(If you need catching up: Part I is here, and part II is here.)
The docs examined their handiwork, and proclaimed it to be Good, then went on to tell me that they had to change course mid-surgery and go ahead with the buccal mucosa graft. I said, “Mmmm mmmmfit,” which loosely translated from the original Klingon means, “No shit.”
They told me to get rested and I’d see them in the morning.
Meanwhile, in the bed next to me, my roommate was in some serious pain. He’d used up all his allotted morphine, I guess, because he kept calling the nurse and asking when he could get more in his clicker. I was hoping that they would cave and give him some because he was obviously in agony. We were separated by a thin curtain (dignity!) so I could hear him quite well. Sleep was pretty hard to come by, but at around 11:00, he buzzed the nurse and said, “I think I’m ready to take a dump.”
I heard the nurse come in, and they set up one of those standalone commodes. I know this because the nurse said, “I brought in a commode for you to use.”
There were some rustling noises as they got him out of bed, and on to the john. I then heard an explosion which can only result from several days of non-compliance to the PWD Ethos.
Then, oddly, I heard him snoring. Then, the nurse went into panic mode, and called code on him.
If you haven’t already, this will make more sense if you read the first part.
If you’ve had a recent encounter with Modern Medicine™, you know that a hospital of any decent size will have a well-oiled bureacracy that rivals that of the federal government, both in efficiency and friendliness.
So it was that after I arranged an appointment for the surgery with the New Cock Doc, I got a packet in the mail with a whole shit-ton of useful information, and also some forms (surprise!) to fill out with respect to my current health status.
I wasted no time getting the forms back, since I was at home and had all the information handy. Insurance info, health history, medications, the whole shitaree went on that form, which I mailed back in the enclosed, pre-addressed envelope; all in the name of efficiency and preparation. Sending them the forms well ahead of time would give them ample opportunity to lose them.
All that was really left was to make travel arrangements and wait.
But, as the wise philosopher and sage Tom Petty once noted, the waiting is the hardest part.
3 large tomatoes
3 roma tomatoes
1 white onion
1 red onion
4 cloves garlic, or 1 small bulb
2 serrano peppers
2 tbsp Fresh cilantro, chopped (approx)
1 habanero pepper
1/3 cup lime juice (approx)
2 tbsp canning salt
Dice all the tomatoes. Put in bowl.
Chop the onions. Put in bowl.
Chop the garlic finely. Put in bowl.
Chop the serranos finely. Put in bowl.
Chop the hababero finely. Put in bowl.
(Note: For all “bowl” operations, it is advisable to use the same bowl for best results.)
Stir everything up, then add lime juice and salt.
Stir some more so that the salt is thoroughly mixed in. Add more for taste.
Also adjust cilantro, garlic and pepper levels for taste. This one is warm and has a nice kick, but won’t make you sweat.
No warranties express or implied, your mileage may vary. Call your doctor if your erection lasts for more than 4 hours. Side effects may include gastric distress up to and including death. May interfere with Pooping Well, dudes. Do not taunt Happy Fun Ball.
This picture is from a 1978 Battle of the Network Stars. Levar Burton asked on Twitter how many can you name. Here’s mine. I’ll leave ‘em below the fold if you haven’t seen the pic yet and want to take a stab.
Background: About 12 years ago, I had an “infection,” it wasn’t that kind of infection, but an infection nonetheless. A quick round of antibiotics later, and everything was good to go.
Or so I thought.
Fast forward to 2008. I’m in a hotel in NOLA, and after enjoying some local fare, I made a pit stop in my room and notice that my output was, how shall we say? Tinged with red.
I’m not a doctor, nor do I play one on the Internets. (Well, except on alt.furries.lame.tv.re-creations. Call me Doggie Bowser, MD. Don’t judge.) Anyway, I surmised instantly that this could not be a Good Thing, so I made a mental note to make an appointment with my (youngish female) doctor upon my return.
I won’t go into the details of that visit, other than to say that I understand the term “clinical detachment” much better, and also my doc actually LOL’d when were done and I said, “Usually when I get that done, it’s not covered by insurance.”
That visit led to a referral to a urologist, henceforth known as “The Cock Doc.” The Cock Doc, while a competent and highly regarded professional, has the personality of a bag of sand. Which made me uncomfortable because what better opportunity are you going to have to make dick jokes? Dick jokes are the universal social lubricant, as we all know.
A quick examination and history, and he decided he wanted to look at my bladder using a small camera. It took me 3 nanoseconds to understand that the odds were strongly against him working the camera down through my kidneys. The shortest trip from A to B was obviously via my urethra, and you don’t have to have a degree in physiology to understand the implications of that.
The procedure is called a cystoscopy. You need only watch a minute of this video to get a good visual on what a cystocopy is all about.
Yeah. So, anyway, the dreaded date arrived, and you can imagine that I entered the exam room with some trepidation; especially as it looks a bit like a medieval torture chamber, what with the stirrups and all. Yes. Stirrups.
Now, as you can imagine, you probably don’t want that camera run up to your bladder without a little something to numb the pain, and that is provided. In gel form. Delivered the same route that the camera will follow.
So after getting through being numbed up, and waiting for the camera insertion, it takes all of 15 seconds for him to say, “Can’t get in there. You have a stricture.”
Stricture?
“Scarring and closure of the urethra.” Of course, I think immediately of Hank Hill and his narrow urethra, but the LOL’s just aren’t coming for some reason.
The following is a guest post from Christopher Jorgensen, who is the author of the Don Novello-esque jackassletters.com. Christopher is attempting to establish some conservative street cred here. Let’s see how he does. I’ll be back afterwards. Oh, and go read his site, too. Funny shit.
Christopher L. Jorgensen
P.O. Box 93042
Des Moines, IA 50393
February 08, 2009
Senator Roy Ashburn
State Capitol, Room 3060
Sacramento, CA 95814
Dear Sen. Roy Ashburn,
I’m guessing a lot of people are going to be demanding you step down. I’m writing to ask you not to. Too often when someone makes a mistake everyone pretends like this person’s career has ended. I say as long as the voters are willing to return you to office who cares? Plenty of gay people drive drunk and are still able to keep decent jobs. I don’t see a reason why you should be any different!
Keep up the good fight and don’t let the bastards get you down!
Sincerely,
Christopher L. Jorgensen
p.s. anyway I can get an autographed photo?
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
I think I know what Christopher was shooting for here: ZOMG!1!!11! GAY DRUNK REPUBLICANS.
I’ll just add this. That Ashburn is gay doesn’t bother me. What does bother me is that he appears to be irony- and/or humor- impaired as well. As are most uptight Republicans. And you won’t find any of those around this fuckin’ place, I’ll tell you that right now.
Put down the pitchforks and torches, and follow me. This’ll ramble some. I’ve been accustomed to shortening my thoughts to 140 characters or less, so it may take me some time to get to the point.
First off, I love Twitter. Love, Love Twitter.
Twitter, to me, is like an old-school neighborhood bar. You most always see the same people. Some new people start coming in; some old timers leave. Some of your friends introduce you to new friends, and the conversation is always flowing.
No one minds if you butt in on their conversation; they just ignore you, but most often, you’re welcomed and you never know where the conversation will end up or who will join.
You can throw something out there, and most often people will respond, and like the wise sage Forrest Gump once observed, “You never know what you’re gonna get.”
So, anyway, a while back, the conversation turned to basketball, and I made the assertion that Michael Jordan ruined the game by making it an individual sport. My old (in Twitter time) friend @RickSheridan (yes, I do feel compelled to add the @-sign as part of the name) butted into this conversation, and told me and @infoBee that Led Zeppelin ruined rock and roll in much the same way.
He said this knowing that @infoBee and I were Zep fans, so this kinda set me back a bit, as I always take it as a given that Zep is pretty much the root of most modern rock and roll, and can argue passionately toward that point; with specific examples.
However, unlike your garden-variety liberal, when someone drops something like that into my dish, I stop and consider it.
And I did, and then dismissed it out of hand.
I keed, I keed. Obviously, it stuck with me, but on the back burner.
But this is where Twitter, comes into play. One of my very dear Twit friends, @AnnieBelle3, told me to check out a band called, Supersuckers, and the song she recommended was a little tune called, “Rock Your Ass.”
I, of course, was intrigued.
Now, of course, I loved it, because it’s three-chord, whiskey-drenched rock and roll, with an attitude. The guitar work isn’t Satriani-esque, the drummer can count to four, and the bassist holds the thing together, and it’s fucking fun.
So, I bought their EP, “Paid.”
The first song that struck me was “Roadworn and Weary (6/6/6 Version)”
The audio is crappy, but I think the video captures the energy of the band.
There’s nothing fancy there. Guys in jeans, t-shirts and cowboy hats banging out some rock and roll.
If it were vinyl, I’d have grooves worn in it already.
So, anyway, I figure, I gotta listen to these guys some more. The next thing I do is buy their album, “Must’ve Been High,” because it has the original “Roadworn and Weary,” so I figure it’s a good place to start.
The first track I listened to, of course was “Roadworn and Weary” and it was like doing a grinding gearshift from 1996 to 1966, oh, and shifting genres from three chord rock to old-school country.
It was a shift; a believable shift. And well done.
But then, I listened to the title track:
Listen to the twin harmonicas at the beginning. It’s like it’s something out of an Enrico Morricone soundtrack. You can almost picture Clint Eastwood coming out to kick your ass personally. There’s the reverb on the lead guitar and a palm mute during the second verse that takes you back somewhere between The Ventures and Buck Owens.
They do a cover of “Eastbound and Down,” for fuck’s sake.
So, right there, you’ve got a real slice of Americana with three chord rock, and some good solid 60′s country.
So, what does this have to do with Led Zeppelin, you ask.
Let’s flip over and look at some of Zep’s oeuvre.
First up is one of the heaviest songs ever written:
Every aspect of this song is “signature.” Bonzo’s heavy kick drum and loose high hat; the wailing harmonicas; Page’s slide work, and of course, the unmistakable wails of Robert Plant.
Here’s another of Zep’s more recognizable tunes:
Some of the techniques and riffs in this song have been carried through into hard rock/metal for years. Octave riffs and simple power chords; soaring vocals, and the bottom end of Jones and Bonham holding it all together. Listening to Zep, you would swear that John Bonham’s right foot and John Paul Jones’ left hand surely had to be the same limb attached to the same brain.
I’m a firm believer in the “No Stairway” school of thought, so you’ll have to dig that one up on your own, but that song was arguably the blueprint for every “power ballad” through the 80′s and 90′s.
In fact, I think you could safely say that Led Zeppelin has been the prototype for most successful rock bands, through the current day; three or four virtuosos on the leading edge of their craft. Sometimes, right down to the blond-haired lead singer (Van Halen, perhaps? Just to cite an example.)
So, how did Zeppelin ruin rock & roll?
Well, they ruined it in the same fashion that Michael Jordan ruined basketball. They were too damned good, and a combination that could never come along again. Their repertoire and influences were both wide and deep; from Delta blues to Celtic strings, they could incorporate them all. While Page and Plant had some commercial success together and apart, without Bonzo they were never Zeppelin again.
And while they were never Zeppelin, neither were the bands who followed, but the formula had been established, and with a few exceptions, deviations are rare.
So while everyone is trying to put together the next Led Zeppelin, so many good — no, great — bands are flying under the radar of most folks.
My obvious example is the Supersuckers. (Hey, go buy their shit. It’s on iTunes.)
The thing is, none of these guys are virtuosos. Eddie Spaghetti’s vocal range is a solid baritone, but not much more. Jim Morrison probably had a better range, and I don’t mean that as a compliment.
The thing is, though, he keeps it within his limitations, as does the whole band. They do what they do, and they do it well, and it’s fun.
It’s three chords and the truth.
And it’s increasingly hard to find under the long and deep shadow cast by Led Zeppelin, arguably the greatest rock band of all time.
Now go grab a beer or two. (Or three if you’re still in that “beer for breakfast” phase of your life.)
Half the fun at this point is trying different beers and see what kinda flavors you can get. So, I’m not going to specify brand, quantity, etc. You fuckin’ figure it out. Start with the cheap shit, though, fer sure. Miller High Life and Coors are good starts.
Dump one in. One will get soaked up in a hurry. Then dump about half of the next one in.
Or a little less.
Now mix all that stuff up with a wire whisk, or something like that. You’re a big kid, you figure it out.
Keep mixing it up and spilling some beer in there until the batter reaches hotcake consistency. No lumps, and should be thick enough to leave “tracks.” More art than science here.
Quit drinking it and put it in the batter.
By now, you should have heated your griddle up to 325, or Med/Med-Low on the stove.
Ladle the batter on with a soup ladle, or gravy ladle, or even a big spoon. We’re not big sticklers on detail here.
Then, if you’re still sober, just cook ‘em up light and fluffy brown.
Otherwise, put the batter in the fridge. You can make ‘em tomorrow to eat when you’re hungover.
So, I’m checking in on Twitter today, and I see this from @RickSheridan. (BTW, I’m disturbingly close to calling people’s names with the word “at” in front. “Hey, has anyone seen at-Paul today?” Jebus, maybe I need some help here.)
Nice. RT @JMRsOMA @RickSheridan U look like a fucking pervert saying this & standing next to child of color I SPIT ON YOUR ASS 4 THAT CHILD
So, of course, I had to see what precipitated THAT outburst, and I find that the post that started the whole thing was this (again from @RickSheridan):
Don’t mind booing & hissing. Though I agree with Joe Wilson I don’t much cotton to calling the President a liar in that venue. #tcot #tlot
Wow. That seemed to me to be pretty much uncalled for, so in my own subtle way, I jumped into the conversation.
@RickSheridan Wow. That was incredibly fucking insightful. You stay classy, @JMRsOMA.
Which of course, resulted in this:
@pottymouthcon I’m glad you enjoyed it you ignorant hillbilly
Alright, now the game is ON.
@JMRsOMA That’s the best you got? Ignorant hilbilly? What verve! What wit! What charm! You hacked on a guy’s kid. You’re a hateful fuckwit.
@pottymouthcon Thats where you show your ignorance asswipe! What are you his mouthpiece? Fuck you, Fuck him, & God keep that kid safe!
Now here’s where it starts getting good, because I’m thinking at this point, “How in hell does a one-off comment about Obumble engender this?” And I figure now that I got the stick in the hornet’s nest; what harm in giving it a little stir! A little riposte to see what parry might come back.
@JMRsOMA I was right from the get-go. You are a racist fuckhead with nothing to contribute except bile and hate. Thanks for playing.
@pottymouthcon Im 4 real so get use to it bitch the kid w/be raised with values & traditions contrary to the experiences of his ethnic group
Wut? “The kid will be raised with values and traditions contrary to the experiences of his ethnic group.”
Then followed these streams of invective to Rick.
@RickSheridan WHAT U R TEACHING YOUR BLACK CHILD: It’s bad to watch anything concerning the first Black US President-Poor kid w/b fucked up
@RickSheridan WHAT U R TEACHING YOUR BLACK CHILD: To be disrespectful of the first Black U.S. President and that makes you unpatriotic~!
@RickSheridan WHAT U R TEACHING YOUR BLACK CHILD: Intolerance of Black men. White men like you of course are acceptable.
@RickSheridan WHAT UR TEACHING YOUR BLACK CHILD: To develop mixed emotions about people like #Kutcher who love people who look like him/her!
I’m still on the “values and traditions” of ethic groups, so I ask:
@JMRsOMA By your logic, then, should white kids be raised in white neighborhoods surrounded by other whites for purity of ethnic experience?
To which I get:
@PottyMouthCon Fuck you bitch, I have nothing more to say to you wannabemouthpiece
Wait! I asked a question, and I think I deserve an answer here, don’t you?
@PottyMouthCon Don’t go there with me you Ultra insensitive #Republican! It’s about demonstrating respect ESPECIALLY given the facts.
Respect!
@JMRsOMA Respect?!? It’s a two-way street, my friend. Now, one last time, please explain your REASONING – sans bile – if you can.
Still no answer here, and now we’re bringing up “facts.” I’m generally a fan of facts. Facts teach me stuff. Facts allow me to make rational decisions; not based on emotions. Let’s do. Let’s do talk facts.
@JMRsOMA I’m trying to give you a chance to enlighten me; to change my mind with logic and facts. Can you do that, or is hate all you offer?
I even put the lid on Potty for that one.
@PottyMouthCon I don’t give a fuck what you think, feel, believe. It’s clear you have no respect for the President of the United States!
Well, I can’t fucking argue with that.
@JMRsOMA That’s very true. But it has everything to do with his policies and ideas and nothing to do with skin color. I have the same…
@JMRsOMA …opinion of Joe Biden, Ted Kennedy, Chris Dodd, and many, many others for the same reason. NOT SKIN COLOR”
The conversation ended there, as @JMRsOMA decided to block me. (Which doesn’t do a fucking thing, since I can log out and see the tweets just fine anyway.
That’s not the point.
This is the point. This is why racism will never end in the US — not while people like this are so concerned about the “ethnic experience” only for their own skin color. If I said that white kids should be raised by white parents in white neighborhoods, I would be called a Klukker, and there would be figurative crosses burning on my lawn for daring to suggest this.
I have a great deal of respect for anyone who adopts a kid. As Rick said in a tweet to me; he expected this, and they’re used to it.
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