Friday, May 14, 2010

Update on Teh Shoulder: Well, I'm Typing, Nessy-Pah?

So that should tell you something. The typing, I mean.

What it should tell you is that I'm a bad-ass and can withstand excruciating physical pain, the likes of which would crush lesser beings, reducing them to quivering masses of sniveling girlflesh1, so you really don't want to fuck with me, now do you2? I AM YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE3!1!

Anyroad, I made an appointment yesterday to see the doctor today — one doctor, not three and a half like a certain a p*ssy trail4 runner I could name but won't because his name is already contained in the pangram "The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog named Steve Quick, who is certifiably insane" which I was gonna quote anyway for no particular reason—and here is the upshot of that visit, back from which I just got5:

I am yet again in for some physical therapy. (O, Tony The Physical Therapist! Ours was a love too beautiful to've ended the way it did, i.e., with you taking out that restraining order against me!) I have to wait a week or two till the muscle in the shoulder calms down. I don't know what the muscle is called, technically, but I'm calling it TEH FUCKWAD MUSCLE BECAUSE IT'S BEING A REAL FUCKWAD!1!

So I have that — PT — to look forward to.

In the meantime, ice; little dangly-arm-going-in-a-circle exercises; and this extra-strength ibuprofen (street value: One MEEEELION dollars! Canadian!).

Why do doctors never prescribe beer for pain? I think it's because they're hand-in-glove with Big Pharma, and Big Pharma and the AMA want nothing more than to take Big Zymu6 down!

Well it ain't gonna happen, boys! Not on my watch!

Speaking of which, my watch is over.

Time for a beer.

P.S. I see no reason why I can't run that birthday 5k tomorrow. I will shoot for a PW (personal worst) of around 40, 45 minutes.
Man, I feel sorry for you people who read this blog regularly. Because I have to do a program on The Who at my library (loooong story) in July and I'm spending all my spare time doing Research on The Who (or "Whosearch") and I'm compiling waaaaay more information than I could ever use in a one hour program and since I'm cheap and tend not to like to waste anything, that information has to go somewhere, and so I foresee a July, August and September around here of little other than posts about The Who.

You have been forewarned.

Don't pretend that you know me, cos I don't even know myself.

1 Is all this talk of quivering girlflesh giving anyone else a boner? Anyone? RBR?

2 Assuming you're a regular reader of this blog, you're pretty bad-ass, too, in terms of the psychological and mental pain you can endure, and as Exhibit A to prove my case re: your bad-assery, I hereby submit the very fact that you read this blog. Because, Jebus Aitch Chrsylerbuilding! I write this stuff but there is just no way I could read it on a regular basis and resist the urge to kill myself by pulling my n*ts@ck off through my oral cavity2a. Which I'm pretty sure would be fatal.

2a Or, in the case of you skirts, your oviducts. Or, in the case of RBR, her/his oviducts and n*ts@ck.

3 If you're a dude, that is. If you're a chick, me naked on a bed sprinkled with red rose petals with a come hither look in my eyes is your worst nightmare. No, no! Don't force yourself to wake up! I'm still enjoying this!

4 Not meant to imply that the trails are made out of p*ssy despite how it looks syntactically.

5 Phrased thusly to piss off Winston Churchill, on the off chance he's one of the 6 people who read this blog.

I might just as well take the opportunity here as anywhere else to apologize for this post's diffuseness and lack of focus and, quite possibly, its groovily psychedelic vibe, which is a direct result of the EXTRA STRENGTH ibuprofen the doctor gave me and that I just took and which probably explains why I felt I had to point out the seemingly obvious fact that Steve Quick does not, of course, run on trails made of p*ssy. He runs on trails made of t*t because he prefers the hilly terrain. And when he says he "just got back from a long out and back" you don't — TRUST ME — want to know what that trail is made of, but I'll hint at it by reciting for you this limerick starring a guy named "Enos":

Enos ran trails like Steve Quick
But his head wasn't nearly as thick
"I've run on a boob
"But on steak shaped like tube?
"I'd much rather run on a d*ck but I won't because that's where SteveQ does his long out and backs."

You have to read that last line really fast for it to scan correctly.

Sorry. I told you, I'm riding the ibu-pony — HARD!1! (sorry, Morrissey!) — and this whole footnote, indeed this whole post, is really the ibuprofen talking.

Stay in SCHOOL, kids! Because this extra strength ibuprofen is waaay easier to get at school.

6 Short for "Big Zymurgy".


  1. Big Pharma wants to take over the world; Big Zymu wants to stop us from taking over the world....

  2. Don't run with that shoulder! You'll disturb that muscle you can't name correctly. Just stay home take more Ibuprofin and muse on The Who.

  3. well, I guess you ripped me a new one, which is okay cuz the old one was kinda worn.

    I'm not certifiably insane! I have a note from my doctor (maybe it was my mother, I confuse the two) that says so.

    That Churchill "with up put" quote turns out to be apocryphal. He actually said "snivelling masses of quivering girlflesh are just quivering messes of snivelling glavenfish." Yeah, I don't get it either.

  4. For the hopelessly uninformed: "Zymurgy" is the art of homebrewing beer.

    Thought you'd slip that one past me, eh, Glaven? THINK AGAIN!

  5. That must be some good ibuprofen you're on. You need to know you're getting hosed in the Therapist dept. The one I use is 6' of gorgeous Scots lass with the most lovely accent.

    And doctors do sometimes prescribe beer for pain. Sort of. The pain of nursing. If you think you're up for that (and gawd knows you seem to be up for damn near anything when you're healthy) have at it.

    I say wrap the shoulder, arm, upper AND lower torso, plus the neck, the other arm, and the n*ts@ck just to be sure, then run the race. You can't lose. If you win, you get all kinds of extra bragging rights. And if you lose, you've got a great reason. To say nothing of all the sympathy you'll get from the hot spectators.

  6. Only you would blame this particularly tactless, tasteless, anti-tranny post on a innocuous NSAID that you can buy at f-ing Walgreen's. You know 800 mg of Ibu's is just four of the regular ones. You can't buy 1/4 strength heroin at Walgreen's!

    Well, there is NyQuil at Walgreen's and if you take four shots of that and add a shot of Jack I will admit it has a similar effect, but I digress...

    For the record, only your 'quivering girlflesh' is enough to be chubby inducing for me.

    Yeah, I think the rationale that "SQ would do it" is a SUPER reason to run with an injury. How could THAT possibly go wrong?

    Gentle Reminder: it has been established on numerous occasions that SQ is bat shit crazy. Granted it is one of his most attractive qualities, but nonetheless true.

  7. Happy B-Day, I hope you enjoy your new AG...

  8. Happy birthday!!

    You have now entered a new era! You are no longer a mere creepy guy you are officially a creepy OLD guy!

    RE: your comment - Awwww, I knew that you really felt that way. It is so brave of you to admit that your adoration of me drove you to the very depths of madness. It was clear from your many communications it was with the fiery, hot jealousy of a man (ok, man-ish) truly possessed that you would ever accuse me of being a tranny or anything less than truly the ideal woman. It must feel better to have gotten that out. I assume that is what you meant by "F*CK YOU B*TCH!" *bats eyelashes*

    Have fun at your 5k. Try to not knock over any 6 year olds or old women recovering from hip replacement surgery in your "race" today.

  9. [small aside: Be careful with your shoulder, you goddamn nutjob. You are hanging out with SQ too much]

    aside over


  10. Ooh, baby! RBR, turn that small aside over!