January 8, 2012

I hope a car battery to the testicles is not next

"They" --and you all know about the evil "They"-- have attacked me in my sleep. Like fanatic members of the Cult of Charlie Manson, "They" have entered my house in the dead of night and tortured me.  Imagine my skull clamped tight in a vice while icepicks and small fillet knives are thrust into the soft tissue of my right eyeball. My body was beaten with the latest in composite material baseball bats,  The slugger was skilled at his art of torture, knowing how to bruise and damage every muscle fiber, yet not break the bones, leaving  me at a level of pain just short of passing out. Albert Pujols could not have handled his Louisville Slugger with more effect. Through the blur of pain I was punched in the guts repeatedly by a wavering image with the skill and strength of Mike Tyson.

That is what has happened to me.

Or maybe I am just getting a cold.  I popped a couple of Advil in any case.


Fuzzy Curmudgeon said...

Yeah, just a cold. I had that one last week.

Jean said...

Colds suck.

Ed Bonderenka said...

I'd wear a cup just in case.


And I went to bed yearning for a good night's rest and woke up with projectile vomiting. But a cold LINGERS.

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