These are land-mine carburaters.
Yeah, so, once upon a time there was this magical thing called tonsillitis that gave me enchanted powers like not eating for 5 days ,and losing like ten pounds, and coughing up all the craziest colors, and wanting to cry every time I coughed because it's so SO painful but somehow my instincts tell me it's necessary, and the power to form creepy white scabs of some sort on the inside of my head that go "Ouch. No seriously dude Ouch!" in response to a variety of stimuli including but not limted to being alive and breathing.
You all wish you were half this fucking lucky.
Anyhoo, I had a real case of the Mondays as I sat in the Emergency Room trying to drink this whole fucking twenty ounce of orange juice in preparation for the possibility of having my blood stolen (mono test). I don't appreciate the thievery of my blood. In fact I have this highly evolved mechanism in response to it it's called checking out for a minute. Well, I don't know if it's getting blood drawn, or maybe the fact that the last time I had to do it I had dropped from like 135 to 95 in a short period. One way or another, my doctor is gay and everybody in the fucking world that does stuff for the public for money decides "What?! The Fourth of July falls on a day I would have off anyway?! That sir I will not stand for!" and take Monday the Fifth off. Is that a holiday? FUCk. No. So my mom hollaed at her hospital's urgent care facility to make sure we wouldn't pay out the earholes for it, went in went out ( I kept all my blood) and got the hookup on some Amoxicillan. Good old anti-biotics, nothing bad will ever happen through our nation's overuse of those little troopers.
Three days 9 pills and 6 popsicles later, I'm feeling better minus those scab things. I'm even thinking of starting myself on solid foods just like the big boys. Seriously people, whenever you feel like you need to lose just a couple more pounds but you've hit that threshold that your body just won't go under, start licking things in public places, kissing hookers, do whatever you can to get sick. When every hurts that bad, the last thing on your mind is that weakass little rumble in your tummy. It's one thing when you're feeling your oats and you're out and about and it's tea time and you really go for a crumpet, but when your daily agenda is filled in the fashion of: 6:15 am-Lay in bed and moan. 6:30-sleep. 6:35 Wake up to moan. , well at those times hunger kind of takes a back burner. For you real fatties I would totally go with these sweet-ass throat maladies though. It's really more effective than a gastric bypass, because up until about 8 hours ago it was a horrible wincing shooting pain affair just to swallow my own saliva. I dare the obesest (probably not a word) kid to put down a Hoagie with that in mind.
On a less infected note, I may be employed as a personal escort this weekend through Thursday on a little jaunt to Chicago. All I need is like 50 on a train ticket, so depending on my health I'll have to see about this.
If you sit down at a poker game and don't see a sucker, get up. You're the sucker.
Okay, I'm out like gout. Peace.
You all wish you were half this fucking lucky.
Anyhoo, I had a real case of the Mondays as I sat in the Emergency Room trying to drink this whole fucking twenty ounce of orange juice in preparation for the possibility of having my blood stolen (mono test). I don't appreciate the thievery of my blood. In fact I have this highly evolved mechanism in response to it it's called checking out for a minute. Well, I don't know if it's getting blood drawn, or maybe the fact that the last time I had to do it I had dropped from like 135 to 95 in a short period. One way or another, my doctor is gay and everybody in the fucking world that does stuff for the public for money decides "What?! The Fourth of July falls on a day I would have off anyway?! That sir I will not stand for!" and take Monday the Fifth off. Is that a holiday? FUCk. No. So my mom hollaed at her hospital's urgent care facility to make sure we wouldn't pay out the earholes for it, went in went out ( I kept all my blood) and got the hookup on some Amoxicillan. Good old anti-biotics, nothing bad will ever happen through our nation's overuse of those little troopers.
Three days 9 pills and 6 popsicles later, I'm feeling better minus those scab things. I'm even thinking of starting myself on solid foods just like the big boys. Seriously people, whenever you feel like you need to lose just a couple more pounds but you've hit that threshold that your body just won't go under, start licking things in public places, kissing hookers, do whatever you can to get sick. When every hurts that bad, the last thing on your mind is that weakass little rumble in your tummy. It's one thing when you're feeling your oats and you're out and about and it's tea time and you really go for a crumpet, but when your daily agenda is filled in the fashion of: 6:15 am-Lay in bed and moan. 6:30-sleep. 6:35 Wake up to moan. , well at those times hunger kind of takes a back burner. For you real fatties I would totally go with these sweet-ass throat maladies though. It's really more effective than a gastric bypass, because up until about 8 hours ago it was a horrible wincing shooting pain affair just to swallow my own saliva. I dare the obesest (probably not a word) kid to put down a Hoagie with that in mind.
On a less infected note, I may be employed as a personal escort this weekend through Thursday on a little jaunt to Chicago. All I need is like 50 on a train ticket, so depending on my health I'll have to see about this.
If you sit down at a poker game and don't see a sucker, get up. You're the sucker.
Okay, I'm out like gout. Peace.