Posts from the ‘Mr. Smiff’ Category


They didn’t call him “The Voice” for nothin’…Vern Gosdin was the geunine article.  After years of health problems, mostly related to strokes, Vern died here in Nashville yesterday.

The last time I saw Vern was about a year ago when CLC and I had lunch at the Cracker Barrel by Opryland.  Apparently, Vern was a daily customer and was on a first name basis with all the staff.  (Remember, Chris? One-by-one just about ALL the waitresses came by to see him?) 

Vern had a couple of different careers in music, first making his mark in the Bluegrass world in the 60’s with The Golden State Boys, which included his late brother, Rex, Don Parmley and  Chris Hillman.  They later changed the hillmenbands’ name to The Hillmen.  Vern was right in the middle of the country/rock movement of the late 60’s on the West Coast and even had one of his songs in the movie “Easy Rider.”

After giving up a music career and moving to Atlanta, Vern resurfaced and lordy, I’m glad he gave music another go.  Some of my very favorite country music recordings are Vern’s…his version of “Dim Lights, Thick Smoke (And Loud, Loud Music)” is my favorite rendition of that tune…Curtis Young’s perfect harmony on it is just superb…


Vern’s Gospel album, in my mind, is way up there with the best of the best. The Gentleman Formerly Known As My Husband had the priviledge of contributing harmony vocals on this album. I can’t speak for him but I would wager he is quite proud of that.  Vern’s version of “Jesus Hold My Hand” is my most absolute favorite recording of that Albert E. Brumley classic…

Vern’s classic, written with the late Max D. Barnes, Chiseled In Stone, I think, is up there with He Stopped Loving Her Today with the best of the best of country songs…embodies everything that makes a country song a great country song…very visual and real; so much so you just want to cry when you hear it…

The Elephant In The Room

I’ve hinted at it here and there and have been deliberately delicate about how to approach this subject here.  I think it’s kinda obvious what has happened at the Casa de Smiff.  Yep.  Me and Mr. Smiff have, in the words of that great American, Tex Ritter, split the sheets.

So there ya go. 

It’s an odd place to be.  Even though we’ve been here before, this time is a totally different experience than the other time.  8 years is a good amount of time, and really, I don’t feel like I’m even the same person I was then, much less the same kid I was when I got married in 1989. 

This is the question I get a lot…”How are you?”  It’s usually said with a little trepidation, like the asker is afraid I might actually tell them how I am. 

My question is, DO people really want to know how you are when they ask?  Cause, like, people ask me the question and if I say “I’m good, how are you?”  They will say “REALLY?”  It’s almost like they want  you to not be ok. 

I was in the bathroom at work the other day, talking to Dr. Mac.  Dr. Mac is, well, she’s a doctor.  She is probably the most absolute coolest Canadian I’ve ever run into.  She is hysterically funny, she spins, is very personable, plays on a co-ed hockey team…just love her.  She has also recently been diagnosed with breast cancer.   

We’re in the bathroom washing our hands and I turned to her and asked her how she was.  Then, I remembered who I was talking to and I said “Do you almost get the feeling people want to see you fall apart in front of their eyes?”  She laughed…of course. 

I’m not comparing a divorce with breast cancer.  Apples and oranges , but, both are major, turning-point-in-your-life experiences.  People ask Dr. Mac the same sorta “How are yew doing?” questions and try to answer for her.  I guess people mean well.  Breast cancer and divorce are unpleasant things and I think people are afraid that they may be contagious or something.  I dunno.

So, how am I?  Let’s just say this last month, especially, has been very difficult.  There have been good days, bad days, REALLY bad days, so-so days.  I’ve had some days where I’ve told the co-workers, who are not used to seeing me in teary mode, “If I appear tearful, just ignore me and for pete’s sake, DONT ask if I’m ok.” (Why do people do that?  If you are crying, perhaps “OK” is not the word you’d use to describe yourself.  Just what IS ok anyway?)

I’ve found myself hibernating a bit more than I have in recent times.  It’s not so much that I’m sitting here in my adorable, homey digs weeping and wailing (although I have, make no mistake). I’m just finding myself chillin’.  I don’t know how to describe it.  Quiet. Lots of thinking.  Lots of reflecting. Lots of praying.  In some ways it’s a really good thing but then again, it’s sad.

 I’m not one to meltdown very often, but, according to my counselor, I should do it more.  I haven’t exactly been great at owning my feelings for many years, in fact, I sorta got numb to them.  I believe they call it in the Psyche world Disassociation.” 

It was kindly humbling to find out that what I always thought was one of my “spiritual gifts”, sarcasm, was really a coping mechanism.  Ain’t that something?  Here I’ve been thinking how stinkin’ clever I can be.  And even more humbling was a couple weeks back, my Sunday School teacher pointed out that the root word of the word “sarcasm” comes from the Greek “sarkaizen” which means to “tear flesh.”  Webster defines sarcasm as “a sharp and often satirical or ironic utterance designed to cut or give pain”.  Yikes. 

 Interestingly enough, only in the last year has it ever been directly pointed out to me that ya know, that sarcastic thing you’ve got going is sharp and witty, but, you can hurt people with it.  I’m sure others have thought that but didn’t nobody ever directly say that to me.  I have had a couple instances here on the blog where my sarcasm was hurtful and that was huge for me.

How’d I get on that subject?  I was talking about getting divorced….anyway…I’m not gonna use this space to give details about what happened that led to this, etc.  Me and Mr. Smiff are working very hard at number one, helping our kids to adjust the changes and neither one of us are interested in destroying the other one.  19 years is a long time.  One more year and I would’ve been with him longer than I was with my parents.  I have very strong feelings where Mr. Smiff and his family are concerned.  (Strong as in deep)

So, if you know somebody that’s going through a rough period in their lives…whether it be a divorce, an illness or any number of other tough times, and you don’t quite know what to say, my suggestion is (I’m bout to get Biff on ya) “Drop them” a note or an email that says just that.  I’m here for ya…I care…blah blah…don’t put people on the spot.  Don’t get all in their face and ask for details or try to convince them that they should feel this or that.  Sometimes a hug is good (cept for weirdos like me that aren’t always comfortable with that)…feel it out.  It’s awkward all around.

Sitting At A (Not So) Tiny Table In A (Not So) Ritzy Restaurant…

Chrisyub (Happy Birthday yesterday)…a date with your husband is like this…you find a place you both want to eat.  In our case, it was Texas Roadhouse.  You go about 9:15 because the crowd is much thinner, thus, you are seated right away.  You eat, chat, go home and go straight to sleep.

I think the HT was a little bumfuzzled about her parents actually going someplace without her.  She called, wanting to know how to find something on a website.

Mr. Smiff himself said he thinks we should do the late night thing more often.

Nice way to celebrate a birthday and Valentine’s Day since he will be gone for both.  Don’t feel so bad for me…Out of 18 Valentine’s Days and birthdays that we’ve been together, he’s been away for probably half of them. birthday?  You have one more shopping day.

Whenever You Walk Into The Room

I think it was Slarti who did a post last week or so about “What Songs You Would Want To Play As You Enter A Room” or something like that. I know everybody’s waiting for this so without further adieu…(and there is no rhyme or reason to this…no order…just that these songs have a good beat and are easy to dance to)

Uptown Girl-DON’T ASK ME WHY I would want this played. (Didja get that?!?!? Hee) I can dance better than Christie Brinkley, though.

A Little Less Conversation-

Soul Bossa Nova…anytime I hear this, I want to break into the little Austin Powers jig.

This number is a must too…

And this song is something of the unofficial Sista theme song..

I have a gig tonight. We’re doing this song…

I also have a date with my husband. I also went to the doctor yesterday for a follow up after my procedure. You know what that means. Grrrrrrrrrr.

Oh, Aunt Bee

Y’all have to go look at this.  It’s Mr. Smiff and them live and in the flesh on the Mayberry’s Finest website.  You can even see the Mayberry-Mobile.  Please note the expression on Mr. Smiff’s face when the video stops.  It cracks me right on up.

Incidentally, Mayberry’s Finest products are in some grocery stores now.  Be looking for it and try it.  I hear the collard greens are really good. 


Tom Jones woke me up about 4:15 this morning.  Tom didn’t appear at the foot of my bed in a dream swiveling his swivelable hips.  My cell phone rang (I’ve never been able to give up “It’s Not Unusual” as my ringer.  I just love it) and it was my mother. 

Mom was having a “spell”.  My mother is known for her anxiety spells. Mr. Smiff was the good son in law and went over there.  I just talked to him a bit ago and he’s still there.  He’s probably digging the quiet.  What if he wants to move in with my mother? 

Twice in the last couple weeks I’ve had calls either late at night or in the wee hours. It had been awhile since I had gotten these calls.  They used to happen a lot.  Since her husband died in January of 2005, I haven’t had to make a midnight run to her house.  She is going to have to move closer to us.  35 minutes to her driveway from ours.

I’ve had anxiety problems before (not lately…long time ago) and totally understand what it’s all about.  It’s very real for the person experiencing it.  It is so not fun. 

The first time I had an anxiety attack was in 1987.  I had just been to see that movie “The Lost Boys” and I don’t know what it was about that stupid movie that triggered it (it probably wasn’t even the movie) but lordy mercy….I ended up at the Brentwood Police Department, I was so freaked out.  Did not know what was happening to me or why. I just had the one then and didn’t have one until about a year and a half later.

I had them pretty bad in the early part of 1989 and here and there the next couple years.  After I had the Manchild in 1992, with my Dad’s death following 6 weeks later and then a few weeks after that, the death of my good, good friend, Kent..between birth and hormones and losing two special people…I don’t know….I never cried about either death.  Something in me shut down emotionally and it was like I was numb in a way.  I didn’t want anybody to see me cry and I guess I just didn’t quite know how to deal with the huge losses.  (I have to do a Kent post sometime.  I don’t think I’ve ever talked about him here.  A wonderful, wonderful friend…he died of AIDS at 24 years old).  I can remember thinking it might get on Mr. Smiff’s nerves if I cried too much or talked about it too much.  Pretty stupid, yes, but, I was a kid.

Over the next few months, I started having the crippling fear, tingliness…thought for sure I was dying of cancer.  I was just positive I was.  Any little twitch, ache or pain I had, I was dying.  I was going to leave my little baby without a mother.  He would grow up and never know me.

The episodes got worse and worse.  It eventually got to where they happened in public.  Nobody would’ve known I was experiencing this to look at me.  It was horrendous.  I don’t think Mr. Smiff quite knew what to make of it all.  I may have mentioned it to my mother but I think they all may have thought I was wanting attention or something.  I don’t know.  None of them had ever experienced it before. 

Finally, about 8 months later, I called my OB/GYN and said I thought something was wrong with me.  Because her nurse was very perceptive, she knew immediately what the deal was.  She said something about Postpartum Depression.  (This was before Brooke Shields and Marie Osmond had their bouts of it. It was not talked about back then).  I didn’t take any medicine or anything but the doctor sent me to a wonderful, Licensed Clinical Social Worker who helped me realize all that anxiety was grief that was just sitting there and needed to be let out.  Also the fact I was a 23 year old girl, with a new baby, a husband who was gone all the time, I had no girlfriends or any sort of contact with the outside world.

I’ve always been so grateful that the Manchild was such a perfect baby and so good natured.  No telling what kinda shape I’d have been in had he been colicky or anything.  He was the best baby ever.

My mother’s anxiety stuff started a couple years later when she got the letter from Vanderbilt saying they had used Dad’s remains and were going to bury them.  She, like me, had never really cried much about the whole thing and kept her grief stuffed inside.  Stuff like that tends to catch up with you. 

I’ve never understood why people act like, when at a funeral, when they say “So and So was so strong…held up well” or “Poor So and So just fell apart…didn’t hold it together well.”  I’m here to tell you, falling apart at a time like that is the HEALTHY thing to do.  Whenever I’m at a funeral and the family is all crying and letting it go…as pitiful as that is to see, I’m always glad to see it.  I always know that person is going to be just fine.  It’s the stoic ones I worry about because I’ve been the Stoic One.  Stoic is not always so good.

I don’t have panic attacks anymore.  Haven’t in years, thank goodness. 

Anyway…I felt bad for my mother this morning and was thankful Mr. Smiff was willing to go over there for me.

Farewell, George

We got in the car yesterday afternoon and I realized it was Sunday and George was probably on so I flipped the radio over to 91.1.  (The Holy Tara was not pleased with this move). 

My good friend of a million and two years, Traci Todd, has hosted “George, The Bluegrass Show” on WRVU at Vanderbilt for 22 years.  Every Sunday afternoon, you could tune in and hear bluegrass on the radio in Nashville, Tennessee, thanks to Traci.  She started doing the show in the 80’s when she was a student at Vanderbilt and kept it up all these years for no other reason than she loves the music and wanted to share it with the people of Nashville.  She certainly never did it for the money.

I made the comment to the HT, when I got the tuner tuned “I can’t believe she still does this show after all these years.”  It wasn’t 60 seconds later that Traci came on and said something about it being the “farewell” to George.  It gave me a little pause.

I first found George back in the 80’s when I was first getting into Bluegrass.  This was before Mr. Smiff, y’see.  I started listening to Traci every Sunday and would even record (on tape!) the show every week to my jambox.  This was during the short period between the Old-Boyfriend-I-Keep-Running-Into-Everywhere-I-Go and Mr. Smiff.  It was kinda sad and dark there for awhile and that’s one of the things I always think about when I listen to George. 

There are a couple songs I have really vivid memories of hearing on George that made me love Bluegrass and good pickin…one was Don Reno and Tony Rice’s version of “Freight Train Boogie.”   Something else she played that I loved was Johnny Warren’s “Black Eyed Susie” that featured, unbeknownst to me at the time, Mr. Smiff on bass and the “heys and ho’s”.  

Who isn’t going to miss George and every week, the playing of “The Little Girl And The Awful Dreadful Snake” after the Bluegrass announcements???   That was one of those things you could just plain depend on. 

George was a wonderful, Nashville tradition that I’m a little sad to see go, however, Traci has gone above and beyond all these years keeping it up.  She’s given Nashville just about the only radio outlet for Bluegrass.  Hard to believe, isn’t it?   A lot of performers have gotten good exposure thanks to Traci and George. 

The cool thing about Traci is eventually, she and I worked together at the old CMT.  We became instant pals and she was good enough to be in me and Mr. Smiff’s wedding.  Traci is such a good friend.  She’s one of the “True Blue’s” that will show up in your darkest hour when you least expect anybody to care.  Traci is perhaps the most organized and programmed person I know as well as one of the most intelligent. (Because she’s so programmed and efficient is probably why she’s the head of programming at CMT, still, to this day). 

So, for Traci….George and his friends….a big Saaaaaa-lute.

Come and Listen In To The Radio Station…

I didn’t realize that the Intimate Evening With Stubby and the Grascals will be broadcast live on WSM and on XM radio.  Thanks to my pals at the Bluegrass Blog for that little tidbit. I’ll be listening.

The Homebody

Have I ever mentioned here about how I married, perhaps, the most anti-social person on the planet?  Well, I did.  He could go to a deserted island and live all alone, never seeing a soul again and he would not be bothered at all. As long as the deserted island had ESPN reception, he’d be good.

It’s not that he doesn’t like people. I think he’s got that shy, introverted, artist-type of thing happening.  He has to Shake ‘n Howdy all the time on the road, which he enjoys to a point.  When he gets home, he wants to hibernate, thus, we have no social life to speak of, at least together.  We are a weird couple that way.  I guess, to friends of mine, Mr. Smiff is somewhat of an elusive character that they see very rarely, on special occasions.  Not everybody is cut out to be married to this type of person.  It can be a lonely existence, for sure.

Then again, it’s kinda nice cause he never surprises me with dinner or houseguests or throws any sort of weird social situation at me.  My dad was always springing people on my poor mother.

We had an invite for a New Year’s gathering.  I really wanted to go.  One, it sounded like fun.  Two, once the new year starts, so will Mr. Smiff’s busy calendar.  The Revolving Grascal Door will start swinging.  It was a nice idea to go out to a gathering on New Year’s like normal people do.   But. …He wanted to stay home.  He said he wanted a “nice, quiet evenig at home.”  I reminded him every night he’s home is a nice, quiet evening at home.  It would’ve been neat to actually, like, go out, me and him for a change.

I don’t think he sees it from that point of view at all.  He’s not trying to be a selfish, it’s-all-about-me ass.  He’s a homebody, plain and simple.  Still, it aggravates me and I wish we were going to that party.

Come On Down…

The alarm clock went off this morning.  It was on WSM.  Bill Cody said something about “An Evening With The Grascals and Eddie Stubbs.”  First I’d heard about a romantic evening between them and Senor Stubbs. 

A little later, they put this guy on the air and asked him trivia questions.  This ol’ boy was on his way to work and he answered them all correctly and his prize?  An Evening With The Grascals.  Heh.  That made me laugh very loudly at such an early hour.  “Listen to that”, I said to Sleeping Beauty Mr. Smiff.  “That guy’s prize is he gets to come see you. What a lucky feller.”  Har har. I don’t think Mr. S. thought it was that funny but lordy, I sure did. Imagine that.  Some hard-working feller calls in to WSM on his way to work and he wins an evening with Mr. Smiff, Bobo, Boo, and the whole Hee Haw Gang.  Hys. Ter.I. Cal.

You too could be the lucky winner of an evening with The Grascals.  Go here and see how.

Your Sista will probably have to miss said evening with The Grascals.  That’s the day of the Endo Zap of ’08.  I’m hoping to be loaded up on some sort of narcotic or something similar.  If not, maybe they’ll let me in.

Kennedy Center Honors

The Kennedy Center Honors thing tonight was absolutely fabulous. Earl Scruggs dashing new look, plus, he and Randy doing a little bit of a soft shoe in honor of Steve Martin was just the shizz. Loved it.

The tribute to Brian Wilson….like buttah. The boys choir at the end singing “Love and Mercy” with the beach balls floating about…whoever thought of that deserves a raise.

I love Steve Carell. I think I have a crush on him and Randy Scruggs. And Darius Rucker. And Steve Martin.

Speaking of Scruggs Love, I rented a dvd off Netflix last week. It’s a documentary from 1972 that aired on PBS on Earl. It has clips of him, Randy, Gary, and Steve playing with Doc Watson, Joan Baez, The Byrds, Bob Dylan, an Opry performance….it’s some kinda wonderful.

You know, one of me and Mr. Smiff’s first dates was at the Scruggs house. June of 1989…Glen Duncan (who plays fiddle in this Letterman clip and played in our wedding that December) was there…Charlie Cushman….Alison Brown…some Japanese guys…and there I was, sitting with Louise and meeting my future mother in law, brother in law, sister in law and nephew for sorta kinda the first time. It wasn’t really the first time I met them, but, under those circumstances, it was. Pretty beezar. There is video somewhere of that little pickin’ soiree. Good times.

Here’s the guest list from the White House reception after the Kennedy Center tho’down.

Favorite Picture Ever


On Mary’s Lap…

I hate the memory card ran out only 30 seconds into the thing Mr. Smith, the Manchild, the Holy Tara and I did this morning at the choich.   However, you can hear my Holy Tara’s angelic sounding voice a little bit so listen…

Bug Bites

Well…I think it’s safe to say that the two eldest Smiff Kids have been officially bitten by the Bug.  You know what Bug I’m talking about.  The Bug that bit their Daddy many years ago.  It bit me, but, I was too scared to scratch the itch, so to speak.

First, the Holy Tara, who had filled in for the girl who was supposed to do the solo with the kids, did the solo in the performance.  Katie, the girl who was to have done it originally, is a veteran performer.  She’s worked professionally on recordings and other things since she was a wee girl.  That Katie, when she heard that Tara did the solo so well, told her she should do it.  I thought that was pretty wonderful and selfless of Katie. 

Tara sounded even better last night than she did at rehearsal Saturday.  I had already done my initial boo-hoos at rehearsal.  This was the first time Mr. Smiff had heard it.  Both of her grandmothers were present and both grandmothers were appropriately taken and awed by their grandaughter as were her Uncle and Aunt.  I so wish her Knoxville Aunt and Uncle could’ve been there to hear her. 

Now, I don’t know for sure, because I was not sitting right next to him when the Holy Tara graced the microphone, but, I was a little concerned that it might totally get away with him and him not be able to do his bass thing.  He’s a pro and continued on, proud Daddy he was.

The premise of this presentation was based on “A Prairie Home Companion.”  My friend (and now pastor!) Matt Tullos wrote the thing and it was executed beautifully by some very talented people….props to Loren, Aaron, Hope, Duane, Ben, Rachel, and Skeeter.  It was very loose and very fun.  Not your standard, stuffy, Christmas “cantata”.

I was pretty tickled to be able to be part of the Drummer Boy with Janice and Holly.  Holly is a Junior in High school and a very talented young lady.  I taught her in Sunday School when she was in kindergarten and I have a neat connection with her family.

Before Holly’s dad was married to Janice, long ago he was married to another lady and had two girls.  His daughter, Kelly, was my good friend in 3rd and 4th grade.  I used to spend the night at their house.  Wild we ended up in the same church on the other end of town so many years later.

It really was a thrill and a blessing to play with Mr. Smiff and two of our kids.  The Manchild did a bang up job on his guitar break and it was pretty meaningful to all of us.  I hope we get to do it again.

I made an attempt to have it videoed.  My camera….was working fine Saturday.  I went to use it yesterday and the LCD screen was very faint and the video I had somebody do came out as “file error”.  I remembered why and how I ruined this camera.  I ain’t telling. Somebody videoed it and hopefully we’ll be able to have a copy.

Of Angels and Prostates

Praise the Lord and pass the Alpha Blockers!  I can tell this story now. 

Besides hanging out with the Gaither crew Wednesday, Mr. Smiff had another adventure that very day, yes he did. Mr. Smiff went and had him a Big Boy Physical done. 

 I don’t remember the last time the Mr. had bloodwork and all that stuff done.  It’s been a long time.  He’s been to the doctor for sinus infections and stuff like that.  He’s never had the exam that most menfolk types dread, I think worse than us womenfolk type dread ours.  Yeah, THAT one.

I am not lying when I say that poor Mr. Smiff had himself worked up into a tizzy over this physical.  He literally made himself nauseous the day before.  I think he had convinced himself that he had prostate cancer, the poor feller. He’s had some “issews” of late that made him concerned.  He was even thinking things like “How ironic would it be for Sharon to lose her father to prostate cancer and then me?”  I understand that cause I have an inner hypochondriac myself.

Oh Precious Jesus in Heaven, how I wish I could have been a tse tse fly on the wall in the doctor’s office when my Mista had to do the manly version of the Stirrup Scoot Boogie.  He did tell more detail that I won’t enlighten y’all with, however, I asked permission from him to tell the funniest observation he had about the whole experience:

And I quote….“I will be farting petroleum jelly for a week.”

 I think maybe the Man version is a little worse than what women do. (Don’t tell him I said that)  Or maybe it’s just that I’ve been having the woman thing done for about 20 years, I’m somewhat used to it.  This was UNCHARTERED TERRITORY, if you will, for the Mista.  I’m very glad he had it done and that all his bloodwork checked out a.o.k.  His LDL could maybe be a little lower but he’s good.

I texted Mr. S. last night after he and the Grascals did a beautiful rendition of Farther Along on the Grand Ole Opry (it was so sweet…they sent it out in memory of Josh) to thank them for doing that number.   Ole Mr. Smiff hit that high note perfectly.  He usually does baritone with the Grascals but on this one he went way up there and it was fabulous.  I texted him and said “You hit that high note perfectly, enlarged prostate and all!” 

 All my life it seems I’ve been hearing about our friend, The Prostate.  No, I do not have one (last I checked anyway) but jeebus, that word has been in the air since I can remember. 

I was in the 8th grade when my father was told he had Prostate Cancer.  I was introduced back then to the world of “Radiation Seeds”, “TUR” procedures (remember when Al Franken described this in detail on SNL after Reagan had it? Heh.)  and our family was never able to stand in Forest Hills Baptist Church and sing “All Hail The Power of Jesus’ Name” the same again.  All because of the line that says:

All hail the power of Jesus’ name, let angels’ PROSTATE fall

Yes, we were wrong for that.   I still get the giggles whenever that hymn is sung in my presence.  I’m glad I come from a bunch that can laugh in the face of fear.  The whole prostate cancer issue hovered in the background, even though it was not discussed at length, at least with me.  My mother prefers the “Let’s Not Talk About Reality Method” of living because it might create an uncomfortable feeling and we can’t have that, now can we?

  Dad would have regular checkups and a procedure done here and there and never had any radiation or anything like that until the year before he died.  He was only supposed to live 3 years but he hung around for 9.  For that, I’m quite grateful.  He was diagnosed before the PSA test was around. 

I kid and can laugh about prostatic things, but, I am serious when I say that all the menfolk past a certain age should do what they need to do, get regular checkups and stay on top of that part of your health. My dad let his go too long.  Take advatnage of the advances in prostate screenings.

The preceeding blog post has been a public service, courtesy your Sista and the Mista (and the Biffer, too, if he were around to say so)


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