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Archive for June, 2007

I think that there was a post.  Yep, it sure was.  Yes, down below this little ditty is an actual post.  I thunk and typed it all myself.  And you only had to wait 30 days for those pearls of wisdom.  Hey, I’m quicker than that Rowling chick, albeit less entertaining.

I’ve actually had quite a bit more than just chicken wings on my plate lately.  I’ve worked more than I am supposed to the last couple of weeks.  What days off I had weren’t consecutive and were generally busy with pertinent stuff like concerts and Roller Derby (which rocks).  And my mother has had some health issues that just won’t go away.

I am trying hard to keep this thing at least limping along.  I’ve got a few “All-Time . . . ” type things lined up.  Those aren’t genre breaking things but at least they are posts.  They are easy to come up with and hopefully will induce some debate from the 2.37 average of an audience that I have.  Some of those will come in the next week. I worked on a few at work instead of actually doing work, at work.  I am usually too full of pain and in a pharmaceutical haze in the morning for after work witticism but I promise to get a couple of them up by the middle of the week.  And all of you know that I rarely break my promises. . . .

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Standing in line at the recently opened Electric Cowboy (I just threw up a little while typing that), swatting away mosquitoes and trying to ignore the heat, I got to overhear the conversation of the two poindexters that were in front of me. It seems that the two dorks were overjoyed that some little phone campaign that they had organized had rallied the troops and all two of their friends (who were, by some miracle, female) had decided to show up, their place being much farther back in the line. After much snorting and sweating, one poised a question to the other that prompted me to give this convo more than a passing ear.

The taller and evidently more Butch of the two asked the other if he had told one of the females about his diagnosis of brain cancer. He answered in the negative and that he had planned to once they had met up inside. The leader was going on about how he was going to have to say that, yes, it was true that his friend had brain cancer and that they would think it was a big joke. I kept waiting for the snorts to reappear but they never did. I think the two were being serious about the diagnosis. As we were nearly to the door, the junior one ran back to get a hug from one of the women and then rushed back. Senior asked if he had told her and he replied that he didn’t. He didn’t feel right just popping up and saying, “Hi. I got cancer. See you inside” Guess he figured to do the gentlemanly thing and wait and spring it on her when she was in a place with cool, movable air and no biting insects.

Then the conversation took a strange turn. They started snorting about how the fact that he has brain cancer could get him laid. Now there are two different reasons why this was a disheartening statement. One, the shit might actually have brain cancer. He couldn’t have been older than 25 and it’s sad that anyone, especially the young, have to face that kind of disease. Second, the chick was Ugly. And a Ho. I’ve heard her talk. I’m sorry but if I was trying to use my possibly terminal disease to get a chance to wet my lightsaber for the first time a few more times before I die, I would at least attempt a strike for Princess Leia or at least 7 from 9 before settling on a shaven female wookie. If that’s the best they can hope for then Louis needs to take him, his Transformer button up shirt, and the poor, malignant Gilbert the hell out of line to spend his last dying days looking for the perfect 10-sided die. Maybe he can roll up some hit points and stave off the big C.

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