So I got up today and took a look in the mirror… I’m thinking I’m not a bad looking guy (despite needing a shave) and from outward appearances I look pretty fit and healthy. There’s a few wrinkles and a bit of grey hair here and there but Lola tells me it just makes me look better… kind of a George Clooney effect where men get better looking as they age. Maybe she’s just sucking up to get some hot monkey loving but hey… who’s gonna mind a little lie like that? I won’t.
So despite all ouward appearances, my body’s warranty seems to have expired. The internal parts are failing and that’s what is pissing me off and making me really fucking cranky.
Arthritis is a truly evil motherfucker that needs to have it’s head cut off with a rusty saw. Slowly.
My ankles are burning, my knees are even more fucked up than usual and there’s that new and now ever present pain in my hips that won’t go away despite the number of pain killers I’ve taken already.
Maybe I should take up smoking pot for purely therapeutic reasons.
My back also hurts because of a pulled muscle and the tendonitis in my right arm has flared up. This is probaby due to the dozens of pages I have typed at work lately… perhaps I should start sending things out to the typing pool despite the inordinately long amount of time it takes them to do things. I’m typing left handed (insert obligatory masturbation reference if you want) for the most part and let me tell you… that’s also annoying as hell.
It’s a beautiful sunny day here in Alberta and we’re going to have ideal temperatures for playing the second greatest game on earth… shinny.
Shinny: Pick up hockey played on outdoor rinks from coast to coast.
So I drove past the outdoor rink today at least 6 times this morning and all I could think was… I WANT TO PLAY SHINNY. The ice is clear and hard as the cold temperatures of the past week have kept people off the ice and the ice guy was out there prepping the arena for what could be the greatest shinny weekend of the year… perhaps the greatest shinny weekend ever. You can never know about these things so one should play whenever the opportunity presents itself.
My hockey gear is 10 feet away just begging to be used… I can almost feel the wind in my face as I blast down the ice and rifle shots at the net… perhaps the medications are causing flashbacks to days of past shinny glory…
I’m thirty seven… not ninety seven and I have shit to do. Like play shinny. But my body seems to be having completely different ideas on what I will and will not be doing today.
Being that it seems that I seem to be coming down with the flu “having shit to do” might take on a completely different meaning as well. TMI? Perhaps.
Fuck.
Speaking of fucking… what’s next?
Impotence?
I would not be the least fucking bit surprised. All of Lola’s lies would be for nothing then. What good is a twelve inch johnson if you can’t use it? Lola might read this and “twelve inch johnson” is one of her favurite phrases, she says it’s makes her feel happy and come to think of it… “twelve inch johnson” would make a great band name dontcha think?
So if you can’t play shinny, fuck, or spend five minutes without running to the bathroom what left?
Oh yeah… porn. There’s always porn. I’ve probably got plenty of that in my inbox just waiting to be blocked and deleted as I’ve had my fill of hot xxx teen sluts.
Don’t worry… I’ll get over it. I just needed to vent before I took it out on the cat.
And I think Mr. Happy and the twins are still okay.
Maybe there’s hope for me yet…
