Dateline Parkinsaw, MI:  A View from the Lighter Side of PD, May 30, 99

Greetings from Parkinsaw, MI, the imaginary community in Michigan's
Upper Peninsula where most of the residents have Parkinson's Disease,
including the barber, and there are pet pigs everywhere.  Folks in these
parts keep busy hunting and fishing, having fun, and inventing ways to
make their lives with PD less stressful.

 Here's an interesting story told by Chubby Labarre at the Northern
Lights the other night.  The story centers on an over-zelous salesman at
The Hat and Coat habadashery over on Parky Place.  It seems an older
gentleman had come into the store to shop around, when super-salesman
Moe "Thumbs" Angelosi spotted him, and told a younger salesman that he
was going to sell the guy that 46 XL sportcoat that had been in the
store for two years no matter what.  "Watch this," said the salesman.
"Good afternoon, sir, may I be of some assistence?"  The customer
replied he was just looking.  "Well, my friend, you're in the right
place at the right time.   We have a special price today on a
super-value sportcoat that, if I may say so, is exactly the style and
color for you.  May I show it to you?"   The customer said sure, why
not, but when he saw the size of the coat. he said "Good grief, man,
that coat must be a 50 extra-long, as you can see I'm a 38 short."  "Not
to worry.  Here, just slip this on and feel the quality of this
beautiful garment.   Now, put your arm behind your head, there, that's
it see, now the left arm fits perfectly.  Now, bend your other arm at
the elbow, perfect.  Now, hunch your shoulders up a tad, there the
collar is perfect.  Now, bend at the waist, and there!  That's it!  A
perfect fit.  After paying the bill, the man shuffled outside, his arms
and shoulders arranged per the salesman's advice.  Two tourists happened
to be passing by and one said to the other:  "Look Bill, there's one of
those wretched souls suffering from Parkinson's Disease, look how
hunched over he is, and the way his arms are all screwed up.  Poor
fellow.  I hope they find a cure for that disease soon."  "Ya, you're
right.  But get a load at the fit on that sport coat!"

Old Rasmussen tells us that yesterday he went to the doctor for his
three-month neurological examination.  He had had an MRI a week before
because his tremors were getting worse.  When yesterday's exam was
completed, the doctor called Rasmussen into his office and closed the
door.  "Mr Rasmussen,  I have some good news and some bad news, which do
you want to hear first?"  Rasmussen gulped and said he'd take the good
news.  "Well, said the doctor, the good news is that your Parkinson's
Disease has gotten much worse, and I'm afraid since we can't use any
more medication on you, we'll have to schedule you for brain surgery."
"Oh my God" said Rasmussen, "brain surgery?  Well, what was the bad
news?  I don't know how it could get any worse."  "Well," said the
doctor, frowning, "The bad news is that I shot a 64 on the back nine
this morning.  Absolutely the worst round of golf I've ever played."

The first thing that old Rasmussen did when he got home was telephone
Cold Turkey, the "We keep you cold so you won't grow old" company.
(They specialize in producing home deep-freeze refrigeration units to
preserve their clients in ageless bliss until a cure can be found for
their disease, at which time they're revived.)  "I'm going in," he
said.  "You can unfreeze me when the cure has been found.  No brain
surgery for me!  And, you can tell that new doctor down there where he
can stick his Extra-Big Bertha.  Come to think of it, it'll be a perfect
fit."  If you remember from past reports, these deep-freeze units
include stereo sound systems which can be used to work subliminally to
improve various aspects of your life, such as an improved memory.  Our
idea was to play nothing but Chinese for the ten years or so Rasmussen
would be under, so he'd only know Chinese when he was revived.  Sounds
like a dirty trick, I know, but we all assume the effect would only be
temporary.  (If not, he could open a Chinese laundry).

Everyone is excited in Parkinsaw these days since Hildabrand Johannsen
came to town, and quietly opened up shop as a teller of fortunes and
spiritual conduit.  She arrived from Sweden recently, a dour women, with
little sense of humor.  I told her a boyhood refrain we used to shout
with no malice intended:  "Ten thousand Swedes went through the weeds,
chased by one Norwegian."  She didn't think it was very funny though.
Anyway, Lillian Hanson tells the story of a seance conducted by the
serious Mrs Johannsen, where she claims she actually made contact with
her recently departed husband, Lars.  It all took place at Lillian's
home at the dining room table.  The two women sat quietly in the
semi-gloom, the only light being a small scented candle. staring
intently at a large, framed photograph or Lars.  Suddenly, Mrs Johannsen
sat up rigidly, and began to call Lars name, along with some gutteral
sounds in Swedish.  Then, a chill ran down Lillian's back  as she heard
her husband's voice as clear as if he were in the room."Lilliaann,
Lilliaaan, are you there?"  "Lars, Lars, yes I am.  Is that really
you?"  "Yes, my love it is I."  "Lars, do you still have Parkinson's
Disease in the spirit world?" "Noooo, my love, I am cured.  There's no
Parkinson's Disease here."  "Lars, Lars, what is it like there for you?
I mean what do you do all day?"  "My love it is wonderful.   I have all
the water I can drink, all the food I can eat, and all the loving I
want."  "My God, Lars, so there is a heaven after all.  Tell me about
heaven."  "Hell, Lillian, I'm not in heaven, I'm a stud horse in
Wyoming!"

Sven and  Anna Anderson, who recently moved to Parkinsaw for the climate
and medical facilities, made an appointment to see a local neurologist,
Dr Gonzales,   since he had recently experienced a worsening with his
tremors and rigidity.  After the examination, the neurologist took the
wife aside.  "Mrs Anderson, your husband has developed an advanced
condition of his Parkinson's Disease.  Critical brain cells which
control muscle movement apparently are dying at an increased rate and
there's nothing really we can do except control the symptoms the best we
can.  Now, unless you do the following on a daily basis, your husband
will surely die." The doctor paused, and continued.   "Here's what  you
need to do.  Every morning make sure you serve him a good healthy
breakfast.  Give him muscle massages around 10.   Prepare him a
protein-free lunch so he'll have a well balanced meal.  Then, another
muscle massage at  2.   Make sure you feed him a good, hot meal each
evening and don't overburden him  with any stressful conversation, nor
ask him to perform any household chores.  He may have two contails
before dinner, but take care you don't make them too strong.  Also,
keep the house spotless and clean so he doesn't get exposed to any
threatening  germs or allergens.  Make him a healthy snack each evening,
and take care in bed to help him roll-over and to keep the sheets
untangled.  Above all, he'll be taking 4 different medications 4 times a
day.  It's essential they be administered on time." On the way home, the
husband asked his wife what the doctor said. She replied, "Honey, he
said you're going to die."

With all the interest in matters of pigs, we felt it necessary to pass
on this tidbit of essential information:  The World Pork Expo will be
held in Des Moines, Iowa, from June 10-12, 99.  It's billed as the
"world's largest pork-specific event"  In a related story, the City Hall
has passed a new ordanance designating the former Osterman farm, which
was re-possessed by the city for back taxes, as a sanctuary for pigs who
are fleeing tyrannical situations.  The sanctuary will be under the
management of Mr Dudley Doowrong, former counter-intelligence officer at
Los Alamos, in charge of protecting our nuclear secrets.

Well, everyone, it's late afternoon here in Michigan's Upper Peninsula,
but the sun is still high in the sky.  The deer are still deep in the
brush hiding skillfully among the forests of Jack Pines, awaiting
patiently for dusk so they get on with their mundane foraging duties.
All God's creatures have to eat, including me.  Happily, I don't have to
wait until dusk, and can wander on over to the Northern Lights for some
walleye, tossed salad and a delicious bottle (or two) of Levolager.
Happy trails.

John Bjork
Parkinsaw, MI
"We may be slow but we're not too sure"