Posts Tagged Health

Mental Health Community Classifies David Coverdale’s Disorder

David Coverdale

The American Psychiatric Association announced today that they have classified a new mental illness known as David Coverdale’s Disorder. DCD is a disorder named for Whitesnake frontman David Coverdale, and it is characterized by a high degree of salaciousness and narcissism that can be devastating to affected individuals.

The APA has published a list of associated symptoms and encourage people who suspect they may have DCD to contact a mental health professional right away. Males 35-45 are considered the highest risk group.

Symptoms include:

  • Relentless sexual arousal, regardless of the circumstances
  • Uncontrollable sweating
  • Restlessness
  • A hugely inflated sense of self
  • Compulsive use of double entendres or innuendo
  • Kissing with tongue exclusively, including family members
  • Increased cheesiness
  • A tendency to walk the streets at night (also associated with Dokken’s Syndrome)
  • Strong attraction to torrid situations
  • High saliva production
  • Leathery skin
  • Body odor that mimics cologne or body spray
  • Excessive smugness
  • A penchant for medallions

As of yet, no single course of treatment for this disorder is proven, though members of the health community expect that its effects are reduced through aging or an acrimonious split with Tawny Kitaen.

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The Surprising Truth About Five Dieting Beliefs

feet-scaleWho has time to keep up with all that weight loss research? After all, it’s so technical and confusing and often uses really big, difficult words like “measurement”.  And if you don’t know what you are doing, you might end up trapped in a 1997 Plymouth Voyager, eating ketchup packets to stay alive while angry Iranian protestors bang on your windows demanding “Death to America”.  Or speaking to a giant goiter that has sprung from your neck.  Or mauled by polar bears.

It’s a cold, brutal world out there and it is often difficult for the average person to spend more than 12 seconds reading something before being so completely overcome with rage that they begin howling and drooling.  Lucky for you, our team of Tyranny of Nutrition weight loss researchers have spent hours of painstaking research researching the research done by other researchers.  Surprisingly, we found that many of the dieting myths accepted as gospel by the mindless mob of cellulite obsessed Americans all desperately trying to think about anything but their own fragile mortality were actually just a bunch of lies concocted by narcissistic fools who would put a knife in their grandmother’s throat for a shot to get on Oprah.

Knowing what the actual truth is in this godforsaken, garbage heap of a world can be the difference between winning and losing The Battle of The Bulge.  Here’s the skinny on some of the best-known diet myths around.

1. If I Stop Eating Entirely, I Will Die

False:  The average human can survive for years without consuming a single calorie.  In new research done by The National Society For The Prevention of Human Emotion, 93 percent of people just fool themselves into eating because they are weak.  They have been coddled by our liberal schools and, as a result, believe they need to eat in order to “nourish their bodies”.  They can never truly understand the feeling of pride that our forefathers experienced by ignoring their basic needs and suffering an entire lifetime for absolutely no reason in particular.

2. Being Overweight Can Lead To Diabetes, Heart Disease and Walking Corpse Disorder

True (but so what): Life is cruel and fleeting.  Ever hear the one about the guy who won the lottery and got hit and killed by a milk truck the next day?  Or the one about super athlete marathoner who dropped dead of a heart attack in his early 40s?  According to a recent study done by The American Bureau of Obvious Statistics, 100 percent of Americans will die at some point in their lives.  In most cases, it will be in a miserable, hideous way, unless you are lucky enough to die in your sleep or in the throws of passion. Sure, a proper diet may buy you a few years, but the end will be far more terrible than you can possibly imagine and there is a good chance that regardless of what you eat, something random and unspeakable will happen to you anyway.

3. Skinnier People Are Happier Than Fat People

False:  No one is ever happy for very long.  Many skinny people spend half of their time obsessing over not becoming fat.  Many fat people spend half of their time obsessing over becoming skinny.  If they manage to steer clear of that trap, there is a whole universe of possible maladies and unsightly embarrassments to be terrified of.  From chronic halitosis, to acne, to worrying that their young children are acting like Bebe’s Kids at the local library, cruel judgments wait around every corner.  The only relief most people get from constant feelings of inadequacy is the joy in noticing and quietly mocking the faults of others.  On and on South of Heaven.

4. When You Lose Weight, More People Will Like You

False:  People don’t avoid you because you are heavy.  They steer clear of you because having interactions with other humans is often intolerably dull and painful.  Don’t take it personally; most people hate everyone.  They long for a day when the human race is wiped out, but they worry that Internet service and pizza delivery will be affected by global extinction, so they do not take action.  Lose all the weight you want, it won’t change the fact that almost everyone who talks to you on a daily basis fantasizes about turning on the news and finding out you were swallowed up by a sinkhole during the night.

5. Weight Loss Happens Only When God Wills It

True:  Let’s face it, the reason most people are fat is because the Western world has all but turned it’s back on God.  You never see any pictures of fat Puritans, do you?  The weight of the average American has nearly tripled since prayer has been taken out of schools by those meddlers over in Washington.  Obesity is God’s punishment on America for its love affair with atheism, fast food and heavy metal music.

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BlaK Dan Reviews Ketchup

My brother-in-law, BlaK Dan, is at it again.  If you’ve been following his saga here at Tyranny, you already know that he lost all his money investing in Amway products and is sleeping on my couch until he “gets on his feet again”.  He was living in a cave until a park ranger kicked him and his pet ferret out and now we are stuck with him.  He does nothing but parade around our house wearing a Burzum tee-shirt and eating cornflakes out of a Qwik Rabbit mug he’s had since he was 8.  

The man has no dreams, no goals other than one day managing a metal message board and playing one note black metal songs “whilst alone in a forest”.  In order to keep him busy, my wife has asked me to let him write an occasional metal album review for the blog.   Here’s where it gets tricky…he’s now refusing to listen to any metal.  He’s decided that he will only write reviews of inanimate objects, because metal music is “unworthy of his talents”.  So…here’s another in the endless, intolerable and ever-changing series now known as “BlaK Dan Reviews Ordinary Household Items”.

 

BlaK Dan Coming Upstairs After A Late Night Cornflake Binge

People who put ketchup on food are idiots.  They have no idea of what food in its purest form tastes like.  They are animals.  They do not have the right to exist.  When I am at a diner and a see one of these “people” consuming food with ketchup on it, I know they are sub-humans unworthy of the oxygen that Odin and I provide them with.

This blood-colored ooze spews out of disgustingly shaped bottles and pollutes our food with its hideous sweetness.  If you are ever curious as to which amongst you are inferior, here’s a simple test.  If they have defiled a perfectly good and pure  lump of meat with this syrup of sickness, then you can rest assured that they are degenerate parasites who are wasting the flesh, bone and will that they were born with.

If you use ketchup, it is because you are weak.  I refuse to tolerate your weakness.  If I had my way, they’d bring back the guillotine and behead each and every one of you cowards.  You violate all that is decent in our world then have the temerity to call me intolerant or unclean or in violation of local health code standards or someone who can’t live within 500 yards of an elementary school.  It is you that are a pox upon our world, Ketchup-eater.  And it is you that should pay the ultimate price for your life of decadence.

You befoul our forests and streams with your civilized blandishments and then wonder why your world is repulsive and depraved.  The essence of life is being destroyed by an endless flow of ketchup.  Ketchup in the mountains.  Ketchup in the valleys.  Ketchup in our seas.  Ketchup in our forests. Ketchup in our oceans.  Ketchup everywhere you look.  Ketchup in the name of progress.   You have contaminated the world and destroyed all that is sacred.

You think you are so clever.  You eat your ketchup and you laugh and laugh and laugh.  Ha, Ha, Ha….look at civilized me with my ketchup and my Italian leather shoes.  Aren’t I something else?    Look at my fancy ketchup eating wife and my two well-dressed ketchup-eating children.  Aren’t I unique?

You think because you eat ketchup you have the right to judge me.  I am above your judgments.  You are slime.  Like Zarathustra, I am surrounded by fools and idiots spewing a ridiculous ketchup-soaked morality that is meaningless.  MEANINGLESS!   I hear your snickers, I see your scorn, but it is you that are vile and you that are impure.  If you hadn’t allowed ketchup to taint your world, you would know me and understand that you are unworthy to be in my presence.  Instead, I am stuck here in moron hell watching you wallow in ketchup and despising every minute of it.  I hate all of you.

FILTH!!!!!!

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Acute Post-Operative Complications

About six months ago, I had surgery done on my foot to remove a bone spur.  During the surgery I was given a dose of anesthesia to knock me out and numb the pain.  Since the surgery I have noticed many inconsistencies in the fabric of the universe.  I have come to the conclusion that one of two things took place.  The first possibility is that I am still under anesthesia and currently on the operating table.  For this to be true, the anesthesia would have to have distorted my sense of time and what has felt to me to be two months is actually less than an hour.  The other possibility is that I died on the operating table and this is either a very strange afterlife or I am experiencing an early stage of death in which the images and ideas in my head slowly become distorted as I lose my connection to what we know as reality.

I know this sounds a bit far fetched, but things have been really strange since the anesthesia went into me.  When I was first injected I began to feel extremely sleepy.  I tried to talk but it felt like my mouth was filled with peanut butter.  My eyes closed and all I could hear were the doctor and one of the nurses talking and that dumb song “Life is a Highway” (the surgery center pumped bad pop music into all the operating rooms to “relax” the patients).  I was completely conscious and totally immobile.  The song was making me angry.  Why couldn’t they have anesthetized my ears?  It’s a preposterously stupid metaphor.  What the heck does it mean?  Life goes on for a long time?  Life has exits?  If you stay on life for thirty minutes you can get to the airport?

I’m not certain of how I got home.  It was late in the day.  For the next week I flowed in and out of awareness.  Pain and pain medicine shaped my reality.  I watched the entire first season of the TV show the old CBS show “Wiseguy” on DVD (mercifully, I only remember about ten minutes of it), I ate pizza, I stared at the painting of a woman on the wall and imagined another head growing out of her neck.  I could not shake the feeling that something was wrong.  I chalked the whole thing up to oxycodone-induced weirdness and figured I’d feel normal once I got the stuff out of my system.

Time passed.  My foot began to heal, I started driving again, I went back to work, and I shed my crutches for a boot.  Life resumed, but I could not shake the feeling that the things around me were somehow less real then they had been.  It’s not something I can put accurately into words, but it feels quite real.  The world seemed similar but not the same.

My first visit to the gym was when things started to get really weird.  I slowly moved my way through a few machines and went into the locker room to get the stink off of me.  As I walked past the lockers there was a guy in a speedo who looked almost exactly like the guy who played Father Damien Karass in the Exorcist films.  I had never seen him at the gym before.  He was staring into his open locker and shouting.  Most of what was coming out of his mouth was impossible to understand.  He was raving.  I understood the occasional curse word, but most of it seemed like it was in some weird language that he was making up as he went along.  I averted my eyes away from him and sprinted into the shower.  When I had gotten out, he was quietly staring with this horrible empty expression on his face.  Suddenly, I heard him say in a monotone, semi-possessed voice “Life isn’t a highway, is it Keith?  Is it Keith?  Is it Keith?”

I felt my stomach leap into my throat.   “Excuse me?!?!?!”

He just continued staring blankly into the locker.

“What did you say???”  I repeated in a panic.

He did not respond.

I did not tell the thing about “Life is a Highway” to anyone except my wife.  I strongly doubt that my wife has launched into a criminal conspiracy with some lunatic at the YMCA to drive me crazy so she’ll be able to drive our Saturn more often, so I have to imagine there are strange forces at work here.  But what?  Why?

Every time I see this guy, he hums a bar from it and smiles at me.  He has a sickly, menacing smile.  The type that bankers usually reserve for customers with no hope of getting a loan.  He jogs next to me on the treadmill sometimes.  Humming.  Smiling.  Laughing to himself.

The other day, he walked out of the gym at the same time as me.  He started repeating the phrase “Do you know where we are?  Do you know where we are?  Do YOU know WHERE we ARE?” in strange intonations about five feet away from me.  At first, I sped up, but when he didn’t stop and continued to follow me I knew I had to take some kind of action.  I turned to him and shouted “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?  Why are you bothering me?!?!?!?!”

He looked perplexed.  The man stared blankly into my eyes and began to speak with a voice that betrayed no emotion whatsoever, “Don’t you know where we are?”  He reached slowly into his pocket.  I was terrified.  What was happening?  He grabbed my wrist and shoved a piece of paper in my hand.  With a coy smile, he turned on his heels and stumbled back towards the gym.

Maybe it was some explanation of everything.  Maybe it was a threat. I needed something to make it all make sense.  I swallowed deeply and looked at the piece of paper.  This had to be the answer.  It had to be.  It was a ten percent off coupon for the frozen yogurt store about a mile from my house.  The orange rain began to pour down from the sky, washing away the beautiful blue sunset.  I sat down on the curb next to my car, put my head in my hands and wept.

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I Am A King Diamond’s Disease Survivor

A Picture of Me Getting Ready To Go To My Daughter's Piano Recital

Have you ever found yourself singing the chorus from a King Diamond song at an inappropriate time like in church or at a funeral?  Do you ever wake up with your face covered with strange painted designs without knowing how they got there?  Do you ever find yourself having bizarre urges, like making furniture out of the leg bone of your neighbor?  If you answered yes to any of these questions, you may be one of the nearly 2 million Americans who suffer from King Diamond’s disease.  You are not alone.

King Diamond’s Disease, known to doctors as Bendixitis, claims nearly a thousand new victims a week.  You may see many of these poor souls on the streets, covered in backwards crosses, wandering aimlessly while singing the falsetto chorus to Abigail.  They often struggle to maintain normal lives.  They are your doctors, your teachers, your lawyers and your children’s crossing guards.  I know their pain, because, you see, I am one of them.

My story isn’t different from most KDD survivors.  It started innocently enough.  I’d be in the car on my way to pick up the children from their Tae-Bo class and catch myself howling “Sleeeeeeeplesssss Niiiiiiiightssss” for no reason in particular.  I’d find myself thinking about the King more and more each day.  When I was eating dinner, I wondered what The King might be eating.  When picking out clothing at a shopping mall, my mind would drift to what The King might think about the sweater I was trying on.

Then, one day, I woke up for a critical job interview for the position of Chief Tagalog Translator at The United Nations.  As I was putting the finishing touches on my outfit, I looked in the mirror and staring back at me was a 6 foot 2 stranger in a suit and tie with his face painted just like King Diamond on the Conspiracy album.  I know that I hadn’t painted it myself!  The paint would not wash off no matter what I tried.  Imagine my pain and sadness, sitting in the most important job interview in my entire life, knowing that no employer in their right mind would hire a guy who showed up for a job interview dressed like a demented ghoul.  They laughed at me.  “Don’t call us, we’ll call you,” they sneered.  They simply didn’t understand.

The face paint has never come off.   It’s been three years now.  I’m still unemployed, although I had a brief part time job as a greeter at Wal-Mart until I was fired for supposedly causing the store to be attacked by evil spirits.  My children try their best to understand, but when the other kids make fun of them because their daddy is dressed up for Halloween everyday it hurts their feelings.  The community has shunned me.  I stopped going to church because they kept dousing me with holy water.  Everywhere I go I am an outcast.

There is no known cure for King Diamond’s Disease.  A diet low in orange sherbet can lessen many of the symptoms, but Bendixitis is a lifetime ailment that will never leave you once you have it.  I have found strength in my support group Survivors of An Unmercyful Fate.  We meet once a week and discuss how to live life one day at a time.  I have met a lot of great people in the Atlanta area who suffer like me including my sponsor Joann, a kindergarten teacher who has lived with King Diamond’s disease since she saw the King on The Spider’s Lullabye Tour back in 1995.  Her strength in going through her day trying to teach the alphabet to screaming, crying, terrified children is an inspiration to us all.

With research and time, a cure might be found.  Until that day comes, I will wear my face paint proudly knowing that my “disorder” allows me to have something in common with the greatest vocalist ever to walk the earth.  But still, I long for a day when I can walk down the street without old women cringing and middle aged men asking me to sing them a song about my grandmother.

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Glossophobia and The Fugitive Mind

Stage fright is a truly terrible feeling.  Many people confront it, but usually they manifest their experience in different ways.  Some people cry, some talk louder, some simply feel a vague sense of dread as they move through the speech.  What I’ve noticed in talking to people about it over the years is that the experience of it changes dramatically from person to person, but it is always quite miserable if you feel it.

I have an awful fear of speaking on stage.  As a teacher, I never feel nervous speaking to a roomful of high school students, but once a year in May I am asked to speak in front of a large audience on a stage with a microphone.  The speech itself is something I’m honored to give, but the fear I feel starts around January and becomes nearly debilitating by the end of April.  It is only a three-minute speech but my fear of it consumes months of my life.

People are always very supportive and try to be compassionate but usually the advice I get doesn’t help all that much.  If you mention you have this fear you will get a lot of guidance, but often I’m not sure if the people who give it really understand the parts of it that make it so terrifying.  It is an irrational feeling and most rational suggestions fail to address it in a way that is practical.  You get advice like “Try to imagine them all naked”.  If everyone in the audience were naked I’m sure I’d be even more terrified!  How could the thought of hundreds of naked humans staring at you be even remotely comforting?  Other people ask you “What’s the worst that can happen?”  They have no idea of the circus that your brain becomes for three minutes.  The worst that can happen is that you’ll be on stage giving the speech.  People simply can’t comprehend why a relatively simple act like this can cause such suffering.  I don’t really understand it myself.

The following is an attempt to describe the experience in real time.  Some of this will sound silly, but every single thought written down has gone through my mind on stage.  The goal of this piece is to create a running record of what stage fright actually feels like for me.

Alright, here we go.  Need another sip of water.  If you act confident, the fear won’t come.  Okay, time to stand up.  They just called me.  Fix my jacket.  Three buttons…how many should I button?  I need to keep it buttoned cause my tie is too short.  I look like Oliver Hardy.  Someone once told me leave the bottom unbuttoned.  Okay.  Here we go.  Don’t look up.  Don’t look up.  Just read.  You should make some arm gestures.  Just hold the podium.  Don’t fall.  Hands sweating.  The podium is see through.  Are the spots around my hand fogging up?  Do they see me sweating? Act confident.  Here it comes.  Here it comes.  I should have left them all unbuttoned.  I should have acted more confident.  Now IT is HERE. 

Hot.  What if I pass out?  Falling, hitting my head.  Would someone catch me?  I’m too big.  Where am I?  Did I just miss a line…no, no, I’m okay….page one is over.  Don’t look up.  They are all looking at you.  They are all looking at you.  Is my fly zipped?  Don’t look up.  Fast.  Dizzy when I look up.  Falling, hitting my head.  IT IS HERE.

Does what I’m saying make any sense?  Do they hear me?  I didn’t practice enough.  I practiced wrong.  Fast. I practiced too much.  What if I forget how to read?  Sweating.  Pain in the top of my head.  Antler pain.  I feel like antlers are going to sprout out of the top of my head.  Stay focused.  Where am I?  I am reading, but I don’t know how.  There is another me reading.   I don’t even know what the other me is saying.  Why are they laughing?  Did I say something funny?  Did I do something embarrassing?  I didn’t write that to be funny…what’s happening???

FOCUS!!!!  Antlers.  Sharp, sharp pain in the top of my head.  Halfway done.  Sweating.  What if I can’t breathe?  Slow down your breathing.  What if I can’t?  I don’t control my breathing.  Long way to go in this speech.  Lots of words left.  What if I start saying weird things?  What if I start shouting random nonsense?  NO CONTROL. What if I burp?  What if I start cursing?  What if I lose control of my body?  Sharp pain in my head.  Antlers are growing inside.  Will they pop out?

One page left.  Downhill, downhill, breathe, another minute…..breathe.  If I can just get one more page.  What am I talking about?  Where am I?  DON’T LOOK UP!!!!  THEY are watching you….breathe….breathe….you are going to fast…..no one understands….breathe….one paragraph now…..look up once…try it…..try it….dizzy….FOCUS….DON’T LOOK UP…..clapping…no more words….handshake….get to the chair….don’t fall….don’t pass out…get to the chair…..sit down…..breathe….

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Guided Meditation For Conservatives

We, at The Tyranny of Tradition, are proud to present today’s guest writer, Jonathan Winthrop.  Winthrop is a conservative columnist, syndicated talk radio host, all-around great American and a personal friend of mine.  He is the founder of the The Conserva-zen Institute for Self-Enlightenment and Lower Taxes.  He has published a series of  New York Times best-sellers including “Visualize Liberty”, “Visualize a City On The Hill Without Liberals” and “Visualize, Then Fire”.

Visualize Reagan:  Guided Meditation For Conservatives

By Jonathan Winthrop

Guided meditation is an important component on the path to spiritual enlightenment.  Today, I present to you a short exercise to help you free your mind of some of its stress and strain.  I recommend you sit down in a cool and comfortable place, dim the lights and play some soothing music.  Close your eyes and let a feeling of safety wash over you.  Have someone with a calming voice (preferably not someone with a foreign accent) read you the following words.

Envision Reagan.  He stands straight and proud.  Look closely at his face.  It is a calm face.  It projects strength.  Liberty.  Freedom.  Look closely at his mouth.  The confident smile.  Like the Duke.  Poised.  Look into his eyes.  Steel Blue.  Knowing.  Like a wise Grandfather.

Reagan is at the podium.  He stands in front of a room full of proud Americans.  Good Americans.  People like you and me.  They are singing.  He raises his hands and they fall silent.  He speaks of freedom.  He speaks of joy.  He promises to lower the marginal tax rates for earners making over 250,000 dollars a year to below ten percent.  You gaze at him.  He begins to glow.

You and Reagan are transported to a beautiful serene valley.  Reagan stands in a meadow surrounded by happy animals.  Playing.  Sheep and lambs run around him in a circle.  Reagan smiles.  Angels dance around him.  They lift him upward.  Slowly.  He levitates towards the clouds.  Gentle white wings appear in his back.  Reagan begins to soar faster until he disappears in a white blur.

You are in a nursery surrounded by beautiful newborn babies.  All the babies gently coo.  You see a beautiful boy.  You pick him up and look closely at his face.  The baby’s face morphs into the face of Reagan.  He smiles.  You feel warm.  His eyes lock with yours and you feel a perfect inner peace.  Those same knowing eyes look back at you.  The eyes of Reagan.

Bad people appear.  Communists, 60’s radicals, liberals, mass murderers.  The baby Reagan becomes the strong, grandfatherly Reagan.  His eyes grow red.  A beam shoots out of them and kills all of the bad people.  He stomps on each of their bad faces.  He looks at you and smiles.  The babies are safe.  All of the babies are in Reagan’s arms.  He comforts them.  Like a Grandfather.

Reagan does not take.  He gives to those who deserve and shows a firm hand to those who don’t.  He is peace through strength.  He sees the part of us that is rejected, that is lonely, that has been weakened by government programs like affirmative action and Planned Parenthood.  He reaches out his glowing finger and he heals us.  He heals us.  He heals us.

Audio copies of this meditation read by Charlton Heston or Ann Coulter are available through City on The Hill Publishing for $19.99 plus shipping and handling.

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