I realised as I said those words—it was a plastic back scratcher skeleton hand—that it was an unusual set of words to say and it sounded a bit like an early reader that went wrong ala "the cat sat on the mat" only in this case body parts instead of furnishings. That would make those readers more interesting and it should be encouraged with other body parts twinned with cat-based antics; "the cat nuzzled the hip bone", "the cat stood on the metatarsal" and "the cat ate the hippocampus; where t
Articles from Harrangue Man
For as long as I can remember honking up goobs on waking has been a thing for me and my unsettled lungs. Sometimes the cough ejects with force and the goob is powered through the air, with two fat ends and a linking middle bit like chain shot and it lands on something. In this case I coughed into my cupboard and saw "it" fly into the clothes within.
Technocrats are always on the hunt to make society run better. I found a hole and pitched the patch.
White House staff: please don't disparage Dr.
It's lucky the mystery of the bleeding into the toilet was solved—for it was the ever boil popping and leaking ichor out when rubbing on the toilet seat—or today's deluge would have sent me to the emergency room convinced my insides were liquefying and a slurry of organs was sluicing out my arse. The blood, and lots of it, was disconcerting. But the relief to wipe the inside of your leg to confirm it's just ordinary boil blood and not rectal blood is insane.
It was I who shouted it and a stranger---a middle-aged blonde lady---sitting perpendicular to me the one who received it.I was on the bus and the bus tooted someone in front of us. A bus horn is loud and I was not watching the road so was not expecting the toot.So I yelled "FUCK ME!" right into that poor woman's ear.I normally apologise and note I have PTSD but it felt weird so we just sat in silence as fight flight swirled down the drain.
"I told a number of countries over the last few days, I said listen, you’re a very rich country. We protect you. Without our protection, you would have real problems. You would have real problems."Donald Trump press conference, Wednesday, 26 September 2018.
I had to suffer the indignity of someone looking up my arse to see if it was bleeding and it was not. When shown where the blood appeared on the seat or just under it the ever boil was poked and blood shot out. So it was not arse blood; just boil blood. It rubbed on the toilet seat then bled.It was like a parody Nancy Drew; "... and the case of the toilet blood" where the anus had been set up, framed, by the ever boil with the mystery solved with a final confrontation in a brothel.
Since the revisit of the bleeding arse each time I've farted I've worried I'm spraying aerated arse blood. It has not happened but when I change I've checked, Dexter style, to see if I Jackson Pollocked my pants (Red Spots Number 12).It's a worry I've never had that I now add to the list of things to worry about. Aging is balls ... that descend further with age. Is that why a grandfather clock is called that? Because it looks like a sagging old man with low swinging balls?Probably.
On advice from my sleep doctor---the profession, not the mattress chain---I've been throwing open the curtin when rising since bright sun will help wake me up.