The A2K (virtual) Weight Loss Club !!

I have a lawyer, young lady, and I'm not afraid to use it.

yes? my friend from Albania, one of the young studs in the Boxzentrum, who legally doesn't exist, will be delighted to have a talk with your lawyer. Then with you.

No problem. I may not be a trained boxer, and I may be losing weight, but I'm still fighting in a different weight class than you -- and presumably your friend. But hey, why don't we have my parole officer call your parole officer, solve this thing peacably like civilized people?

-- Thomas, 5'7", 251 lb

my parole officer would really like a wiener schnitzel right now. is your parole officer down for that?

Sounds yummy -- I'd have to ask him. Speaking of Wiener Schnitzel: for how much longer to you plan to stay in Vienna? It's not that far from Munich, and I thought it might be fun to see you and nimh somewhere around Vienna, Budapest, or Bratislava.

oooh, that would be fun! i'll be here till the end of january. nimh will stay, seems now, forever. or for awhile anyway.

my parole officer went and got herself a schnitzel. we only live once, after all...

Now I'm called Salvation Bill,
I teach the living law,
And ballyhoo the Bible with the best.
If a guy won't listen,
Why I sock him on the jaw,
And preach the gospel sitting on his chest.

That's the spirit, Noddy! You're getting there. I expect you to sign up for boxing lessons shortly.

Thomas--

Robert Service in all his glory:

The Ballad of Salvation Bill

by Robert W Service

From Bar Room Ballads 1940



'Twas in the bleary middle of the hard-boiled Arctic night,
I was lonesome as a loon so if you can,
Imagine my emotions of amazement and delight
When I bumbed into that Missionary Man.
He was lying lost and dying in the moon's unholy leer
And frozen from his toes to finger-tips;
The famished wolf -pack ringed him ; but he didn't seem to fear,
As he pressed his ice-bound bible to his lips



'Twas the limit of my trap-line, with the cabin miles away,
And every step was like a stab of pain;
But I packed him like a baby, and I nursed him night and day,
Till I got him back to health and strength again.
So there we were, benighted in the shadow of the Pole,
And he might have proved a priceless little pard,
If he hadn't got to worrying about my blessed soul,
And a-quotin' me his bible by the yard.



Now there was I, a husky guy, who's god was Nicotine.
With a "coffin-nail" a fixture in my mug;
I rolled them in the pages of a pulpwood magazine,
And hacked them with my jack-knife from the plug.
For, oh to know the bliss and glow that good tobacco means,
There among the everlasting ice . . .
So judge my horror when I found my stack of magazines
Was chewed into a chowder by the mice.



A woeful week went by and not a single pill I had,
Me who would smoke my forty in a day;
I sighed, I swore, I strode the floor; I felt I would go mad;
The gospel-plugger watched me in dismay.
My brow was wet, my teethe were set, my nerves were rasping raw;
And yet that preacher couldn't understand;
So with despair I wrestle there - when suddenly I saw
The volume he was holding in his hand.



Then something snapped inside my brain,
and with an evil start
The wolf-man in me woke to rabid rage.
"I saved your lousy life" says I; "So show you have a hear,
And tear me out a solitary page."
He shrank and shriveled at my words; his face went pewter white;
'Twas just as if I'd handed him a blow,
And then . . . and then he seemed to swell, and grow to Heaven's height,
And in a voice that rang he answered "No!"



I grabbed my loaded rifle and I jabbed it to his chest;
"Come on you shrimp, give up that Book," says I.
Well sir, he was a parson, but he stacked up with the best,
And for grit I got to hand it to the guy.
"If I should let you desecrate this Holy Word," he said,
"My soul would be eternally accurst;
So go on, Bill, I'm ready, You can pump me full of lead
And take it, but-you've got to kill me first."



Now I'm no foul assassin, though I'm full of sinful ways,
And I knew right there the fellow had me beat;
For I felt a yellow mongrel in the glory of his gaze,
And I flung the foolish firearm at his feet.
Then wearily I turned away, and dropped upon my bunk,
And there I lay and blubbered like a kid.
"Forgive me pard," says I at last, "for acting like a skunk,
But hide that blasted rifle . . ." which he did.



And he also hid his bible, which was maybe just as well,
For the sight of all that paper gave me pain,
And there were crimson moments when I felt I'd go to hell
To have a single cigarette again.
And so I lay day after day, and brooded dark and deep,
Until one night I thought I'd end it all;
Then rough I roused the preacher, where he stretched pretending sleep,
With his map of horror tuned towards the wall.



"See here, my pious pal," says I, "I've stood this long enough . . .
Behold! I've mixed some strychnine in a cup;
Enough to kill a dozen men- behold me it's no bluff;
Now watch me, for I'm gonna drink it up.
You've seen me bludgened by despair through bitter days and night and nights,
And now you'll see me squirming as I die.
You're not to blame, you've played the game according to your lights . . .
But how would have Christ played it? - Well goodbye. . ."



With that I raised the deadly drink and laid it to my lips,
But he was on me with a tiger-bound;
And as we locked and reeled and rocked with wild and wicked grips,
The poisoned cup went crashing to the ground.
"Don't do it, Bill," He madly shrieked, Maybe I acted wrong,
See, here's my Bible_use it as you will;
But promise me -you'll read a little as you go along . . .
You do! Then take it, Brother; smoke your fill."



And so I did. I smoked and smoked from Genesis to job,
And as I smoked I read each blessed word;
While in the shadow of his bunk I heard him sigh and sob,
And then . . . a most peculiar thing occurred.
I got to reading more and more, and smoking less and less,
Till just about the day his heart was broke,
Says I: "here, take it back, me lad. I've had enough, I guess.
Your paper makes a mighty rotten smoke."



So then and there with plea and prayer he wrestled for my soul,
And I was racked and ravaged by regrets.
But God was good, for lo! next day there came the police patrol,
With papers for a thousand cigarettes. . .
So now I'm called Salvation Bill; I teach the living Law,
And Bally-hoo the Bible with the best;
And if a guy won't listen_ why, I sock him on the jaw,
And preach the Gospel sitting on his chest.

oh my. what a cheerful text.

A cheerful text? Nay.

'Tis a warning for those who espouse muscular diplomacy.

The official 8K turkey trot is tomorrow. I'm all signed up but I walked my trot today instead - 8K on a measured course in my town. Today was 46 degrees and sunny, tomorrow's early forecast is 18 degrees with a wind chill of zero. No thanks! My enrollment fee will go to the food bank as intended and they are welcome to it, but I won't be trotting for 5 miles in a zero degree wind chill on the lake front. I won't get my official t-shirt, but some things are worth passing up.

Today's effort was 8 K in one hour, 11 minutes or 14.3 minutes per mile.

I'm ready for a massage....

I'll be right over.

J_B--

Good for you.

Hold your dominion.

Hey .... did I just break 250 pounds today?

YES!!!

Ahem. Sorry about the screaming.

-- Thomas, 5'7", 249lb

Thanks George. That probably should have been a 13:oo for the run. ... or I reversed the r and the w.... which is more likely.

Way to go, Thomas.

===
I got up with all good intentions of taking the train to the 59th Station and making a lap of the Park. Punching up the weather I saw this:
Temperature 19°F
Windchill 10°F

I don't really have clothes to run in 10 degree windchills, so I am waiting until some sunshine raises the temperature from brutal to merely chilly.

way to Go! Thomas. !

I am either going to try Dag's pushup, situp, jump routine or I shall put on the long yoga tape.....hmm.....which one?

Joe(Picture yourself on a boat on a river.)Nation

Thomas--

Wonderful. Hold your dominion.

Joe--

Wind chill here makes it feel like 9 degrees. I'm going to be an effete American and drive down the driveway (120 feet, but steep) for the newspapers.

joe, yoga is for sissies!

WTG, Francis!!!!

Yeah, way to go Francis!!

um.... what did Francis do? I missed it.



Yes, sissies who are incredibly flexible, lightly balanced and able to leap tall obstacles blocking their psychic path. (I am only able to do the third skill.)

After a ten year lapse, I am back to doing some of the practice of my youth. Once upon a time I was able to put my hands behind my back and lean out over my extended left leg and put my left ear next to my left foot. The major advantage of this pose is that you can really see just how well your sneakers are tied. Now however I am grateful to my body if it allows me to bend and breathe and feel open.

Went on my run about ten this am, temperature up to about 27F, very nice trot of about an hour. I forgot that they turn the water fountains off when it gets this cold so I was without my mid-lap sip. Must carry a little water with me from now until Spring.

Joe(The day made the stone walls shine)Nation