many most readers, my posts are becoming more and more spaced out. Not spaced out as in weird (no one would consider my posts weird), but spaced out as in more time between posts. I don’t have much to report these days regarding my brawl with health issues. This is a good thing, don’t get me wrong, but maybe this blog has run its course. Maybe it’s time. Mayb
HOLY SH*T! Cancel the blog burial. It lives!
Just in the f-ing nick of time, I’m diagnosed with Coxsackie Virus! What the?! Did you just call me a cocksacker?
Friends, you can’t make this sh*t up. It’s for reals: Coxsackie Virus
Cocksacker Virus (as it must be known from here on out) is a childhood disease, transferred like wildfire between toddlers in snot-infested Romper Rooms from sea to shining sea. My docs reminded me that I am literally a toddler when it comes to my re-booted, immature immune system, so it should be no surprise that I am a 53-year-old cocksacker. I really must stop with the thumbsacking. You may recall I recently battled another childhood illness, Chicken Pox that landed me in the all too familiar City of Hope clink for a week. Just one more reminder (besides the potty humor obsession and simple mindedness) that I truly am a MAT – Middle Aged Toddler.
As soon as I learned that another (though nowhere near as classic) name for the Cocksacker Virus is Hand, Foot and Mouth Disease, my MAT mind exploded into a glorious tantrum. This is that demented mad cow thing that dominated the news a few years back, isn’t it? I’m gonna die an agonizing death as a deranged half bovine/half kindergartener beast frothing at the mouth while trying to devour my own deformed hooves, aren’t I? They’re gonna find me stiff as a f-ing board out in a field somewhere with a psychotic expression on my spotted, oversized cow head face, right? I’m gonna go completely unhinged when I discover my arms and legs growing hooves, I know it! I got too close to those f-ing bulls in Pamplona, didn’t I? I should have known when that Holstein peed on me in Iceland, huh?
Don’t have a cow, Jos, you cocksacker! Calm the f down! No relation to the mental mad cow thing. You’ll have a fever and sore throat for a couple of days, then a blister rash in your mouth and on your feet and hands for about a week. No big. Toddlers deal no prob.
Want to know the truth, readers? You’re dying to ask me, “It can’t be that bad, being a childhood illness and all, right?” Thanks for the superb question. Truly. Excellent blog fodder. Here’s the truth: It feels like the bottoms of your feet have been suncharred like you’ve never been suncharred before ~ blowtorched and bubbly. Just when you think you’re going to writhe into death, that terrifying clown dude starts chasing you through a field of glass chards, white hot jagged coals and razor blades. Have no idea how the toddlers do it. Bucket List on hold for this cocksacker.