TIGF!!! (That's Incredibly Gay Friday): Sizzler

I stole this picture from the Barstow, California Chamber of Commerce just to prove a point: That Sizzler is the fanciest restaurant in the town of Barstow. Seriously, every time I've gone down to San Diego or LA, I've stopped at Barstow and eaten at their famous Sizzler. In fact, I enjoyed it so much that my love for the restaurant became TIGF!!! In a good way, of course.

I remember as a kid thinking that the Sizzler was the best restaurant that one could go to. I used to day dream about getting the Steak and Malibu Chicken. The salad bar, omg! Are you freaking kidding me? I think I just had a cherry tomato orgasm in my mouth right now.

Why do I bring all of this Sizzler madness up? Well, last Wednesday was my treatment day and my mother came with me this time. We went to get lunch after and my mother practically demanded to go to Sizzler. I haven't been to a Sizzler in ages and was curious if its charms still had a hold on me.

Well, I had the Steak and Malibu Chicken and I must say two words: Steak? Malibu what the fuh? It tasted good but hardly looked real fancy. The best part was the cheese toast, I must say.

No, the best part was when some dork, yelling on his cell phone, exclaimed, "Guess where I am right now?", medium-sized pause,"Sizzler, dude!"

I can only imagine what the other dude's response was. I'm thinking that he replied, "No! Fucking! WAY!!!"

....And that is what I did on my Summer vacation.

"It happened again" (A post from another, defunct blog of mine)

You know what? I even looked at my neighbor's dog catch a fly with his mouth and it still didn't effect me. That stuff is pretty damn compelling action right there, but I was still bored. So, what did I do about it? I started fixing things. Anything I could get my hands on I fixed. If I were a veterinarian I probably would have fixed dogs and cats, maybe even a ferret.

Ferrets need fixing too, you know!

When I wasn't fixing something I was taking stuff apart and putting it back together again in my mind. I needed to get out and do something fast. I went and saw a movie.

I forced an unsuspecting family member to go with me.

There was a guy in the movie theater; his hair was all wrong. I prayed to God that I might be blessed with super Moses powers and part this guy's hair correctly--part it from across the theater. God didn't think this was an appropriate use of his power. How did I know this? Oh, God and I go way back, so I sort of know when he's not really chuffed with certain requests of mine. Usually I am bombarded with double doses of Barry Manilow, one song per ear, simultaneously.

Aversion technique: tre clever, God....Touche.

Bored again, or so I thought. The lights dimmed and the trailers started. I was pleasantly distracted long enough to not fix a single thing in my head, except for teenager's droopy drawers and a loose armrest. Okay, two things--a world record. The crowd that lives in my head goes wild, "Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

This is normal behavior, no?

Continuing, the lights now go all the way down and the movie starts. I resist the urge to fix things in my head. I even say this, "Must. Stop. Fixing! Things!! IN HEAD!!!"

Cue birds singing peacefully.

Oh, now where was I? Oh yes...it all stopped--the fixing stuff in my head. I started playing a new game called, "What would I do?" Yeah, I totally wouldn't have done it the way they did it in the movie. A bunch of morons is what they were. This isn't still "Fixing things in my head", is it?

I am so in denial.

You have got to be fargking kidding me! (When it rains it pours)

Well, my mother went in for a mammogram last week, then from there had a biopsy, and today we found out that she had breast cancer. Yeah, that fucking sucks. So, unless you've just popped on the Grunt Ahoy scene, that is two people with cancer in my immediate family at the moment: Me (Hodgkin's Lymphoma) and my mom (Boobie Cancer). My mother had Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma twenty years ago and nearly died. She doesn't need this again.

The good news is that hers was caught early and it can be cut out, with possible radiation therapy after. This is a relief.

I am now seeing the positive in this. My mom's life will be saved by good doctors. Wouldn't it be terrible if she didn't go in for a mammogram?

So, the moral of the story is that all you girls should get checked out, now. Sure, if you go in for a scary mammogram you might find out undesirable news, but you just may save your life. I will even volunteer my god-like hands to pre-screen you before you see the doctor. The princess and the pea has nothing on me.

Update: The type of breast cancer my mom has is DCIS (Ductal Carcinoma In Situ). and is non-invasive (thank God).

Sheeeshkabob! Hi-yaaaaaaa!!! Here's your dry cleaning.

I was thinking about tree huggers today, or rather, the act of tree hugging. What if you don't like to hug the live ones? Does this then make you a necrophiliac?

I ran into a short wave radio club at a restaurant the other day. I've never seen more geeky men in my entire life. They were alright, though. Remarkably similar in their freakish nerd quality. They said they were all going to get laid after. Good luck, boys. Turn your dials to the end and give 'em hell!

I have found that when I speak people listen but when I fart they listen, smell, and look at me intensely. I think that communication in this manner is better by fart.

Why won't McDonald's just give in and sell breakfast during lunch? We all know it is damn tasty. That effin' clown is behind this; I know it.

I have experienced a pain that is totally new to me. It came as a reaction to the Nuepogen injections I was getting to restore my white blood cells. I call this pain "full skeletal migraine". I had so much fun dealing with that for two days this week that I nearly shit my pants and cried at work. Not even a freakin' Lortab did anything for the pain and I was told I'd only need Tylenol. I love having smoke blown up my ass. Gosh, cancer is fun!

I watched "Escape From New York" last night and it was a good time. However, when I was a wee bairn in the '80s I remembered it being so freakin' cool that I came in my jeans. I wanted to be Snake and it was the FUTURE! I lied. I couldn't cum in my jeans back then. Pissed my pants is what I did. The other came later on in life.

I still want to be Snake Plissken, though.

I have a new saying: "I'm as strong as Superman and as bald as Lex Luther!" I'm thinking of using it in job interviews and for picking up chicks.

I've had someone confide in me that they have seen bright blue poop before. What odd colors of poop have you experienced and/or seen?

I should probably end this post now.

TIGF!!! (That's Incredibly Gay Friday): Bidets.

Those darn French think they know better than us. The Bidet, and those damn tasty fried potatoes, might be evidence that there might be some truth to the matter. Wait, they all smell of ass; we're safe.

Wait, wait, wait! How is that possible? How can you be the country that invented the ass washing machine and yet still smell like ass? Is it just inherent in the French to smell of ass? There aren't any French people that read my blog, right? Heh-heh.

In all seriousness, I will tolerate the country of its smell of ass and sing its praises for the bidet and crunch sticks of starchy death. On with the total gayness of the bidet.

First off, using the bidet is like participating in something very sexual. Dare I say, enjoying a bit of water sport? Nothing gives you a more gentle rimming than a warm jet of carefully aimed water. If you happen to get off on getting clean this way, more power to you.

Second, the bidet also confuses rednecks and other unsophisticated or uncouth persons. How does the bidet do this, you say? In tricking these diminished folk into thinking that they are drinking from a very special water fountain/face washer, that it is a neat place for the pee-pee, or that they have their own mini "Caesar's Palace" fountain in their fancy-shmancy hotel room.

Trust me, my Evel Knievel action set was quite a hit at the "Hickville Destination" Marriott. Sadly, each time Evel cleared the bidet only to have shorted the landing and broke every damn bone in his plastic action doll body. What is really sad is that my Evel Knievel doll is now addicted to pain killers and an alcoholic. What is worse is how he treats Malibu Barbie. What a freaking Neanderthal! Honestly, when action figure husbands start beating their wifes it is a sad day for all. Needles to say, I have had to send my Evel Knievel action doll to rehab. He hooked up with Lindsay "Fyrebush" Lohand recently and they are beating each other up quite often. Good to see things evenly matched.

The third, and most important thing, about the bidet is that it makes you fresh as a Summer's breeze down below after taking a hefty dump. With all the splishy-splashy of loose stools that are so prevalent in our fast-food society, it is imperative that we adopt the bidet as our own. Toilet paper can only do so much and crap pretty much goes all over any part that is exposed from the toilet seat hole. Ever wonder why your balls stink or why your underwear has more skid marks than the Talladega Superspeedway? Look, either you get the bidet or learn to use generous amounts of wet wipes, like I do, to get clean down there.

No more smelling of ass. The only place that should smell like ass is your intestines. Okay? Smelling of ass is only TIGF in a super bad way, and not in the "Superbad" ha-ha funny way.

Everyone, go get some anal action. Use a bidet today!

The new me. Randomness. The knighting of JJ McFatty.

The New Me:

I got up real early and mowed the lawn, went and got my last Nuepogen shot of this round, came back and did some trimming, then was inspired to keep up the buzzing theme of the day. So, how do you like it? My side profile is really good, but I didn't take a photo of that. I've already had three women make passes at me. All were over fifty, but that isn't something to be ashamed of. I can't decide if I'm Kojack, Captain Jean-Luc Picard, or "American History X". Help me out here. I do have a pair of classic black Docs, but I am totally Benetton when it comes to people. So, skinhead is definitely not what I'm diggin' here.

The Random:

My brother was all excited about a new Mountain Dew that came out recently. It is called "Mountain Dew: Game Fuel". Both my brother and I are subscribers to a few Mountain Dew related magazines and periodicals, such as, Dewboy, Mountain Dew Monthly, and my favorite: Dew Fancy. Anyway, I asked him if he had tried it and he said no. I said to him that it was a shame because he was quite the gamer. He replied that he hadn't been playing as much as he used to. I then asked him, "So, you gonna let that keep you from trying out this new drink?" I really think he believed that this drink was so specialized that drank while boating might involve hitting icebergs in the Gulf of Freaking Mexico. Who knows? You just might explode a testicle or an ovary if not gaming whilst drinking such potent caffeinated mixtures.

The Knighting:

There are times when a person proves him or herself for the cause of a nation. It is rare that I do such things, but the nation of Gruntonia will recognize JJ McFatty's sacrifice of offering his first-born child for its cause and peaceful reign. I, Lord Gruntolamore, do hereby confer upon JJ McFatty the rights, responsibilities, and kickbacks of Knight of the Kingdom of Gruntonia. From here on he will be referred to as "Sir McFatty". Respect!

You can all stop bowing now and head on to the buffet. I got popcorn shrimp!

Say my name....Spin some gold, bitch!

The safety word for today is "Rumpelstiltskin".

Shit like feeling

I've been hit pretty hard these past few days. My white blood cell count hit dangerously low levels and since Friday I have been getting Neupogen injections to help my bone marrow produce white blood cells. These injections are really expensive but my insurance is taking care of it, thank God. It seems as though this will be a regular thing. I will have to get one shot per day for five days after each chemo cycle. It's either that or die if I get an infection. Pretty easy choice, I think.

My mouth hurts like crazy. It's just like last time, so it seems like this is a regular thing to have to go through. If it's like last time it should get better by Monday night sometime. My undercarriage tends to feel a bit of this too. No, I'm not shoving it in my mouth, gosh! It's similar tissue but fortunately nowhere near the burning that my mouth is going through.

I really haven't slept much in the past three nights. This really messes with me. I am tired from laying down, so I don't want to lie down. Yet, I haven't slept very well, so I have no energy to do much else. This fucking anxiety that comes out of nowhere, it really rapes your mind.

My hair started coming out in clumps on Saturday. I've always had a full head of hair. This is sad for me. I still look normal but I think I'm going to get out the Wahls and do a #2 around my whole noggin--fucking slap head. It's cool. It's only hair for crying out loud.

Despite all of this I've managed to keep my spirits up and visit lots of friends. I also took my '98 Fender Deluxe Stratocaster that I had totally disassembled and modified it partly to '54 Strat specs with some parts that I've been collecting over the past year. The bridge pickup is a bit more focused now with a beefier bottom and the over all modifications have given a more bell-like tone to the guitar. This is one little victory that I will take.

I took a short hike yesterday up Albion Basin. That's in Little Cottonwood Canyon, home of Snowbird and Alta, my two favorite ski resorts. It's always really ball dropping to take a look at the chutes that I'd go down when I was on top of my ski game. High Rustler is one that I used to do all the time. I took a look at it and got that tingle in my loins; come March I'm gonna do that sonabitch again. Anyway, I like to hike around and try to figure out where I'd be exactly up in the air if I were skiing on the snow pack. It was a good day out.

I don't want you all getting worried about me. I'm just in the thick of the battle here and we all know that real battles are ugly. The worst thing about all of this, I'd have to say, is that I haven't felt sexy or sexual for a long time. Yeah, you start to notice once there is a vacuum of it going on. What it would be like to have a total hot gal just lust after me and for me to have enough energy and the frame of mind to notice it. It would have to be a stranger, of course. Strangers are unbiased and I wouldn't have to think that she was feeling sorry for me. I'm sure it happens, but like I said, it's feeling it that I'm not experiencing right now. I guess I took for granted how much I did get before.

Anyway, I'm thinking that I just might get some real sleep now. Please excuse me from visiting your blogs for a bit. This was hard enough just to pump this sucker out.

TIGF!!! (That's Incredibly Gay Friday): Family music groups

Here on our right are The Cowsills, an all family group that even consisted of their mother. This was the real group that The Partridge Family was based on. They do a couple of kick ass songs, believe it or not: "The Rain, The Park and Other Things"; and "Hair". I really do dig these guys to an extent. They knew how to play their instruments well and kept it together throughout their time in the limelight.

Next we have the DeFranco Family.
I think I can remember the main teen heartthrob being Tony DeFranco, but this is going off of my oldest sister's record collection that I used to go through. I think the one 45 she had was "Heartbeat, it's a Lovebeat". Does Ani DeFranco come from this spawn? I've heard rumours, but I would bet that she has had to have people killed in order for this connection to be kept secret. She has a legitimate lesbian folk career to think about here. Anyway, The DeFrancos, pretty sugary stuff for sure, but we haven't even got to the best.

The Osmonds: behold the glory. Is it me or does every person remember the sexual tension between Donnie and Marie? I can remember as a wee bairn thinking, "Why don't they just fuck already, gosh!" I must admit that nearly every damn time I hear Marie sing "Paper Roses" I pop a boner and cry a bit. I know that some of the older Osmonds really had legitimate rock chops and resented the fact that they weren't allowed to follow after their heroes, like Led Zeppelin and such. It must have been hard to basically take a step backward for a couple of genetic freaks of white teeth and perfect hair to take over the family spotlight. Hell, even Jimmy Osmond didn't even ruin things. He was the retarded one, right? Anyway, The Osmonds were the top dogs of the very TIGF in a good way family pop singing groups.

Now, I would like to take this time to tell you about my own ambitions in regards to this subject. I am on the lookout for a woman of great height and ample birthing hips to produce genetically perfect children, of which I will raise up into the ultimate family pop group ever invented: The Very Tall Children of (My Full Name here). Those of you who happen to know my full name get it. It just sounds like hot, instant success and awesomeness. These kids of mine will not only tower over mere mortals, but they will tap dance, yodel, and sing in so many different harmonies it will make your privates weep.

I think I need to start a'looking fer a place to bake me some hot-cross buns.

How to survive inbetween pets (a post from a defunct blog of mine, plus health update)

Get a slinky. There. Done. Simple!

Okay, I know you already think I've got taffy for brains, but hang with me a sec, alright? I gave my slinky a name: Ralph. Why Ralph, you ask? Well, just look at him. Doesn't he look like a Ralph? He does to me and as long as I'm happy that is all that matters.

Ralph still doesn't obey commands. Um, that's not true; he can sit, stay, play dead, and roll over...with some help. Really, though, what Ralph needs is a pair of googly eyes and a felt tongue. You know, that really would help people warm up to him and it just might help me pick up women down at the park.

I might have to change which park I've been going to. The last lady that found Ralph and I a hot item turned out to be an undercover cop dressed as a gypsy hobo. Is there such a thing as a gypsy hobo? Well, that's what she looked like to me. Come to think of it, I don't think that was a cop at all. No wonder why that pat down was a bit peculiar. Why must I be so trusting?

Health Update:

So, I've got my second chemo done today and the first blood work and chemo done using my new porta-catheter. The needle, rather, hook that they put in me was a bit scary looking. The nurse was all, "They were supposed to get you a cream for that to numb it. Didn't they do that for you?"

I was all "No (shit on me)."

So, we had to do this "1-2-3, breathe in hard!" kind of mind over matter shit to get the thing in and out of me. It hurt but I dealt with it. The porta-catheter really made the chemo less of a pain in the ass.

My blood work showed a dangerously low white blood cell count and we almost had to stop my treatment because of it. My doctor decided to let the chemo go on. However, I know have to get a series of five shots starting Friday and ending on Wednesday in order to try and restore my white blood cells. If we don't go through this expensive procedure ($3,000) then any infection I may get could be deadly. This is serious stuff. Hell, the cancer won't kill me if I go through the treatment, but the treatment is doing its best to kill me. I guess the idea is that the cancer cells will be dead first and I will have a period of time after I'm done with treatment to recover from all the collateral damage done to my body.

So, while the treatment went smooth, the after effects today have been such that I have been incredibly weak and nauseous. This is like having mono at a toga party, but without all the other partiers or fun, for that matter. Hell, my brother even tried riding a motorcycle up my stairs and doing the "William Tell Overture", drumming his fingers on his throat bit from "Animal House", and that didn't even cheer me up.

I told my brother that since he resembles a Mexican version of Meat Loaf, circa 1978, that he should do a duet with the crazy lady down the road, or even a full theatrical version of "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" for my amusement. Yes, dance fat monkey, dance!

"It never felt so good. It never felt so right."

Excedrin for Humpback Whales (A post from a defunct blog of mine)

Ok, imagine you are outside walking around minding your own business. Out from the clouds a loud, booming voice is broadcast frantically, saying, "Aieeeeee! Shut up! You are giving me a friggin headache, you jerk! Why won't you stop? I'm in so much pain right now!" This would be pretty perplexing, no?

Still with me here? Good.

I was thinking about whale researchers who blast back whale songs in order to illicit a response back from the whales or the mighty sea unicorn, if you believe in such things (I do). Well, I found out recently that submarines and other sea going vessels give whales headaches. So, I did a little hypothetical thinking. I usually don't try to do too much of that sort of thing on an empty stomach, but what the hell. Here's what I hypothesized: Some of the whale songs recorded are actually whales complaining from massive headaches caused by the vessels recording them. Not having to adhere to any scientific standard kind of helps in this case.

Further, I thought that the rebroadcast of the "I've got a headache this big" whale songs back to the whales, or better yet, to new and unsuspecting whales would really mess with them. I mean, that has got to be a trip to be bombarded with screams coming outta nowhere.

Just for fun I came up with a whale headache haiku:
Throbbing veins in head.
Where is that sound coming from?
Please kill me, Bubba.

I end all my haiku with "Bubba". It's my signature. Plus, Bubba is totally a whale name and you know it.

Peace out.

Oh yeah, JJ McFatty (Blog Portland) deemed me worthy of honor and recognition of my "specialness". This is probably the one blogger reward that means the most to me, even if it is retarded.

True story

This Sunday school teacher was teaching a class and trying to show how people are related to each other through family trees and such. After giving his lesson he thought that he'd ask the kids to give examples of things that are related that aren't necessarily family.

One of the kids' answered that trees and grass were related because they were both plants. The teacher agreed.

Another kid talked about how a porpoise and a cow were related because they both were mammals. The teacher explained that one to the other small kids until they all understood why that was.

The best one was a five-year-old boy's answer, "Well, my penis and my brain are related." The teacher asked him how and why, in a horrified tone of voice. The kid's answer, "Because, when my brother kicks me in the penis my brain hurts."

TIGF!!! (That's Incredibly Gay Friday): Significant boat anchors (at a concert)

Today's post was going to be about women who look like Jose Canseco, but I figured that my embarrassing encounter with a certain lady will need to be delayed. I really thought I was going to complete my "Roid Rippers of MLB" autograph collection that day. Meh, it wasn't to be. Oh, and I have to apologize to Sarah at the clinic: I really do feel bad about calling you "Slugger" all those times; it won't happen again. We're still hitting the batting cages if your girlfriend is alright with it, right?

No, today's post is not about really athletic and fashion-challenged butchies; today is about something seriously TIGF in a bad way: The concert girlfriend boat anchor. What is this exactly? Well, this is usually the girlfriend or wife of a dude who won't let the guy go with his friends to a concert, but somehow allows him to go so long as he is accompanied by said girlfriend or wife. Usually, the significant anchor is such because they just sit down in the chair or on the blanket and pass the time knitting or reading a damn book, only to get up on occasion to a song that was their "popular" tune, thus, effectively grounding any real fun the poor guy might have.

I can't stand people like this. It is distracting for me to have people laboring through a concert that everyone else is digging. Furthermore, these significant boat anchors seem to enjoy bringing down those around them by not paying attention to shit and making those frowny faces of impatience. Worst of all is that they make their "loved ones" leave before the encore so they can avoid traffic.

Why am I picking on women with this one? Well, if a girl talks me into going to a Jack Johnson concert, or whatever shit I don't like, I think that I might have a chance of going to see "Blow Job: The Musical!" afterwards. This is not so with women. They don't do this to get some. Women do this in order to get out of "it" or to torture the man during the thing (concert) he enjoys by interrupting him with complaints and stupid questions about the band, or whatever shit is happening at the time.

Now that I've mentioned "Blow Job: The Musical!", I bet you are wondering if there is such a thing, and if there is such a thing, what would it be like. Well, if you've seen "Grease 2" and wanted a Grunt Ahoy version of it, that would be "Blow Job: The Musical!". In fact, I think I'd even rip off one of the songs from "Grease 2", um, "Score Tonight", and work that one a bit into my title track. It would go something like this:

Gonna get a blow-oh-woah job toonigh-hight!
Gonna get a blow-oh-woah job toonigh-ee-ight!

...and that is all I can remember from that dreaded song to be honest, but you get my drift. I think it would be an absolute smash hit at the box office.

Tired, tired, tired.

I kept falling today so I just decided to put in all the psychedelic music I could into my CD player and lay in bed, either sleeping or staring at the wall while on painkillers. I watched the 1977 William Friedkin (the guy who did "The Exorcist") film "Sorcerer", which was a remake of an earlier French film and novel, "Le Salaire de la Peur" (The Wages of Fear). That is one trippy and suspenseful flick. The soundtrack by Tangerine Dream was perfect for my mood today.

Monday was made "golden brown" by a narcotic happy anesthesiologist. My surgery was scheduled for 6:30 AM and things got behind, so it didn't happen until 9:30 AM. In the meantime, my "Ani" figured out how to shape my mood for the delay using some opiates injected into my veins. Boy howdy, did I ever feel brown. I had one moment of extreme sweating, then it was all "bang bang, shoot shoot". We hadn't even got to the real anesthesia yet.

The operation to place my porta-catheter was successful. I was put down to a level of semi-consciousness, but I did not feel a thing. The way I look now is like I've just been shot twice in the chest, then given an alien implant. I can remember the shoving/tugging weirdness of the device being forced under my skin, yet over my muscle and bone. It really didn't bother me much, to be honest.

I went home and slept. I got up and decided to go to the Rush concert no matter what. I had GA tickets with my brother. This amphitheater has reserved seating near the stage, then a large grassy hill behind it. I just picked a soft spot in the hay away from the crowd and laid there watching the show. It was great. Rush didn't play "Working Man", "By-Tor", or "2112", but they did play their new stuff and it was really good. It was nice because I got to hear stuff that they normally don't play live. Since I see Rush every time they hit town it is nice to have a change.

Today I am happy to be coming down, but it has left me weak, as I've said. I don't know how much visiting I will get done tonight because I need my rest. I have my TIGF planned and I think I will not post until then. For now, I will try and visit you all when I feel up to it.

Oh, I want to come up with some T-shirts to sell on here. I need the money to build up my war chest again and this is one of the ways I figure I can do it without feeling a charity case. I had a good amount of savings before all of this started and will get through. However.......

You see, it hasn't only been my health this Summer: my main computer was ruined; my vehicle has required over $2,000 worth of repairs; my 20-year-old niece has divorced and has chosen many self-destructive paths since (including cops finding her passed out and beaten up behind a dumpster and now is under 90 pounds). Honestly, it has been hard all over for me and my family. I have never questioned why during all of this. I just ask, "What shall I do now?" This t-shirt stuff is part of what I want to do, even if it just is for a few people.

I am not asking for anything. This is just what I want to try. I'm also trying to sell off a couple of guitar amps, but you'd need to be local in order to not have shipping be crazy. I think I can get homes for those no problem. I have total faith that I will get through all of this. It's just that I can't stop wondering if some rich white guys, that call themselves Mortimer and Randolph, have made a one-dollar bet on me in some way. A free CD goes to the first person who can say what movie that is from.

Chemo sucks: Featuring a segment devoted to our friend, the dolphin.

It seems that the unpleasantness of chemo has finally caught up to me. My mouth is inflamed and looks red as a baboon's ass on the inside. A few canker sores my ass. I feel as though I've constantly have hot cinnamon oil burning my lips, cheeks, and gums constantly. It kept me up all night.

Also, the nausea has been real fun. The drugs work but basically render you useless. My taste for bacon and pastrami has been ruined forever--it's depressing. The good news is that root beer floats helped my stomach and fire mouth out so much that I have upgraded them to medicinal status.

Tomorrow at 6:30 AM, I go in for surgery to have my port placement done. I have had this day off for quite some time because I was going to see Rush in concert (I know this makes me a geek). I still plan on going no matter how effed up I will be. I will officially be the only person stoned at a Rush concert since 1983.

I just got done watching one of my favorite groovy films of the late '60s, "In like Flint". In part of this movie Flint is researching communications with our friend the dolphin. Apparently, the way you communicate with dolphins is by underwater turkey calling. Later in the film, Flint employs this technique to get a dolphin to help him through the lagoon fortifications of a top secret island operations run by power hungry women. I thought this was really neat. I figure that if I can harness the power of the dolphin that I could overcome any obstacle in my way. Now I just need to work on my use of silly, underwater turkey noises that supposedly make dolphins come to your aide. I can see it now...

Me (stuck in traffic, trying to make it to a doctor's appointment): Egad, what a mess! What will I ever do now?

(One minute later)

Me: Ah-ha! I will call on the assistance of my friend, the dolphin. Bluhbloobalooobalooobabahloooooo!

Flipper Rodrigez the II: Eeeeeee! Eeeeeeeee!

Me: Gosh, look at him direct all that traffic!

So on and so forth, the end.

TIGF!!! (That's Incredibly Gay Friday): Calvin's Urinary Habits

It seems like he will piss on anything nowadays. Ever since he lost his job in the daily comics he's hit the equivalent of a child actor doing Celebrity Fit Club.

He's taken his penchant for pissing to extreme levels now. I've heard that he even pissed on the Archbishop Desmond Tutu's silk robe. Dodge, Chevy, Ford, Tutu? This is madness, I say! What will be next, Pat Tillman's image wrapped in an American Flag?

Who knows what's next. When will all his mischief end? All I know is that it really is a demonstration of one's product loyalty and validation of their sense of humor if you put the image of Calvin pissing on whatever it is you don't like. I happen to not like the Smith family down the street from me. Why can't I hire Calvin to go and piss on them while I take photos? Maybe it is all done in photoshop now. There is always something getting in the way of a purely visceral experience with all this technology. Anyway, maybe Calvin and Hobbes could do a porno together full of golden showers and daring wagon rides down treacherous hills--naked, of course. I wonder if Bill Waterson has run out of money yet.

The day after (with excerpt from one of my other blogs)

Yesterday's chemo went well. It was a long day. The anti-nausea drugs seemed to do their job. Part of the chemo burned my veins--kind of like a creeping wasp bite--but I dealt with it. There were people who were in there for the whole day and just going through sheer hell. I was in the infusion room, where I get my chemotherapy, for probably three and a half hours. I didn't get hit hard with fatigue until around 9 PM.

This morning it is all systems go and I am going into work to do some mighty, mighty gold bricking. I could take the day off but getting sympathy from hot secretaries is too much to pass up on.

Okay, I terminated one of my niche blogs. I started it in order to have a reasonably sanitized version of Grunt Ahoy that my 3-D crowd, mostly Mormon, would not have any loss of the Spirit when reading. That only lasted two posts in and then I started offending them, then nobody seemed to give a flying fargk after that. Shit, what's a grunt supposed to do? So, for your pleasure, I will post the best bits from that blog on here on occasion. I would feel bad if they didn't get read.

Here it is:

This line contains no relevant information.

Why didn't Arby's make a deal with "Pirates of the Caribbean" to sell merchandise? To me it was a no brainer.Aaaaaaaaarbeeeeeeeeeez!

My nephew was staying over the other day and said something amusing. He told me, in a very concerned tone of voice, "If I don't have my earplugs when I sleep I will develop mental problems." Even though it was funny as hell I ran straight out to Walgreen's and bought like six boxes of that shit. No nephew of mine is going to be mentally ruined on my watch.

Did I just say shit? Oh no he dee-int!

I'm allowed to say it once in awhile. I have a "Just say shit" punch card. I have other punch cards that aren't sandwich related, too. Maybe I can hook you up. That's three punches, in case you were counting. I'm almost tapped out for the month.

I just used up my "Oh no he dee-int!" punch card.