My friends call me Gabagool...

You realize, of course, that I've been peppered with a maelstrom of personal bad luck which has all but stopped the demiurgic drivel that once spouted from my pen.
I could give you all the gory details of my wicked ill fate, but I don’t want to be a leper bore (the anger, the denial, the inevitable loss of appendages…blah, blah, blah).
No worries,
I am as resilient and ineradicable as a case of stage four cooties, and I’ve managed to work my way through the anger issues that popped up with the near loss of my dactyl phalanxes (sounds better than little pigs) by turning to Facebook. A networking site to many, a place to say hello to friends and family and indulge in meaningful conversation to others, but for me-
not so much.
I’ve stayed sane by directing my umbrage at Facebook’s MafiaWars.
Unfortunately,
I now have to get up an hour earlier just to garrote a mobster or two, bribe an elected official, or knock over a couple of liquor stores.
No matter.
It’s kept me going for the last few weeks. Just this evening I got iced by some asshole named Luigi Fettuccine. I sucker punched him four times, beat him until he died, then waited until he came back to life so I could put a hit out on him. (Did I mention the anger issues I’m working through?) While drinking cheap coffee at 6:00am I sneak in offline (lest someone should try to chat with me and mess with my concentration) I kill everyone that I can, beat up the rest, then I gather up the pumpkins I planted over at Farmville (I‘m saving for a harvester), milk the cows, and gather the eggs before heading out to Fishville. This morning I thought I’d be late for court before I could get the tank cleaning and fish training done (those Hawaiian Hogfish are dumber than owl shit. If I couldn’t learn to jump through a hoop any faster than that I‘d fillet myself).

                     

I'll keep you posted on the harvester.

I couldn't have said it better myself...

Here is Little Shrunken singing the blues.

Appropriate for a Monday morning I think.

Pork Influenza

I had previously thought that my bout with rabies this past summer was about as ugly as it gets. (Yes, the foaming at the mouth, side-stepping, pissed off and going for the throat rabies.) My leg swelled to twice it's size (and if you've ever seen one of my little fat legs, that in itself is scary and on the far end of the ugly scale).
There were red streaks running from a large and festering wound that was constantly oozing a variety of juices that my purple and black calf continually conjured up. I couldn't sleep at night for the pain, and I had to keep the leg elevated during the day- which was killer for me.
Shots, big pills, lectures from everyone and their little sister, and the health department.

It was a nightmare.

Very bad.

It was not,
however,
as bad as my recent affliction with the hinni flu.
Sprawled on the couch, supine and shaking, with four state police issue wool blankets and a Chihuahua foot warmer, I rolled for five days. I coughed a dry and non-productive cough, and with each deep bark I realized I knew what it felt like to have a  rusty Moundsville shiv driven into the deepest parts of my ample chest. .
I died twice on a Sunday night, came back to life on Monday long enough to get up and pee, then went into a brief coma only to die again on Tuesday.

A lady bedecked in a white mask and gloves was roaming the streets today. She told me she was going to the doctor because she had the flu.
Nah. She didn't. No flu for her. 
Because if she had it, she would be too sick to be out running around town showing off her mask. 
I never made it to the doctor. The only way I was going to get off of the couch was if someone broke into the house,
slapped me on a gurney, and hauled me unconscious to the ER. I was too sick to move.

I'll take a bout of rabies any day.

darbimae

  

 

Paranormal Activity

Just one thing.
If the boogyman that is haunting your house comes into your bedroom, grabs you by the feet, drags you out of bed and down the hall, then bites a chunk out of your back- don't stay in the boogyman house armed with a camera and a flashlight.
Find a Holiday Inn Express and book a room.

Zombieland...

I have to find someone to go with me to the Marquis this evening.

I need a diversion. This is the Zombieland trailer.