Tuesday, 31 March 2009
Saturday, 21 March 2009
500mg Paracetamol, 500mg Erythromycin and 30/500mg Co-Codamol
Woe is me. Listen to me whine for a moment.
Day One Sore throat.
Day Two Very sore throat. Sucks being in work. Buy Strepsils and Beechams All In One. These products are USELESS. Get about 1 hours' sleep in total.
Day Three Call work telling them I'm sick. Constantly salivating and it's absolute agony to swallow. Like Sonic the Hedgehog set on fire thinking Dr Eggman is the inside on my asophagous and he must tear/burn him to death. As slowly as possible. Zero sleep possible. Going slightly demented.
Day Four Feel even worse. Text colleague at work telling them I can't come in. Go to A & E at first light. Miserable old boot woman on reception tutts at me and shook her head because I had the sheer audacity to turn up without an appointment and aren't registered with a Doctor. Excuse me for having an emergency, hag. Finally see Doctor. He tells me "It's nothing to worry about." and prescribes 5 days worth of pills . If it wasn't total ultra pain to swallow, I literally would have sucked him off to get something to relieve the pain or help me sleep. Choke pills down. Too sore/sad/dramatic/deviod of emotion to weep in my forlorn dismay.
Day Five Email work incoherently babbling my symptoms. Poor me blah blah. Night and day = agony. No sleep, can't eat, can't even sip water. Daytime TV + no fluids = slight dehydration dementia. Try to eat ice cream. Heave uncontrollably for some time. Call A & E. Would cry down the phone if possible. Nice man prescribes stronger pills. These help. Get 2 hours sleep.
Day Six Wake up feeling better! Call work. Gargling Co-Codamol every 4 hours helps. Manage to eat toast and drink tea. Guts hurt but feel more satisfied with myself than Piers Morgan post morning mirror wank.
Day Seven Wake feeling even better! Eat tea and toast! Instantly poo it out in liquid form! My own poo drips on my ankle. I die a little inside.
This is where I am at the moment. I'm basically a brave version of Anne Frank. I woke up with morning wood the other day, that's probably a good sign. Until the next time...
Day One Sore throat.
Day Two Very sore throat. Sucks being in work. Buy Strepsils and Beechams All In One. These products are USELESS. Get about 1 hours' sleep in total.
Day Three Call work telling them I'm sick. Constantly salivating and it's absolute agony to swallow. Like Sonic the Hedgehog set on fire thinking Dr Eggman is the inside on my asophagous and he must tear/burn him to death. As slowly as possible. Zero sleep possible. Going slightly demented.
Day Four Feel even worse. Text colleague at work telling them I can't come in. Go to A & E at first light. Miserable old boot woman on reception tutts at me and shook her head because I had the sheer audacity to turn up without an appointment and aren't registered with a Doctor. Excuse me for having an emergency, hag. Finally see Doctor. He tells me "It's nothing to worry about." and prescribes 5 days worth of pills . If it wasn't total ultra pain to swallow, I literally would have sucked him off to get something to relieve the pain or help me sleep. Choke pills down. Too sore/sad/dramatic/deviod of emotion to weep in my forlorn dismay.
Day Five Email work incoherently babbling my symptoms. Poor me blah blah. Night and day = agony. No sleep, can't eat, can't even sip water. Daytime TV + no fluids = slight dehydration dementia. Try to eat ice cream. Heave uncontrollably for some time. Call A & E. Would cry down the phone if possible. Nice man prescribes stronger pills. These help. Get 2 hours sleep.
Day Six Wake up feeling better! Call work. Gargling Co-Codamol every 4 hours helps. Manage to eat toast and drink tea. Guts hurt but feel more satisfied with myself than Piers Morgan post morning mirror wank.
Day Seven Wake feeling even better! Eat tea and toast! Instantly poo it out in liquid form! My own poo drips on my ankle. I die a little inside.
This is where I am at the moment. I'm basically a brave version of Anne Frank. I woke up with morning wood the other day, that's probably a good sign. Until the next time...
Saturday, 14 March 2009
Arrgghhh! My dog RIPPED OFF my ears!
First, I get funny looks for sniggering at the lady mags, then dirty looks when the camera comes out. No wonder German teens go on shooting rampages. Yuck indeed.
GHOST IN MY WOMB
Lady mags or 'cliterature' (ahahahahahaha like a fanny!) are universally terrifying.
Saturday, 7 March 2009
I’ll be travelling to foggy old London town this weekend
The things I’m most frightened of happening:
Getting stabbed by a cockney
Angering a Grime fan
Contracting leprosy on the tube
Denying the Holocaust on the London Eye
Having a prison 3-way
Inadvertantly becoming a suicide cult leader
Being mistaken for a serial rapist
Dying at the hands of The Recession
Racially offending a tattooist
Marrying a Bearded Lady
Getting stabbed by a cockney
Angering a Grime fan
Contracting leprosy on the tube
Denying the Holocaust on the London Eye
Having a prison 3-way
Inadvertantly becoming a suicide cult leader
Being mistaken for a serial rapist
Dying at the hands of The Recession
Racially offending a tattooist
Marrying a Bearded Lady
Sir Mix A Lot - Bhaji Got Back
To be sung to the tune of Sir Mix A Lot's Baby Got Back
I like big naan’s and I cannot lie
You other cuisines can’t deny
When a dish walks in with an itty bitty spice and some tasty pilau rice
You get chutney
Pretty good from Putney and it won’t make you cut your knee
So hurry, eat curry coz it ain’t your average luxury
I eat with your daughter. The hell with the water
It's hot, got a lot, can't finish another poppadom, Not!
I'm tired of magazines saying bland foods are the thing
Give the average man a curry and a beer
There's no fear, he won't leer, he'll be dear
So Korma (yeah!) Bhuna (yeah!)
So good they make you howl at the moon (hell yeah)
Tell 'em Dhansak, (shake it!), Madras, (make it!), bake that healthy butt
Bhaji got back
If you're reading this Mack Daddy, you're welcome. A credit in your next album's sleeve note will be fine.
I like big naan’s and I cannot lie
You other cuisines can’t deny
When a dish walks in with an itty bitty spice and some tasty pilau rice
You get chutney
Pretty good from Putney and it won’t make you cut your knee
So hurry, eat curry coz it ain’t your average luxury
I eat with your daughter. The hell with the water
It's hot, got a lot, can't finish another poppadom, Not!
I'm tired of magazines saying bland foods are the thing
Give the average man a curry and a beer
There's no fear, he won't leer, he'll be dear
So Korma (yeah!) Bhuna (yeah!)
So good they make you howl at the moon (hell yeah)
Tell 'em Dhansak, (shake it!), Madras, (make it!), bake that healthy butt
Bhaji got back
If you're reading this Mack Daddy, you're welcome. A credit in your next album's sleeve note will be fine.
Tuesday, 3 March 2009
Getting Dumped Made Me Bald!
The trip to go food shopping is occasionally spiced up by an inappropriate erection or being stared at by middle aged humans for flicking through the glossy pages of women's interest magazines such as Take A Break, Nice Boys Fortnightly or Spring Clean Vulva. Perhaps the greatest headline I ever saw was "Sausage Rolls Saved My Hubby's Serevered Arm!" I couldn't take a picture though, as I was embarrassed at my girl's mag voyeurism and had already crushed my lettuce with a hastily packed pineapple. I could handle no more of the tutting Nazi on the till. "Stop judging me, Wendy!" I wanted to roar at her but instead made a feeble kind of robot beep, sweating as I fumbled with my change in the charity boxes. RNLI or the one with poppies?? This is what it feels like when doves cry. Like a tumour growing in your testies.
Anywho, look how fucking happy Mrs Baldie is. Maybe OK! gave her a fat cheque for a wedding like Jade Goody.
Future headlines I yearn for: "Man Shits Own Head In Image of Jesus", "Plumber Cured AIDS Ironically Killed By Rape Monkey", or Septic Mess In Nora's Mouth Brought Back Deceased Budgie". I think I love this hideous bullshit.
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