Real or Fake?

Genuine versus an imitation.

How about imitation crab? Have you seen this white rubber painted with a color that resembles the unmistakable orange-pink hues of mercurochrome.

I prefer big meaty King Crab legs.

Egg Beaters.

I know egg yolks are bad for you, but I figure I might eat less than a dozen eggs in a month, so eating that colorized egg whites mixture doesn’t work for me.

Fake boobs versus the real thing?

This gets interesting.

I love it when I talk of, or bring up the subject of, women who enhance their bodies with augmentation, to the Domestic Despot.

“Yeah, but they’re not real,” she might say with a hint of disdain in her voice.

Like it’s some kind of dealbreaker.

Right.

Or, I might innocently remark about a woman’s curves say, from a Brazil Butt Lift, and comment how much more attractive that is as opposed to say, a skinny, flat-ass girl.

Genuine is not better in this case.

I’ll tell you what is also NOT a better alternative: powdered milk.

We drank it when we were in transit overseas from one military base to another back in the late fifties. Powder and water, and unless you took the time to slowly dissolve all the powder, it was like drinking milky powder-water with powder clumps.

I Can’t Believe it’s Not Butter!

Believe it.

It’s not.

It is oil, water, flavoring, dye and coloring.

I won’t even try fake meat.

My thought process is that I can eat whatever I want, as long as I control the portions. In days past, when I said I was going to enjoy a steak, it would not be a lean, trimmed five or six-ounce portion. Or a mystery-meat steak.

Oh hell no.

It would be a 24-ounce Porterhouse, seared, seasoned, and cooked to a perfect medium-rare. I would eat the entire thing, including the fat which I had carefully pushed to the side after trimming the steak. The loaded baked potato, which was the size of a football, was reduced to what might be reused as potato skins.

Another reason why I have eight stents in my body, keeping my heart beating.

Fake stones versus real.

I am sure I sound unsophisticated, but I have no doubt I could be fooled because it happened to me in the garden spot called Las Vegas.

I had a friend who was a real n’eer-do-well. Every couple months or so, he would drop by my condo with a suitcase full of whatever. He was a very colorful chap, and I never asked about the origins of any of his remarkably low-cost luxury items.

I once traded him a quarter ounce of some very pedestrian Mexican weed for a watch he claimed was a genuine Rolex. It was pretty hefty, covered all over with shiny stones that were the real thing on a real Rolex.

If you walk down the Strip today, you can find yourself offered fake deals on every corner.

This was so cool-looking with all the “diamonds” and a green face which were obviously genuine “emeralds” that I figured I would keep it anyway.

Right.

Two years later, I was at a pawnshop where I picked up an awesome Martin acoustic guitar, and the broker wanted a hundred more than I had on me, so just for kicks, I asked him if I could make up the difference with my watch.

He checked it out for about ten seconds, and said, “I’ll give you thirty for it.”

I’m thinking I just swindled the dude, so I said “Deal!”

I even got him to throw in a guitar case and a set of strings.

Highway robbery.

He told me he didn’t have enough cash on hand, but he offered me a cashier’s check. Since I had a lot of experience with cashier’s checks in the casinos, I agreed.

I took the check and saw that my little buddy wasn’t BS’ing me after all; the check was for 29,800.00.

Stay well.