Xanthohumol and a Happy New Year

We here at MoC want to wish each and everyone one of you out there a happy new year and encourage each and everyone of you to get your RDA of xanthohumol (and considering what day it is, it shouldn't be a problem!)

What is xanthohumol you say?

"MoC, what is xanthohumol?"

Well done.

Xanthohumol is an effective cancer fighting agent, having shown in tests to kill breast, colon, ovarian and prostate cancers!

WOW! That's good news. (Especially for me, now that I'm over fourty!)

"But I've never heard of it, where do I find it?"


Ha ha ha ha....that's the beauty - YOU FIND IT IN BEER!

That's right, beer cures cancer. You heard it here first. So I recommend we all close out the year, start off the new year, with a big dose of xanthohumol!

Who's with me?

Slaunche.

Cheers.

Proost.

Na zdorovia.

Salud.

Banzai!

Christmas Eve Libation

So, in case you have forgotten what MoC looks like during his absence from blogging, the exception of course being what I look like as the 'Green Goblin', well look no further.

Here I am with my Kris Kringle beard in full bloom, drinking my Christmas Eve libation at Sligo's and patiently waiting for the love of my life to walk thru the door. I even have a napkin out for her...

...you'd think after 20 years, I'd get bored and go home.

A Christmas present from me to you...

Triplets - courtesy of Tom Robbins

I went to Satan's house.

His mailbox was painted black.

A fleet of bonecrushers

was parked in his driveway.

The thorns on his rosebushes

were longer than shivs.

And sixty-six roosters scratched

in his front, yard, their spurs

smoldering like cheap cigars.

I went to Satan's house.

It was supposed to be an Amway party.

I wanted one of those

hard as hell steak knives.

The ones that can't tell the difference

between mama's sponge cake

and a chunk of rock cocaine.

I went to Satan's house.

I felt a little out of place.

But Satan's twin daughters soon put me at ease.

They tried on funny hats for me,

showed me jewels,

danced around my chair.

They read my fortune

in a bowl of ashes,

let me pet their Dobermans,

and watch while they rinsed out their pink underthings.

I stopped by Satan's house.

I just happened to be in the neighborhood.

Satan came downstairs in a Raiders jacket.

His aura was like burnt rubber,

but his grin could paint a sunrise

on a coal shed wall.

"I see you've met Desire

and Fulfillment," he said,

polishing his monocle with

a blood-flecked rag.

"Regret is in the kitchen making coffee."