So, as I said a few posts back, I’m becoming very dysthemic lately. Life isn’t making things easy either, with the Mrs having been made redundant on Friday. However, that’s not what is making me down. I’m just … flat. The drugs are doing their thing and I’m not spiralling back into the dungeon … but I’m still left flat, apathetic, lifeless …
I don’t know how to fix it.
OK, So, I saw your message too late and all the good puns were taken, so here is new apprach —It’s a long one, but it’s actually acurate—ish … let’s give this a go:
The danger of Splenomegaly is not that it cannot be treated but in the danger of the modern age and our lifestyle which sees us involved in intensive demands and desires of the work hard, play hard hyperactive lifestyle.
Which is why many individuals fail to consider the warning when they are informed of an overworked spleen. Explaining that their body is in a state of hyperfunction, and causing a case of hypersplenism only encourages male patients to don underwear over their pants and acting like super heroes.
Explaining to patients that they are suffering from portal hypertension only confuses them further as they wonder how their xBox games could possibly be involved.
This lack of awareness and the mixed messages create a concept of garbled meaning and a caput medusa.
Mnnn … I know what this is! This is a setup!
I know you want me to provide you with some lewd and lasciviously suggestive sexpot floozy styled response here so that you can feign shock, horror and an affront to your innocence …
Well, you know what? I am not going to make any such commentary about your predilection to becoming so desperate as to work your arse off on any street corners.
Nope.
Nah-ah.
Besides, I just know you would never be able to cope with the smell.
Or the heat.
Or the sweat stains.
Plus I think wearing the furry costume and holding the sandwich boards may be just too much for you.
So, not falling into that trap!
Her: the secret to happiness is lowering expectations
Me: you did that with me?
H: noooo
M: are you happy with me?
H: ecstatic!
M: hrmn
Client: Do you think that 2TB Drives are Heavier than 1TB Drives?
Me: ….
If science was not hampered by silly constructs of saving people and curing illnesses, we could focus on what’s important: Human Cybernetic Augmentation.
So, assuming we can get the propeller heads to get started straight away, I suggest that we begin with men’s testicles.
I suggest that they could be replaced with two plug in bulbs, one being a texture canister, and the other a flavour canister … which when combined produce a “taste sensation” at the point of climax.
So, assuming full and free rein of options, where the Texture could be anything, like soda, cream, butter, smoke, and absolutely any flavour choice you can wish for …
What combination would you choose?
Why do they call them god botherers? It’s not god they’re annoying, it’s me!
The dark shaded glasses of doom easily slip back on.
There are days where it’s harder to be positive.
I don’t mean happy. I mean positive.
Optimistic.
Having a general sense of even the slightest elation.
In a world where uninformed, illiterate, extremists are threatening to swamp our society with their twisted sense of moralistic crusade … it becomes extremely difficult not too look at the influence of these people and wonder if we aren’t repeating the errors of the past and heading back into a new set of dark ages.
There are days where looking around does nothing to alleviate the gloom under the clouds.
My brain aches. My heart feels heavy. I flounder in a sepia gloom.
I have no tinkerbell who’s bottom I can spank to produce that magic powder.
I have no happy thoughts to help me fly.
Grounded.
Lost.
