A recent newspaper picture of Simon Cowell, stripped to his high-waist jeans, perambulating along in under the California sun, almost made me gag. Working out is no guarantee that you’re going to look better and Simon and his man-boobs doesn’t cut it in the body beautiful stakes.
Simon’s head looks like it is too small for his musclebound body and instead of coming out of the gym with a six-pack and a rejuvenated glow, he’s sporting a kind of “John Gilligan ripped’ look.
However, the person who least noticed how unsettling it was, was Simon himself, because that’s the kind of guy he is. Anyone prepared to pay Cheryl Cole over 2 million dollars to be a panelist on American X Factor is suspect anyway and how he can rationalize bringing that dunderhead back into play is beyond me. She peaked when she did the shampoo commercials and that’s where she should have been left. Instead we were forced to further endure her emptiness, when she showed-off the most ludicrous tattoo that had ever been tatted. A single delicate rose was not for her. Instead she got a whopping great rosebush, which covered a good half of her posterior .
Actually I’m probably jealous that Cheryl has an ass and I don’t. Yes, friends, sad to announce, my ass has disappeared. I used to have a good ass and one minute it was there behind me and the next minute it was gone.
I was very happy with my bum, two little hamburger buns that filled out a pair of jeans in style. Over the years, it drew many compliments
So where did it go? I tried to recall when I first noticed it was missing, but there was an element of confusion because around the turn of the century, I had a bit of a belly for a while. I began to wonder did my bum migrate slowly to my stomach, masquerading as a paunch? Was this a first move to escaping completely.
I weighed thirteen stone–seven pounds at that time and despite slight avoirdupois, I still felt I looked alright from behind. But then in 2003, when the dreaded Parkinson’s came along, I didn’t anticipate all sorts of unpredictable side effects.
It must have been at that point that my posterior decided to scarper, very slowly, so as not to be detected. For the first five years, Parky was a breeze. I said to myself, I can handle this. My appetite was consistently good, but after seven years my weight tumbled to 12. St. 7lbs. (don’t do metric). And a year later it was down by a further stone.
That’s when I really starting feeling the effects of being deserted by my bottom. I looked in the mirror and it wasn’t there anymore. My two roundy hamburger buns had been replace by two pancakes. My 34” waist went out the window. All my jeans were sliding down my hips and my belts acquired two extra holes.
Now I was down to a 32” waist, but I was starting to notice that sitting on a hard seat for any length of time was growing very uncomfortable.
Would you believe it, I dropped a further stone last year, squeezed into a size 30” Levi’s and had to buy myself a special cushion for sitting at my computer. My bum was so flesh free, I considered starting a band called Bony M, but the thoughts of sitting on a tour bus for hours with my unpadded rear end is too off-putting.
But I am not in despair yet. I serendipitously met a medical supplier at a barbecue last Summer. He invited me to try out a state-of-the-art new mattress, called a mobility bed. This extraordinary mattress has in-built sensors and when you roll or turn during the night, a series of gears within the mattress adjusts the mattress automatically and puts you back on an even keel so to speak. It can also counteracts bedsores and as well as helping Parkinson’s sufferers, the mechanism is also a boon when adapted for wheelchair users. Even people .with dementia, who don’t sleep well benefit from it and with the flesh gone off my bottom, the cushion effect of the bed is marvellous.
The best news yet though, is that my friend the medical supplier tells me he also sells false bottoms. No kidding. YOUR ASS IS GRASS. You strap them on and not alone do they fill out your trousers, they also provide a cushion effect.
I just wonder, should I take it any further. Should I start a society of people who have lost their asses, for as sure as shooting, if I lost my ass, then it has happened to others. As Hamlet said “there’s nothing new under the Sun, Horatio.”
Danny Boy, aka The Derriere, would definitely be our theme tune and I could play with puns ands organize Bum of the Week, The Year of the Rear the Ass With Class.
At worst, dolled up, with false bottom in place, I’m optimistically looking forward, at some time in the future, to overhear somebody, preferably a woman, saying ,“for a man in his seventies, he has a great arse.”
False bottoms and wondrous beds: O’Neill Medical Supplies www.onhealthcare.ieArticle Written by Shay Healy First Published in The Irish Daily Mail Saturday 8th March 2014 Shay Healy’s latest eBook ‘The Danny Boy Triangle’ is Out Now on Kindle 2.99 Free Kindle Reader – download app