Good morning again,
and goodmorning again I say to them individually, not wanting to make any of the bottles of pills lined up atop my Television feel left out as i rip off their heads and partake in their sweet nectar.
It is now law for me not to read up on the side effects of any pill I ever take again, because I have received this time the full witches curse, from dry mouth and headaches, all the way to photosensitivity. I've found myself lying under my bed Gollum like Spewing sputtering and spitting curses at the damn window that I just don't have the energy to shut.
I contemplated suicide when i realized that the usually warm and inviting glow of the televisionn hurts us ever so slightly to look at.
I've been laughing in the irony of having to take the pills after eating meals that I told i shouldn't be eating in order not to get even sicker, I have decided instead to try it with and without the meals and guage which symptoms i preffer to feel.
On the bright side, i have made great use of the term "stop it, you're agitating my ulcer," and plan to practice it until i can say it with the conviction and ease that any self respecting AARP member is sure to have mastered.
Dr. Love advised me to watch my stool, so i find myself bending over the toilet bowl (which hurts) with the lights on (which hurts) straining my eyes (you guessed it, it hurts) and waiting for the clouds of brown (ok, everything hurts so let's just assume that from this point forward) to dissipate only to realize I may or may not even have taken the aforementioned dump that I had been assigned to examine.
Privat Pile truly has no real clue as to what a world of shit really is, and Kubrick is lucky as hell he didn't send me into a public restroom with a full metal jacket because things would have gotten more than messy.
I am trying to get myself a colonoscopy, which is something that, in my opinion, at the very least should not be difficult to obtain. Only god (that's right bitch, lowercase g) knows why I need to go to my primary care physician AFTER I went to the ER and argue to have 20 feet of rotowire shoved up my ass, I guess they think I'm looking for jollies.
And Just for a recap, after getting a finger in the bum from Dr. Love, I need to ask Dr. Crotch (I'm not making this crap up) If he can reffer me to an ass spelunker (Gastrointestinal Specialist).
And so it goes, and on and on blow by blow, hit by hit, and plop by plop.
and goodmorning again I say to them individually, not wanting to make any of the bottles of pills lined up atop my Television feel left out as i rip off their heads and partake in their sweet nectar.
It is now law for me not to read up on the side effects of any pill I ever take again, because I have received this time the full witches curse, from dry mouth and headaches, all the way to photosensitivity. I've found myself lying under my bed Gollum like Spewing sputtering and spitting curses at the damn window that I just don't have the energy to shut.
I contemplated suicide when i realized that the usually warm and inviting glow of the televisionn hurts us ever so slightly to look at.
I've been laughing in the irony of having to take the pills after eating meals that I told i shouldn't be eating in order not to get even sicker, I have decided instead to try it with and without the meals and guage which symptoms i preffer to feel.
On the bright side, i have made great use of the term "stop it, you're agitating my ulcer," and plan to practice it until i can say it with the conviction and ease that any self respecting AARP member is sure to have mastered.
Dr. Love advised me to watch my stool, so i find myself bending over the toilet bowl (which hurts) with the lights on (which hurts) straining my eyes (you guessed it, it hurts) and waiting for the clouds of brown (ok, everything hurts so let's just assume that from this point forward) to dissipate only to realize I may or may not even have taken the aforementioned dump that I had been assigned to examine.
Privat Pile truly has no real clue as to what a world of shit really is, and Kubrick is lucky as hell he didn't send me into a public restroom with a full metal jacket because things would have gotten more than messy.
I am trying to get myself a colonoscopy, which is something that, in my opinion, at the very least should not be difficult to obtain. Only god (that's right bitch, lowercase g) knows why I need to go to my primary care physician AFTER I went to the ER and argue to have 20 feet of rotowire shoved up my ass, I guess they think I'm looking for jollies.
And Just for a recap, after getting a finger in the bum from Dr. Love, I need to ask Dr. Crotch (I'm not making this crap up) If he can reffer me to an ass spelunker (Gastrointestinal Specialist).
And so it goes, and on and on blow by blow, hit by hit, and plop by plop.
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