What is the noise vomit bird? The cockatoo. Sure, they look handsome but holy shit is their screech unsettling and loud. I presume it's some sort of benefit to do it; maybe it's to put other birds off being around because the cockatoo is the equivalent of someone on a rage bender drunkenly cursing the street?I have PTSD. One was about three metres from me in a tree when it cooked off and its unpleasant screech pulsed through my body and head.Hilariously some people enjoy the cockatoo.
Articles from Harrangue Man
I farted so much I hurt my back. Stupid Hitler bloat.
Our new fridge freezer is awesome---and it comes with a double ice tray and catcher which I love.But fuck me is it frustrating to use when you have PTSD and hand jitters because to get more ice you have to fill both trays that are held in a plastic frame then you have to with trembling hands take the tray frame and bend down to slot the fucker back in.
Being in a welter of pain and discomfort---I felt as I often do that the previous day someone had set to me with a baseball bat---even though I slept 12 hours with disturbing dreams I had to go off and have another sleep. I slept for an hour, even dreaming, and when I woke I was still foggy in the head.That's when I tried to swipe open my pillow thinking it was a tablet PC.
Well, it's not really an ode but more of a list. Because of my PTSD and my meds I have jittery hands whose fingers have a poor grip. Which means unless I am concentrating I may drop what I am holding.Things I have dropped include: pens, keys, thumb drives, cutlery, glass mugs, my phone, phone cables, computer cables and, most of all, bottle lids. The latter is light and with jittery hands they are hard to get back onto the bottle and then thread them down correctly.
I'm still enduring IBS and gas pain, a situation I've decided to call "Hitler bloat" since that nasty little git suffered the same as me. It's funny since it means he was both figuratively and literally full of shit.
I'm afflicted with IBS and my guts are bloated with stolen wind.
The duck when it lived here would grub about in the muddy dirt he'd moistened with water splashed out from the big tub we'd put in the pen for his use.He'd then walk around with a mud mustache for the day in a display of authoritarian machismo.I noticed the big chicken recently tooling around with a dirt moustache and glaring about having adopted the look of the previous ruler.That chicken scares me---and the other chickens.I better make sure it doesn't try to re-annex the washing line.
The other day theboy rage quit the pen door when he bumped his head and knocked a hole in the mesh next to the gate frame—a hole big enough for even the big chicken.Later he realised the chickens were out and furiously attacking the greenery. So we had to herd the chickens which is difficult because I can only bend if I take care and effort and squatting involves extreme discomfort.
The black cat sits upon my raised knee when I'm on the couch. From her seated position sometimes she tries to lick my nipple. I'm guessing it is because I wear thin shirts and my nipple protrudes enough to draw the eye ... and tongue. It is genuinely unsettling.
I was taking a plate to the kitchen when I bumped into the fridge and the plate jammed into my nipple---like right into it. It fucking hurt.