Light and hearty observations from a fat and ugly guy. Home of hackneyed drivel and ersatz-existentialist effluence. Choleric biliousness a specialty, since 1958.

Built for comfort, not for speed

By gum. With a belly the size of three or four basketballs and a prostate the size of an Idaho potato, I'm coasting nicely towards at least a couple of nights in the hospital. And I'm looking forward to it. It's a nice routine, up every two hours to siphon the python, drain the lizard, shake hands with the wife's best friend, point Percy at the porcelain. Then, hop back into the Craftmatic Adjustable and wait for the inevitable return of the urge to purge, er, bladder-wise. Rinse and repeat.

Fun!

Last time I was in, I'd (yet again) broken my arm. They gave me some kind of really enjoyable pain killer, and I took advantage of it by saying lots of rude things, repeatedly, to the nurse who was attempting to set the busted bones. She was good looking, in that shes-the-only-woman-in-a-Georgia-small-town-so-what-are-you-gonna-do kinda way. Sort of like Ellen Corby, but not as attractive. Like Janet Reno, but without the charisma. Like Bea Arthur, but without the sexy hip wiggle when she walked.

Get the picture?

So there I am, fat, drugged up, and not caring too much about much of muchness. And I think that I....propositioned the old bat. I can't be sure, because of the drugs, but I think that's what happened, because of her reaction. See, she started laughing.

Explanation: undoubtedly, her reaction was because I have a face like a pail of writhing maggots. See my complete profile for details.

Voila, me mangent, and buff my scrotum.

posted by Nigel St.John Regina Smegmatica Howle-Raines @ 4:12 PM