Sunday, January 27, 2008
 | Colds and Stupid People I think I'm coming down with my fifth pacebutler cold since August. A hospital in the Belgian Congo is less contagious than that place. Fully 97% of the associates are sick, and they are coughing, hawking, spitting, blowing (noses), and touching things that I am destined to come along and handle. I wash my hands with pure bleach and gargle with Purell, or is it the other way around, but it doesn't help. If someone in the same STATE as me has a cold, the Ebola virus, avian flu, or typhus, I'm fi'n' ta catch it. Cough, cough, cough, cough. Nyquil. Ever hear of a liquor called Absinthe? It was really big in the 1880's in Paris. Supposed to give you a super buzz with hallucinations some of the time. Some herb called wormwood, they thought, caused the visions. The stuff is illegal in the States, which didn't stop me from bringing some home from London once. Let me tell you. The stuff tastes like ass. Well, not exactly like ass. It tastes like NYQUIL over ice, and Nyquil tastes like ass, on the rocks or not. I think. I don't want to give away too much of my fifth step. Absinthe is the only booze I didn't want to finish off in one sitting. Had I lived in Paris in the 1880's, I'd have passed on the Absinthe and moved to London and lived in an Opium Den with Jack the Ripper and John Merrick, the Elephant Man. Chasing the Dragon had to be interesting. A friend had eight years today. He is about three feet taller than I am. I tried to give him a hug and jumped up to make the hug as we height-challenged people are wont to do. Naturally, it backfired, and I caught his jaw with my shoulder. I think he bit off his tongue, but he bought Chinese for everyone, and that was my main concern anyway. On the way to work on Friday of last week, Nicholas and I witnessed an auto-pedestrian accident on Classen and 36th. Several kids were crossing the street. A moronic beeotch was heading north on Classen, and of course she was talking on a cell phone, texting fat people, and playing foosball, while driving a BMW, or something similar. A blind gorilla with a crayon could see the group of children crossing toward school. This lady saw them too. Rather than stop, she whipped around to the left and clipped one of the kids and knocked him down. I thought to myself, "Oh no you dit'in' just do that, and we've just seen the stupidest woman in America, which is saying a lot." What got me was the way the lady whipped her car around to miss the boys, when the logical thing would have been to stop, as we did, and let the pedestrians enjoy their right of way. If a crack smoking, dread lock having gangstah wants to walk out in front of a car, stop, and then flip the bird at the driver, well, the driver has to take it. No matter how tempting it might be to run him down, one simply cannot run over people. It just isn't done in polite society. Theoretically, any way. But here's hoping the chick who ran down the child received about 50 tickets, and that some cheesy TV-advertising attorney sues her big ass into the stone age. Oh, I forgot one detail. Ask Nicholas about this, as he noticed it too. After striking the child, the driver emerged from her car (still talking on her cell phone of course) and checked for damage to her fat car! I rarely use an explanation point (lesson learned from my former boss, Pat), but I'll use one here. Happy 8th Birthday Robert. Sorry about your tongue, dude. Konichiwa, bitches, it's 2003 again, and I just discovered Dave Chappelle RPH, Esq., N.V. ©Randall P. Hodge, Esq. 2008 |
angsty 
No comments:
Post a Comment