Attention, this is not a porn blog. Just to be clear
I'm talking about the discovery and recovery of the missing Spiderman Head of lore. By "Lore" I mean "last blog." It's protocol for me to refer to anything that happened more than 45 seconds ago as lore. I think that's fair, people only have a 45 second attention span.
Anyways about my blues. They were in full swing. It was like my dog up and died, and my pickup truck ran over my woman. I was on a "brief crazy diet regiment(tm)" designed to heal my gut. I was lethargic and bombastic. Spastic and drastic. Caustic and rustic? I needed help.
So I finished up this "napalm-the-badboy-biotics," "lay-down-some-pre-biotics," "back-to-regular-biotics" three step process that my doctor put me on. It was tough inasmuch as it was making me super tired.
By the way Yes I have a doctor! Everyone over 30 should have someone who is slavishly devoted to making money off of your insurance coverage. As of yet, I have no high paid team of lawyers and no harem. Also no R&D department. I do have a few flunkies though. Or as they tell it, it's me who is the flunky. We all flunked a class at some point, which is the important thing. Also I'm just about 40 which means, no doctor, less than a week to live. They don't tell you this when you are young, they don't want to scare you into pooping your pants. Which you'll start doing anyways once you get even older.
OK fine, he isn't MY doctor, I share him with all his other patients. But.. he looks like Dick Cheney, which is oddly reassuring. I know that if I die, he will at least get to tent his fingers and use this event for evil somehow. Even though he seems to be a nice guy.
What the hell am I babbling about?
Right. So my karma and my biotics were on the fritz. And I needed a slice of Karma to bludgeon me out of the doorway of rut-ness into the green grass of, of something.
And fate smiled upon me like some great smiling thing in the sky that if looked at too long, sears ones retinas. Wait no that's the sun, don't stare at that. Picture Fate more as a smiley face balloon that if popped, dumps powerful acid right onto your face. Because you shouldn't pop the balloon of fate, dumbass. That's why.
I found the Spiderman Head. It had bounced up under my car seat and attached itself to the bottom. It sat there waiting for me. Laughing at me. LAUGHING AT ME, I tell you!
But I found it. I found it! Angels sang and the world was a better place. Actually it was Danzig who sang, the misfits CD was in my CD tray. Angels, Misfits, close enough.
And I started to feel better! Could my doctor have been right about the out of wack gut? Chalk up one for science, and I don't mean the chalk outline of my corpse! Yay!
I decided to go work out finally. My cough was almost gone. It was time to see if I could run around the track. I did! I collapsed like a whale after 15 minutes and it took 11 Greenpeace girls in tight fitting seaweed panties* to pull me off the track and into the delousing tub, but other than that, a good workout.
So call me Travolta, because Ah'm Back!
-Jebs
*I'm not sure why Greenpeace girls in tight fitting seaweed panties suddenly appeared, but it makes a powerful image does it not? And they did save my life, leaving me forever grateful. I could have died out there on the third curve, run over by cellphone talking mini-barbell-waving grandmas. I think Greenpeace should use this experience of mine in a promotional campaign of some sort.. I can picture a great poster concept here. If they ask me, I'll let them take that idea for free.
