Gentle reader, it’s possible you have noticed something of an ‘edge’ in my writing recently. I’d like to assure you it has nothing to do with you, but we can’t always do what we like, if ever. Honestly, it has very little to do with the real you, whom I know nothing of. It’s more based on an educated guess about what a person who regularly reads my work with some pleasure would be like, which is to say, not very pleasant. In addition, I suffered a rather epic careen down the stairs this Christmas eve, accompanied by a vacuum cleaner I had been carrying at the time. The resulting insult to my physical person has been characterized by what my medical team calls ‘a nasty sprain’. I can only hope the lawsuit I am preparing for them is so blisteringly appalling that they are reduced to tiny piles of ash when further consultations reveal the actual source of my continuing agony: Ankle Cancer.
Since my neo-fascist insurance provider finds it amusing and profitable to assign me a ‘nurse practitioner’ instead of that lately near mythical quantity, a ‘doctor’, I was sent forth with little more than a fare thee well. No crutch, no cane, not even the customary fistful of narcotics, which my old doctor used to leave at reception in a candy dish. Sadly, since Homeland Security ‘tightened’ the borders, I can no longer visit him for weekly 'consultation'. The stress of that alone deteriorates my well being daily, and the resulting 'chronic physical withdrawal' may account for some of the 'negative energy' I've exposed a few of you to in the form of 'identity theft'.
In short, I am experiencing a small amount of discomfort that if you were to feel only an inkling of would reduce you to a sodden weeping confusion generally reserved for Girl Scouts suddenly confronted by lecherous pirates. Therapeutically, I transform this discomfort into a laser-like beam of loathing, a beam currently focused on you.
I suppose I should thank you for that inadvertent service, but I won’t. Instead, I’ll offer this free advice. Don’t thank people. It speaks directly to their lizard brain, and here’s what it says: I am a pussy. It’s like showing your throat to a dominant baboon, another thing I advise you to avoid. That's two advices in one post, which is two more than you've earned, so if you now feel moved to send me a 'get well money order', I won't say no.
greenimp (Guest) on 01/28/2008 5:14 am
yay, first comment!
"customary fistful of narcotics, which my old doctor used to leave at reception in a candy dish." you too?, i think i'm suffering from withdrawal...
Pentegarn on 01/28/2008 5:21 am
In the absence of drugs the only way to alleviate pain is to hurt something on your person even more than the injury you have thus making you forget the pain of the first injury. Of course, you will have to injure something else to alleviate the second pain too... And then something else to alleviate that third pain...
Or you could just turn to booze, either one works.
prototypem1r4nd4 (Guest) on 01/28/2008 9:25 am
"Don’t thank people. It speaks directly to their lizard brain, and here’s what it says: I am a pussy."
Huggbees (Guest) on 01/28/2008 11:15 am
Don't die T_T
wobzire on 01/28/2008 11:18 am
I'm almost sure you were thinking about me when you wrote that.
GRUMPYNZ on 01/28/2008 4:20 pm
Let us have it - we can take it!
Tadao on 01/28/2008 4:31 pm
I keep wondering about where the vacuum "ended" up.
mburbank on 01/28/2008 5:16 pm
It smashed out a pane of glass in the downstairs entryway door, providing a soft cushion of broken glass for me to land in.
Tadao on 01/28/2008 5:32 pm
Yep, that'll cause ankle cancer for sure.
Great Mighty Poo on 01/28/2008 6:34 pm
You could always claim to have tourettes syndrome. I'm sure with a subtle exchange of money your old doctor could even make it legal.
Then you could blow up on anyone anywhere and any time with minimal consequences.
BurntToShreds on 01/28/2008 7:36 pm
So, cancer... Are you going to have some tissue removed, or are they going to have to amputate?
Bibbo (Guest) on 01/28/2008 7:58 pm
Ooh ooh! Amputate! Amputate!
Shadow40000 on 01/28/2008 8:54 pm
Good luck with your ankle cancer, Max.
Keith (Guest) on 01/28/2008 9:15 pm
When you finally get an ankle replacement, make sure you specify you want "human" and you that you want to pick out the cadaver yourself beforehand. Sometimes they they stick you with a cheaper chimpanzee ankle, or worse, the mangled ankle of an old wrestler.
Colonel Flagg on 01/28/2008 9:44 pm
At least you rated a "nurse practitioner" who at least sounds as if they went to school or something. Sometimes you get stuck with the dreaded "physician's assistant" - some kind of glorified secretary? A load of fetid camel's entrails heaped on every HMO and Insurance Executive - so let it be written; so let it be done. ROCK ON, MAX!
CarpetGnome on 01/28/2008 10:59 pm
Odd, I ended up with cancer of the personality... that's why I vent of people.... but your reasonings, and advice are perfect.
Nktalloth on 01/28/2008 11:56 pm
I once had cancer of the soul. But then I went on soul chemo for a while, and all my spiritual hair fell out and everyone made fun of my bald soul. Then I was all like "Dude, my soul has cancer." and they were all like "...Oh." and it was really awkward.
Then I hit them with a soul frying pan. Good times.
MrEff on 01/29/2008 10:11 am
The best way to remove pain is to cause harm to another, the amusement provided should help you feel better in no time.
Coryjonc on 01/29/2008 3:48 pm
The Stairs won. Get over it.
Tom Foolery on 02/03/2008 10:01 am
You're a testament to miserable, bitter misers everywhere. I should know; we smell our own. My personal philosophy is to hate everbody until you get to know them. Then, hate them even more based on principle. I'm a strong believer in Natural Selection and Survival of the Fittest, and no my name is not En Sabah Nur. So, give em' hell Max! Lest you face extinction.
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