a plane. (The Lifeguard notes that his eighteen-year-old Irish-looking nephew got his first rectal exam as he flew home from college. But, then again, maybe the IRA is back in the game.) And, having had enough, the electorate sent folks like Marco Rubio (R-FL) and Rand Paul (R-KY) to Washington. (Interesting that Senator-elect Rand Paul replaces a guy, Senator Jim Bunning, who pitched a perfect game and was elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame.)

And, a better man--former President William Clinton, for instance--would have read the tea leaves and started planning his move to the centre. This douche, however, grabs his Teleprompter and heads to India, confident that his agenda is right for America.

Rather than firing Big Sis and leading the charge to renew the expiring tax cuts, President Obama talks about the importance of the TSA's efforts to stop terrorists (while trying them--and losing--in civilian courts) and the need to tax the mess out of the people who create jobs.

Seriously, if the administration wants to remake America as a Third World shithole, they are doing a pretty good job. (Lots of illegal immigrants, high taxes, and economic malaise. Like Sweden, only without the handsome, English-speaking population.) At least General Motors is not being sold to the Chinese.

Rather than fret about the racism and stupidity of the Tea Party, the administration (and the Democrat Party) need to think about making a few changes. (And, if they need help with the tea baggers, they can call Congressman Barney Frank, D-MA.)

A starting point? Fire Ms. Napolitano, and adopt some sane measures with regard to airport security, before the next plane flies into a building (or blows up, mid-air). Make permanent the tax cuts, and reform the corporate tax structure. (America is a horrible place to do business, as compared to other countries.) Start clearing the stables that are Guantanamo Bay, and fire AG Eric Holder. (Civil libertarians will only complain briefly, and we won't be faced with the prospect of juries finding terrorists not guilty.) Tell Senator Harry Reid (D-ip Shit) to cut the shit and find some sane means of dealing with the problem of illegal immigration. (Hint, it involves deportation, and enforcement of the present laws, not more goodies for the illegals who voted for Senator Reid, et al..)

But, The Lifeguard is pretty sure that the Administration will continue the status quo.

Bastards.

Thanksgiving Redux

The Lifeguard Saves...

...room for pie.

Thanksgiving is The Lifeguard's favourite holiday, for a reason.

No presents, no songs, no trees to decorate, and no garbage bags of crumpled-up wrapping paper. Just one big-ass turkey, trimmings, and pie. Lots of pie.

So, at this moment--two days post-holiday--The Lifeguard wants to mention a few of the things for which he is thankful:

Living in America. (Living in the United States, as well as the fabulous James Brown tune.)

The soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines who keep us safe. (Coastguardsmen, too.)

The Lifeguard's friends (and the people who actually visit this site). But, mainly, The Lifeguard's friends.

Janet Napolitano. A special thanks to you, Big Sis. You managed to unite America against the government in a way that no other single person could. (Oh, and thanks to Keith, who gave The Lifeguard a very thorough pat-down...and a lovely meal at P.F. Chang's.)

Off to make turkey omelets.

Peace, y'all!

Gawd, I love multiculturalism!

More Good News From The Religion Of Peace!

The highest court in the United Arab Emirates has just okayed wife beating. The one caveat: Don't leave any marks.

O.J. Simpson, who has tentatively selected "O.J. X" as his Muslim name, has asked if, perhaps, he could become a judge in the U.A.E., upon his release.

"No one understands the nuances like me," Simpson said. "I'm not saying that the guy was right. I'm just saying, 'I understand.'"

Supreme Court Justice, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, who has derided the use of torture, but has defended the use of foreign law by American judges, could not be reached for comment.

And the answer is...

What's The Question?

The citizenry of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts is in high dudgeon over Question 3, which will appear on the November ballot. The initiative will roll back the Commonwealth's stupid 6.25 percent sales tax rate to 3 percent.

The folks are torqued because they fall into one of two camps. On one side, there are the liberals who never met a tax that they didn't like (and who make statements like, "...it's not illegal to be [an] illegal [alien] in Massachusetts."). The other camp, led by The Lifeguard are pissed because, even if passed, they know that the governor and the General Court (which, like General Motors, is a wholly-owned subsidiary of the Democrat party) will raise their collective middle finger (and, possibly, our taxes) at the voters.

From The Lifeguard's perspective, lower taxes are a good thing. (Ask Senator John Heinz-Kerry about taxes, especially with respect to sailboats.). Consider, also, that the Commonwealth shares a border with tax-free New Hampshire (state motto, "Fuck off and die!"), which attracts Massachusetts shoppers who are looking to save 6 percent on TVs, washing machines, and other items. For 3 percent, more of those shoppers will stay home.

Further, the Massachusetts Teachers Association ("Association" because many public school graduates don't equate associations with unions) opposes the reduction. "It'll clearly lead to larger class sizes and more illiteracy," they argue. (As if there is some sort of magic correlation between the two.)

Sure, it might mean less money for state government; and, possibly cuts in non-education services. (Call The Lifeguard for a few ideas.)

But, if the unions and the tax-fattened hyenas are opposed, then The Lifeguard is not.

Vote to roll back the sales tax in November.

My Name is Earl

For We New Englanders

who endured wall-to-wall coverage of the arrival of [Insert Storm Type Here] Earl, the storm itself was a bit of a disappointment for all of us. Not because we didn't get a Katrina-like ass-whooping; but, because we had to listen to the chattering skulls, standing in front of green screens, and had to tolerate all of the hysteria associated with the anticipated arrival of the storm. In the end, it was nothing. Nothing at all.

Business or Pleasure?

Pleasure!

The Lifeguard took a ride, to Ogunquit, Maine, to enjoy a tanning opportunity in the waning days of this New England summer.

The sun was bright, the air temperature was close to 80 degrees, and the beach was crowded. The Lifeguard did a brief talent-check, and found things to be seriously lacking.

Three observations from the Lifeguard's beach towel.

First, if you are over the age of sixteen, you probably should not wear a bikini (unless you make a living by appearing on the pages of Vogue (or Playboy)). The Lifeguard noted exactly one (that's right, one) woman who had the figure to pull off her bathing suit choice. Wait, bad choice of words. One woman who could actually wear the bikini without looking like a tramp (or a fucking retard).

Now, face it, bikinis are nice; but, The Lifeguard prefers one-piece bathing suits. (Are you paying attention, ladies?) Not only are they sexy, they leave something to the imagination. (And, The Lifeguard has one hell of an imagination.)

Second, men (with the possible exception of Michael Phelps at the Olympics) should never wear a Speedo. Ever. Especially if you are fat, forty, and French-Canadian.

Finally, tattoos on fifty-something women look...um...horrible. Remember that, ladies. That tramp stamp that looks good at twenty will look like a UPC symbol when you are fifty. Especially if you are a sun-worshiper, and your skin has taken on the colour (and texture) of fine Corinthian leather.

All right, ladies and gentlemen, The Lifeguard is going sailing.

Peace!

HFWTFMF?!?

Stupid Is As Stupid Does...

The Lifeguard is never at a loss for words. Of course, blazing stupidity causes an occasional moment of silence; but, then, he recovers. (And has a lot to say.)

Several years ago, The Lifeguard was in Nashville, Tennessee (for business, of course) and he was sitting in the hotel bar. There, off in a corner, was a karaoke machine (not unlike the ones found in bad Japanese movies) and a very drunk woman clutching the microphone like a crack whore clutches her pipe.

"I want to shing you a shong that remindsh me of thish wunnerful city," she said with a drunken lilt.

The music started...

...and she sang, "Walking in Memphis."

Which reminds The Lifeguard of a former client (and heroin addict) who gets liquored up in his local, then proceeds to slam his (rental) car into a telephone pole (just avoiding the local marked police cruiser).

Approached by the officer, the dazed (and very intoxicated) client stumbles to the back of the car and leans on the trunk, which has sprung open in the crash. Thinking it is latched, he stands and the trunk pops open. All the way open.

Their eyes meet, then turn to the trunk, and the gym bag containing 454 individually packaged hits of heroin, and his works.

Before the officer could say anything (or the client could say, "How did that get in there?"), he utters those immortal words, "I know what you are thinking. It's all mine."

Then, the officer uttered the other immortal words, "You have the right to remain silent."

Why?

In the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, it is possible to get extra time to take the written portion of one's driving test if you read slowly (or can not read).

In a state where driving a car is a blood sport (with unreasonably high automobile insurance rates), it seems that this is one of the most ill-conceived feel-good plans ever. Really, do we want a (possibly illegal) driver trying to negotiate 128 (at 80 mph, in a Toyota Corolla POS) while trying to read road signs?

This is reason number thirty why illegal immigrants (and the faint-of-heart) should not be allowed to operate a motor vehicle in the Bay State.

It also troubles The Lifeguard that a person with no licence can own and insure a car. The Lifeguard understands the rationale for the aged; but, for others? It's motherhumping insane.

But, then again, Massachusetts is the home of the late Senator Edward M. Kennedy. And that's all that needs to be said.

Things to do at work...

...When You Are Bored At Work...

The Lifeguard was waxing nostalgic this morning, thinking of a life way less ordinary.

Some thoughts from the deep, dark recesses of The Lifeguard's soul. (The names have been changed--but not by much--to protect the innocent...or the unwilling.)

Being funny is like hitting a 325 yard drive or a 95 mph fastball. If one tries to hard, the likelihood of a spectacular whiff or a long, loud out is virtually assured. That having been said, The Lifeguard's attempts at 325 yard drives and 95 mph fastballs are pretty fucking hilarious.

There is a reggae song about Barack Obama. Like his presidency, it has a beat that is, at first, catchy. Then, it just gets downright annoying. "Move to Switzerland" annoying. At no point do the lyrics mention his illegal alien aunt, his absent father, his "typical white" grandmother, single-payer health care, or the Reverend Jeremiah Wright. Listening to the song made The Lifeguard dumber. It also made The Lifeguard want to kill whitey.

Why is there Black Entertainment Television? Do they play slasher movies and provide an opportunity for the viewer to scream, "Don't go in there, he got a knife!" (Judging by The Lifeguard's recent trip to the movies, he thinks not.) Shouldn't there be White Entertainment Television? (The Sundance Channel doesn't count.)

Saving someone's life should earn a thank you, or a pat on the back, not a gun in the face. (Thank Christ it was a .25 and not something in the .30s or .40s.) In defence of The Lifeguard's crazy-ass client, heavy-duty anti-psychotics were involved.

And, if an employer can't legally hire illegal immigrants, why is said employer not allowed to ask a suspected illegal for his papers, especially since federal statute requires the holder of a green card to have it in their possession? Why does our legal system allow said illegal to sue his employer?

Which brings The Lifeguard to border security in general. Why not just shoot them as they come across? And, the United States government wants to build a fence on the southern border. Why not the northern border, too? Fucking frostbacks.

A half dozen years ago, The Lifeguard could have had a Social Security card, a birth certificate, and a driving licence in under an hour. I presume that if a white guy in the 'burbs could do it, an immigrant can as well. Target the purveyors of the phony papers and enforce the laws, as written.

Of course, that requires resolve.

Finally, The Lifeguard is reminded of a friend who dips Skoal. His wife, after years of hectoring him to quit, said, "Fine, if you want to die a slow, painful death, go right ahead." His reply? "I already said, 'I do.'"

Ripples on the Water

The Lifeguard Speaks

It is hard to believe, but The Lifeguard is frequently annoyed (and amused) by the actions and words of the world around.

The driver of the Prius, for instance, who had a "Somewhere in Kenya, a village is missing its idiot" bumper sticker, caused a good eleven minutes of mirth. That said Prius was on a Boston street made it all the more delicious.

A bag of airline peanuts bearing the warning, "Processed in a facility that processes peanuts" is just plain stupid. From where The Lifeguard sits, the deal with peanut allergies is this: If a person with said allergy can't look at a packet, marked "peanuts" and know that this is an item to be avoided, then said person might just need to go into anaphylactic shock (and, if they survive, be sterilised).

A bar with a sign out front that says, "Shot and a Beer, $2.00" is an oasis for The Lifeguard. Especially when in the company of a beautiful woman (or six).

Flight attendants who are obese and rude are rather annoying. Not only is air travel a service industry, it is a (generally) poorly managed enterprise, at that. That being said, why not hire folks who are polite, cheerful, and in shape. (The Lifeguard does not want to rely upon a nasty blimp to evacuate the airplane. And, if that is how The Lifeguard is going to leave this life, he wants to be looking at a hot chick, not an ugly, miserable fuck.)

And, please tell The Lifeguard why he can't buy his own beer and carry it on the plane. He'll drink responsibly.