Well, the holidays are over so I'm finally coming out of diabetic coma. In addition, I'v'e gained fifty pounds and that's just my left leg. I guess it's time to get back on my medications schedule and at least try to follow my doctor's advice.
Generally speaking, I'm pretty good at taking the meds he prescribed for the more potentially serious maladies because I have to. But, I can't seem to get on track with the minor ones such as aches, pains and sniffles. It's probably because I made the mistake of reading the "contraindications" sections of the paperwork that came with those little pink-capped bottles. If you've never experienced it, try it at your own risk. If you're like me, it will put a stain in your britches and have you seriously considering a stomach pump. Here are some examples. Decide for yourself.
"If you develop hives, difficulty breathing, depression, thoughts of suicide, death rattle or have the sudden urge to get naked and run through a secretarial pool, notify you physician immediately." Ya think?
"If you suddenly go blind, stab your therapist in the crotch with salad tongs or develop leprosy, stop taking the medication immediately."
"If your colon falls around your knees, you notice large scale anal leakage or you develop a smell that would rust the paint off your Hyundai, put the bottle down and back away."
If you suddenly feel the urge to gamble, surf porn, strangle tourists, do the mariachi on your neighbor's skeletal ramains or sacrifice kittens to the Orkian god Zeldor, destroy the ramaining medication immediately or, on a lark, slip it in Barney Madoff's prison latte." Hey, we may as well get some good out of it.
I guess everybody in the universe has heard about the New York Jets coach who tripped the opposing team's player on the sideline. The coach was suspended and the team fined $100,000.00. So now, professional football teams (key word: "professional") are supposed to have a "get back" coach.
Let me say that again. A "get back" coach. With all the troubles we have in the world, we now have to teach college educated adults where to stand and how to do it. Every radical Islamic with a death wish wants to blow us into Alpo but we've got to fabricate rules to teach grownups what toddlers already know. But, we're talking about professional athletes here so I'm thinking we may need some other coaches as well.
How about a "try to stay out of jail" coach.
Of course, we could always use a "quit dancing and do your stinking job" coach.
What about a "you're not the second coming" or "shut up and quit embarrassing yourself" coach.
We will probably always have need for a "quit sticking your finger in the air when you're in last place" coach or the much heralded "animal mutilators aren't heroes" coach.
And most recently, "texts and emails leave a trail" coach.
I'm assuming Al Gore will be hacking up environmental fiction in 2011 like he did in 2010 so, if you'll excuse me, I need to go out, start my V-8 diesel truck and let it idle in the driveway for several hours. It will give me time to inventory my extensive DDT and petroleum products collection. But, I love Al. He ranks right up there with e-coli, pocket lint and that strange looking rash I have on my backside. I named it Matilda.
I can throw away my Kim Jong Il bobble-head doll now because, I have the real thing. I kidnapped him yesterday (What? You haven't heard?). At the time, he was in his bedroom, waltzing with a smoked leg of yak in peasant sauce while dressed in his mother's wedding gown. What a strange little man. Of course, he hates anything southern so, before I tossed him in my basement, I wrapped him in a rebel flag and smothered him in grits and sawmill gravy.
Boy, he's got a big mouth for a little guy.