I got your number, written on the back of my hand!

Man flu, night sweats, rasping throat, bunged up nose, bad head, DAY sweats! Fuck me I think I’m mortal! Why is it that when a man has a genuine health problem (and admits it) EVERYONE tells him to ‘Man the fuck up’, yet when these so called ‘practitioners’ of urban manliness get a bit of a sniffle, their partners feel the brunt of it, fetching and carrying for the besnotted fella lying dying in a bed of his own putricity (now THERES a word) 

I originally thought I was seeing things here, the ride out on the ‘Big Red One’ helping to clear any lingering cobwebs from my feverish head, (trouble is, I can’t grip the bars properly as me hands have gone all spasticated again (long live Bob)) so it is with trepidation that I wander out the house to gather sustenance for my dying body later on. Talking of wondering, I succeeded in sorting Big Red out yesterday. All Data tagged and everything. Chemical etchings done (and checked today with black light) transponders stuck and glued all over the thing and the big green sticker in a (sort of) prominent place. (Can’t stick green on red, I would look silly.)

 As its Easter weekend, I thought I would get the flock out of asghanistan for a little while, but alas, this gurgling in my stomach doesn’t allow me to be more than three minutes away from a toilet! So that will have to wait another 24hrs! Which is a Bugger as the more I stay around here, the more things try to do me damage. I stood outside a shop on the phone to a mate and the friggin advertising board blew over straight onto me foot! If I wasn’t wearing bike boots, it would have pinched a bit, as it was, it frightened the shit out of me (and in my condition today, that’s not hard) 
 I know I ranted the other day about other religions, but as you can see by reading this, I don’t take my own religion too seriously either. You may be offended by the above script, but hey ho! You ain’t gonna kill me for it are you? Are you? I will, if you allow me, give you a small speck of knowledge that may save parts of you in any future where you find yourself dealing with mind altering chemicals that eat the very flesh you reside. READ THE FUCKING INSTRUCTIONS. Putting a brush in your mouth that is being used to chemically etch information onto your vehicle is bad! Not only do you realise that you were the sperm who won, but you also discover that taste can die! I don’t mean wearing green sockets with red shoes taste, I mean mouth taste! And it also gives you a little kick in the hypocantis too. Bringing to the fore all those memories you’ve suppress for ages. Memories about NOT READING THE FUCKING INSTRUCTIONS

Published by dec247h

Ex soldier, father, party girl and generally nice guy taking time out to do as he pleases! one day i will make it back to the UK, but i aint in a hurry!

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