the diary of sick man

the bastard hasn't been a hunnerd percent of late…

since the great wind swept my old car away…

the bastard has had a great load of sand…

or spackle…

or we could just with mucous in his lungs.

sometimes the straightforward approach is best.

but six weaks ago, I went to a new doctor…

I haven't seen a do for since 2009…

and she threw cotton balls at the problem but it solved some stuff that was bugging me.

but the spackle remained.

so that when I caught the shot show cough…

I was all sorts of coughing jags.

it became ridiculous.

so today…

today, when I went back to the doctor, she gave me the good drugs.

and all of a sudden I'm wondering what this air tasting stuff is in my lungs is.

to be continued

—the bastard

… on the small things

parents get proud of the dumbest shit.

case

meets

point

the babby was feeling sick last night.

totally interrupted a very inane episode of happy endings.

what do you want the bastard to watch? downtown abbey?

come on! the bastard likes a little stupid in it once in a while.

and there's something about a food truck called 'steak me home tonight'.

mmmmmm. steak.

anyway, I digress.

the babby woke up in a pile of her own sick last night and it was time for the rents to spring into action.

the wife did the consoling

and

the bastard did the cleanup. because what woman wants to look at puke.

seriously!

anyway after after dumping the sick laden stuff into the washer (I could go one about the majesty of having one in your apartment, and I hate you all, so I might. but not today).

then it settles down and the wife goes to bed and my buddy doctor whiskey knocks at the cupboard door telling me,

"hey stupid… it's time for whiskey". so I oblige.

two hours later (from the puking not the whiskey option), I hear a gaggy cough and I know it's round two of sick time.

and there she is,

leaning over the side of her crib.

giving the floor a green shower.

instead of doing it in the crib.

smart girl.

learning to walk is dope and all but, knowing where to throw yer sick? that's a fucking skill.

made me proud.

small shit. but it's big too. up yours.

— the bastard

…on the other shoe

stomach viruses are a real bitch.

the baby had one all week.

now the wife has it.

so the bastard is waiting for the other shoe to drop.

any minute now, the sword of damacles will drop on me.

and with it bring the kind of business that will make a man believe in a god.

and pray to it for death.

so I did what comes natural to any jackass who's waiting to get sick.

I hopped two trains and a bus to get my car looked at because it's over 1500 miles due for maintenance.

can you folk in the back of the room see the idiot up front?

bleeargh

—the bastard

…on the cattle and the creeping things

so we have these fancy new bathrooms at the office.

and while I'm sure it has that "new bathroom" smell when the mad pooper of our office doesn't leave a hanger in one of the stalls,

the bastard has to wonder what would possess a man to sit in his stall without his shoes on.

not once.

but, twice.

we're owned by Swedish people now.

perhaps it's a Swedish thing.

but I'm notsomuch with the sureness of this matter.

—the bastard

this just in...

...apparently,

all of the h1n1 is located in Stamford

that is all.

—the bastard