Welcome to Friday! Once again, you’ve made it. Here’s a story.
I woke up Tuesday morning, bed 50% emptier than it had been in 9 days. Instinctively I reached for the other half, only to find my bear. Mr. Bear, fully clothed in Ingrid’s hand-stitched jumpers and trouser, smart pocket square and all. He was devoid of all the characteristics I’d been searching for; namely soft, scented hair, toes, calves, thighs, hips, back, a hand to hold, a sound that seems to come straight out of one’s chest and can only mean one thing. I reflected for the most fleeting of moments on how stupid we are for ever wasting time worrying about bad things when good things are a) right in front of us and b) will be gone soon. Knowing I didn’t have the emotional stability at 8 a.m. to handle the implications of my inability to accept presence, I wrapped my arms around the bear. I quickly found that I really had to poop.
Waddling to the bathroom like a drunk baby – walls supporting me nearly the whole way down – I finally made it to our (pretty dirty) bathroom. Eyes still half closed, I stepped into the only room in the house without a radiator and sat, shivering, on the frozen bowl. It wasn’t until I started to contemplate a post-poo cleaning that I saw my hands for the first time.
“What fresh fucking hell is this?”
The backs of my hands were covered in a grotesque red rash. Following it slowly up my arms, I stood with a pretty poopy butt to face in the mirror. Stripping my shirt, I stared in awe at what was looking back at me. Neck to kneecaps, belly button to shoulder blade — the gnarliest rash I’ve ever seen in person. You know how you never really wanna Google rashes because it’s always so much worse than that innocuous red spot on your arm (read: penis)? That’s what I am. A fucking Google Image search of what a gross rash looks like. Spotty and bumpy and splotchy and fucking gross.
This has been my life all week. And it gets worse. Every. Day. It. Gets. Worse. New parts of my body that I haven’t thought about since I was in high school and, y’know, skinny. Oh, and it itches like crazy.
Few quick things;
- Yes, Europe is dope. I can go to an Emergency room and get free healthcare. But who has time for that?
- I should have national health insurance. But I don’t. Why? Slept through the appointment. Fuck your judgey face.
Anyway, just a quick entry. Here are some things. Oh, and send me a text or something. Being a leper in a foreign country is terrible. Have a wonderful Friday ya moops.
I hope this rash doesn’t kill me. You ever wonder if, when you get to Heaven, you’ll be able to just like, ask anything? Should I have gone to Medical School? Did I ever meet my soulmate? How many real orgasms have I been directly responsible for? Anyway, this is awesome. Start your day with it.
Speaking of things that might give you a rash, this guy might just win the award for greatest/weirdest achievement to date.
And then there’s this trainwreck. Remember: no matter how bad your day is, there’s always a group of 70-80 year old men having a worse day than you. Sometimes. Probably.
Which reminds me about this awesome halfatard
Your sports clip of the day couldn’t possibly get any better.
And this! THISSSS!
Your song of the day is a gem.
Mos Def Is Retiring 😦 So here’s a bonus song
Sarah Palin endorsed Trump! Do you know that? Do you care? I don’t really, but this is funny. I miss you, Stephen. Come home.
Key and Peele made a movie. That kitten looks fucking adorable.
Anyway, Go get drunk. Have a good weekend.