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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"