Archive for the ‘Nonsense’ Category

I’m Still Stoned

My Halloween costume this year is going to be a hospital johnny.  I don’t know why they call it a ‘johnny’; maybe because stevie and bobby were already taken?  Dunno.

If you read my previous entry you know that I was being chauffeured back and forth to the ER for problems with kidney stones.  All good fun.  Well, since that time I have had a few appointments and examinations by people with clip boards and high-tech, state-of-the-art machinery.  I had an ultrasound (don’t be fooled by the name, it was actually very quiet), but I asked that they not tell me the sex of the kidney stone — I want to be surprised.

The inaudible ultrasound revealed that, in addition to a kidney stone, I have an asteroid field full of bladder stones.  The urologist informed me that these weren’t going away by themselves, so he’d have to go all 21st-century on them with lasers and whatnot.  For the past couple of weeks, the Ramones’ “I Wanna Be Sedated” has been looped and playing nonstop inside my hollow skull, and tomorrow I get my wish, as they are going to give me some anesthesia and then release an unmanned predator drone up into my southern territory… or something.

Though they call this procedure noninvasive, yours truly is truly a wuss, so who knows how long I’ll be away from the computer.  You won’t get these exciting, glorified status updates for a while; if for no other reason than to siphon as much sympathy as I can from the situation.  If, by the grace of God, all goes well (see how dramatic I can be?), I’ll be back to replace these elongated tweet-style personal posts with some profound, illuminating, brainstem-stimulating insights into the out-of-sight.

But maybe I’ll just come back to whine about how painkillers seem to back up one’s plumbing, or the agony of a catheter.  I’m sorry, I’d rather have a dentist’s drill up my nose than have some rubber-gloved guy shoving junk up my … junk.  After the insertion of a catheter everything goes down the tubes.  But I digress.

And some of the Pharisees in the multitude said to him, ‘Teacher, rebuke your disciples.’
He answered, ‘I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would cry out.'”  Luke 19:39-40

Oh, and Happy Halloween!


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“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans,” said John Lennon (when he was still alive).  Well, the best laid plans of mice and Dan have gone haywire the past couple of weeks, due to kidney stone henge.  Yeah, I’m apparently going to be one of those Internet people who tells strangers all about their personal life in a blog.  Really I’m just offering an explanation for my blog neglect, for anyone who might have noticed.  If I had an actual job writing, my employer would have given me my walking papers by now.  (Insert obligatory disabled person joke here.)

Don’t give up on me.  I’ll eventually get back to abnormal and actually write on a consistent basis.  (Knock on head.)  Kidney stones are a lot like the Rolling Stones in that you think they’re gone because they haven’t made any noise in a while, but then… if you start ’em up, if you start ’em up they’ll never stop.  And they do freaky little spastic Mick Jagger dances, too.

My initial visit to the ER happened a couple weeks ago.  I was in agony, and Keith Richards wanted some drugs bad!  I got there at around 11 PM and didn’t see a doctor until somewhere near 1:30 AM.  I went by ambulance, and still all that waiting.  Ambulance ambience doesn’t necessarily lead to hospital hospitality.  Don’t get me wrong: the nurses were great, and you feel bad for them, because they keep having to tell everybody that they’re next in line, but I felt like telling them Keith Richards doesn’t do lines.  Wait … well, you know what I mean.

After roughly a 3 1/2 hour wait, the doctor saw me when my kidneys were full-grown (groan) adultneys, kicking and bending it like Beckham.  I strongly disliked this guy for several seconds — and then was suddenly overcome by an intense bonding session that occurred when he uttered the words, “OK, let’s give you something that will make you more comfortable.”

Then they have to find a vein in which to stick an IV line.  It’s often a vain search.  My veins are so Whitey Bulger-elusive, I have literally had nurses I’ve had to console as they walk away crying, because they were unsuccessful after several stabs at it.  I’m used to it, but they keep apologizing.  This time I said, “Look, my abdomen feels like somebody’s pushing a white-hot poker into it, turning me into human shish kebab; this tiny little needle is the least of my concerns.”

And, THANK GOD, they hit pay dirt and I was instantly pain-free.  There’s no feeling quite like no feeling.  It’s great.

They asked me to stay a couple of days, because my personality was so infectious that I had an infection.  I shared a room with a 91-year-old man who had a broken hip and a broken hearing aid, so everybody had to yell to communicate with him.  I felt bad for the guy, but felt worse for his sweet wife, who took a lot of verbal abuse from Old Yeller, who was quite proficient with profanity.

Needles to say, I got very little sleep during my stay, between the cursing codger and the apologetic nurses, waking me up every half-hour to take my temperature, my blood pressure, and my blood.  They sent me home with an antibiotic, and life was good.  I couldn’t feel any pain for several days.  Then the antibiotic ran out.  There was still no pain, but, what I described as discomfort.  That and my urine looked like Heinz ketchup, which didn’t sit right with me.  So, here we go, another trip in the ambulance.

In the back of the ambulance, the EMT that’s not driving is busy helping you write your biography.  They ask you a bunch of questions that are going to be asked again several times by several different people once you get to the hospital.  (Note to self: take a tape recorder with you next time and record the Q&A, so you can play it back for anyone interested in asking the same questions.)

Hey, I should mention that I brought my rosary beads with me this time, wrapped around my right hand.  This is a big step for me; I’d never done anything like that before.  The nurse found a vein with no problem and no pain in the very first stab of said right hand.  Thanks, Mother Mary.

After being in the ER for a little while, they asked me for a urine sample.  I gave ’em one, and, wouldn’t you know, it was as clear as it had ever been; no more Heinz ketchup.  I have to admit, this was a little bit aggravating.  We race to the ER because my pee looks like a horror movie and then get there and my stream doesn’t back my story.  I look like a drama queen, the princess and the pee, if you will.

To make a long story less long: the Doc said everything came up roses this time.  I’ve still got the stone, but it’s trying to make its way to the exit, so he gave me some painkillers, which is all Keith Richards really wanted in the first place.  But if you don’t see me writing here, don’t give up on me, because I’m just catching up on some rest.  Trying to give birth to a reluctant rock.  Say a Hail Mary for me, would ya?  Thanks.

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When life gives you lemons you start spreading rumors that there’s a lemon shortage in the country, put out a press release where you get a couple quack physicians to stake their reputations on the fact that lemons are the greatest healing discovery since penicillin.  Find a prophet-for-profit guru who will swear that lemon juice is God’s nectar, get the Fox News channel to say that the “Lemon Craze” is some trumped up liberal propaganda, which will get the late-night talk show hosts to make fun of Fox News for saying this, which will result in a plethora of counterculture college students putting together pro-lemon video montages on YouTube.  There will eventually be a lemon special interest group dedicated to ensuring the protection and proliferation of this citrus sensation, but they’ll get carried away and start assaulting people who insist on having lemon wedges in their beverages.  However, the movement will get attention from political panderers hoping to sway the lemon lemming vote, and some candidate will win the election running on a platform of Hope, Unity, and Lemon Appeal.

John Lemon

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44 Random Things About Me

I thought I’d cheat by posting this, while I work on something of substance for tomorrow.  These are questions from an e-mail I answered.  I’m sure you’ve all gotten these before.

“If you opened this, FILL IT OUT! Learn 44 things about your friends, and let them learn 44 things about you! Tag the person that sent it plus others.”

1. Do you like blue cheese?
I try to encourage blue cheese, because maybe with a little support it won’t be so blue anymore.  I want to make it feel gouda.

2. Have you ever been drunk?
So drunk I couldn’t stand – been that sober too.  I can’t hold my liquor; someone else has to hold it for me.

3. Do you own a gun?
I don’t own any guns; they don’t even let me around cutlery.  They won’t even allow me to use a spork unless I’m wearing my eyepatch.

4. What flavor of Kool Aid was your favorite?
Didn’t know they came in other flavors besides “Red”.

5. Do you get nervous before doctor appointments?
Only when they make me sign a waiver.  Or when his nurse is looking at me sympathetically, the way one might look at the horse that finished in last place, and his name is Elmer’s.

6. What do you think of hot dogs?
I think they must confuse the heck out of Koreans.  “Ret me get dis straight: there no dog in hot dog?”  You know Koreans are really Kolean, but they pronounce it wrong?  (That ends the egregiously racist portion of our presentation.)

7. Favorite Christmas movie?
The one with Santa Claus in it.  Oh, oh, and the flying claymation dogs!

8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning
The antidote.

9. Can you do push ups?
I do chin-ups, because it’s important to stay positive and keep your chin up.  Are you sure?  Positive.

10. What’s your favorite piece of jewelry?
One of Mr. T.’s necklaces.  I pity the fool who don’t know which one.

11. Favorite hobby?
Scab picking.  Recreationally – not pro.

12. Do you have A.D.D.?

13. What’s your favorite shoes?
Never gave it much thought.  I would have to say the giant platform shoes PeeWee Herman wore in PeeWee’s Big Adventure.

14. Middle name?
It’s like my other names, but more in the middle, riding the fence.

15. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment.
The Theory Of Relativity; The Theory That Ernie and Bert are homosexuals; and if time travel is ever possible, then there are currently tourists from the future seamlessly roaming around snapping pictures of Gary Busey.

16. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink?
I don’t drink anything regularly.  I’m irregular, which is why I drink prune juice every day.

17. Current worry?
I currently have no worries —  which concerns me.

18. Current hate right now?
I hate how I can’t think of anything.

20. How did you bring in the New Year?
I didn’t, it just came on its own.  I didn’t know I had any responsibility in the matter.

21. Where would you like to go?
Hell in a handbasket, just to see if it lives up to the hype.  That and I’ve never been anywhere in a handbasket before.

22. Name three people who will complete this?
William Shatner, Ed Grimly, and Liza Minnelli.  (That’s Liza with a z.)

23. Do you own slippers?
Sure, I tell you if I own slippers and the next thing I know you’re stealing my identity, using my credit card to buy land off the coast of Costa Rica to have your Scientologists’ meeting where you hold craft fairs where people make sculptures of ET out of their own poop and say, “I call this piece ‘Reece’s Feces'”.

24. What color shirt are you wearing right now?
I’m wearing a… hey!  Nice try, Elron Hubbard.

25. Do you like sleeping on Satin sheets?
I worship satin.  I’m a satin worshiper.  And old jokes.  I’m fond of old jokes.

26. Can you whistle?
I don’t work, therefore, I feel no need to whistle.

27. Favorite color?
Blue Cheese

28. Would you be a pirate?
If I was a sculptor… but, then again, no.  Or a man who makes potions in a traveling show.  A pirate’s life’s not for me.  And Johnny Depp is a poor man’s Heath Ledger who was a makeshift River Phoenix.

29. What songs do you sing in the shower?
I don’t sing or shower.

30. Favorite Girl’s Name?
Alyssa Milano

31. Favorite boy’s name?
Tom Sawyer… no wait!  Huckleberry Hound

32. What’s in your pocket right now?

33. Last thing that made you laugh?
Number 28 was pretty funny.

34. Best bed sheets as a child?
What is it with you and the sheets fetish?  You ought to see somebody about this.  Sheet happens and it’s all your fault.

35. Worst injury you’ve ever had as a child?
Circumcision.  (Oh no, I’ve said too much.)

36. Do you love where you live?
I live where I love.  It’s a nice place to live, but I wouldn’t want to visit here.

38. Who is your loudest friend?
The one who makes the most noise, obviously.

39. How many dogs do you have?

40. Does someone have a crush on you?
I’ve never been crushed.

41. What is your favorite book?
I get audio books from Perkins School for the Blind.  Ever try to listen to audio braille?  It ain’t easy.

42. What is your favorite candy?
Whatchamacallit… oh, um.  The male version of a Milky Way.  Snickers!  (Dirty jokes on a so-called Catholic blog?!  Sorry… it was my father’s favorite candy bar joke.  That one’s for you, Dad!)

43. Favorite Sports Team?
The Washington Generals are due.

44. What song do you want played at your funeral?
Let’s All Drink To The Death Of A Clown

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Ecumenical Councilin’

(Recycled Joke.  I hope you like.)

I was walking across a bridge one day, and I saw a man standing on the edge, about to jump off. So I ran over and said “Stop! don’t do it!”

“Why shouldn’t I?” he said.

I said, “Well, there’s so much to live for!”

He said, “Like what?”

“Well … are you religious or atheist?”


“Me too! Are you Christian or Jewish?”


“Me too! Are you Catholic or Protestant?”


“Me too! Are you Episcopalian or Baptist?”


“Wow! Me too! Are you Baptist Church of God or Baptist Church of the Lord?”

“Baptist Church of God.”

“Me too! Are you Original Baptist Church of God, or are you Reformed Baptist Church of God?”

“Reformed Baptist Church of God.”

“Me too! Are you Reformed Baptist Church of God, reformation of 1879, or Reformed Baptist Church of God, reformation of 1915?”

“Reformed Baptist Church of God, reformation of 1915!”

To which I said, “Die, heretic scum!” and pushed him off.

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Did you ever stop to think that maybe mental illness is the way to go?  I mean, you want to avoid the straitjacket, but other than that, it seems like a pretty good deal.  You are totally free to lick the wallpaper or have conversations with lawn gnomes.  Nobody expects anything from somebody who goes around trying to bite their own face all day.  Why it’s called a “nervous” breakdown when it must be the most blissfully liberating experience one can have is beyond me.  In fact, if EVERYTHING was beyond me, then ANY achievement would exceed expectations.  You’re an instant overachiever.

Living in a rubber room adds a little bounce to your step.

Has there ever been a psychiatrist who says, “Hey, your psychosis is working for you.  I say go with it”?  If it makes you happy to go fishing in your living room, I don’t see the problem.  I think the customers at Kentucky Fried Chicken would be thrilled that you chose their restaurant for your Chicken Safari.  (You’ll have to remember to not use live ammo next time though.)

Grocery shopping is much more fun when everybody is staring at you because you have a nylon stocking over your face.  It makes ’em a little uneasy, but life on the edge has a much better view.

Do not take Prozac or any other drug that will put an end to your delicious delusions.  Have you ever met a delusional person who wasn’t interesting?  People who spontaneously start jogging backwards are people you won’t soon forget.  That guy who stands on his head in the elevator has probably had a pretty interesting life.  Sign your checks in crayon!  People will never be disappointed in somebody who signs their checks in crayon.

If your boss says to you, “I want that report on my desk by Friday,” tell him Friday has been canceled this week.  Sure you’ll lose your job, but the funny farm is always looking for more livestock.  Three slops and a flop free of charge.  If you have kids, teach them to be crazy, too.  It’s much easier to teach insanity than long division.  Send the kid to school with a unique excuse for why they don’t have their homework.  “The armadillo ate my homework — again.”  Find the humor or you’ll grow a tumor.

The above is an anemic attempt at humor and not meant to be taken literally, especially with regard to shotguns and discouraging people from taking their medications. Also, no armadillos were harmed in the making of this weblog.

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