Wednesday, May 19, 2010


trachea cock storm
testingtest out the throat with flesh probe
prison love is back

It's been a while.

I had hoped I would never have to write this post, that by the time it became apparent this post would be needed it would be ok, or even wanted; that hasn't happened.

If you came here looking for giggles and laughs, I point you to the online photos of my genitalia.

Since you all know him mostly (only) as Smeagol, I will continue to refer to him as such.

Make no mistake, all I have written on him is true, and no amount of sepia toned glasses or fond remembrance will fix that; he has always been, and hopefully will continue to be, a self centered, self absorbed, womanizing, jail-going raptor of the highest caliber... but things have changed.

Let me start from the beginning.

Last year, apparently around August, Smeagol got into a car accident. I was not aware of this. In this car accident he apparently cut his foot up pretty bad. As a diabetic, any fucking shit-flinging retard would go to the local hospital and get immediately checked out. Being in the medical profession, you would naturally assume Smeagol would know this. Working in various nursing homes and being summarily dominated in all manner of fisticuffs by sundry old people who also have diabetes and all manner of complications from the disease coursing through their veins and causing issues like an unstoppable rebel force, you would also with a certainty think that wily raptor would have the presence of mind to get his dumb ass checked out.

He didn't.

Apparently, the rapid swelling, lack up unswelling, turning purple, smelling worse than his thong, or seepage from open sores 7 months later did little to deter him from seeking help. The horrible cacaphony of his coughing and hacking that I made fun of that has gotten worse over the recent 7 or 8 months has also not clued him in that something was possibly wrong.

This takes us to about 3 weeks ago. Smeagol caught a most terrible fever, I mean 104+... he was taken to Truman Medical Center.

Truman Medical Center, if you are not in the know, is well known as the only place you can go and die from a runny nose. My favorite (true) story is when I was going to Northeast, a ghetto school, I went there to get a sports physical for football. During said physical, the doctor looked more and more confused, and at what I will call the low point not only for the physical but for my illustrious career as a heterosexual male, I had to instruct the gentleman to touch my balls for the hernia test. Thankfully he looked both surprised and dismayed at this prospective idea.

Anyway, TMC is also known as the best place in the region if you have to go to ICU, depending on whom you talk to (certainly not JJ, who got shot in the leg and received gauze and a band aid). It was to this ward that our intrepid hero was taken.

Long story short, I got a call at work (completely unaware any of the previous story had occured) and am informed that Smeagol was at the hospital, and that he had for all intents and purposes, gangrene. I rushed to the hospital, hoping that since they had never worked on a live raptor, that they were wrong in their deduction that they would have to amputate his foot.

You read that right. They were going to amputate Smeagol's foot.

I rushed to the hospital, and was completely and totally shocked. What I had assumed I would find was Mystical, maybe Toboggan, JJ possibly, but that was it. What I found, was the entire clan, all huddled in the waiting room, more than 15 people waiting to talk to that crazy raptor... aunts, uncles, his real dad, my sister... I waited my turn and went in.

What struck me first off was that my sister and mom were being unnaturally caring, and I remember my first reaction being "I hope this never happens to me" because I hate hugs and compliments and handjobs (unless they are free) (for the record the handjob part I just wanted to throw in there). Smeagol was completely loopy, his voice had risen another octave, his eyes were glazed over and he was absolutely giddy. I instantly felt embarrassed for him and saddened that it had come this far. Mystical kept lifting his sheet to look at his junk, and tried to show it to me, and luckily I was able to turn away each time. I also saw his foot, which was almost 3 times larger than his other one...Fuck, dude.

I will try to finish this sage tomorrow, the writing helps take the focus off of what is happening right now... I know it sounds like I am having fun and enjoying all manner of debauchery, but I'm not. I am not an emotional man, I don't cry or feel sadness or pain (because I'm not gay), but I'm not going to lie it hurts. RIght now Smeagol is on a ventilator, after blood poisoning which had been left free to multiply for 8 months had made it into his lungs caused complications after his lower leg was amputated and caused him to fucking die for a minute or so, and the doctors (I at first wrote "coctors" and thought about leaving it) brought him back and have been trying to revive him to no avail... and are wanting to meet with the family to talk about options.

I am putting this down for posterity, and like I said it is not a funny post but one I feel needs to be made...

Will the posts stop? No, as soon as we get something worked out they will continue.
Will the posts about Smeagol stop? No, he would disapprove of us being all nice and lovey dovey now...

Anyway, that's whats going on here.

Oh, I forgot, I play 8 man outdoor football for the Missouri Mustangs. We are 7-0 right now, and our last game of the season is this Saturday, then we have the "playoffs" and the "Superbowl"... stay tuned, I will post pix of that, my newest retarded outfit I wore to work, and more later... honestly I just don't feel like it right now.