24 September 2011

Friday Night With John Dore

You ever ask yourself, "How the fuck did my life turn into this?" I was sitting on the couch with Sonja last night watching John Dore's tv show when I had one of those moments. Was not like we were not having fun. We were both in tears Dore's show was so funny. The whole show was about his dick and how, why and what comes out of it. Made me glad the whole world, except for the Muslim loons, gave religion a giant kick in the ass shortly after I was born. Without Freedom of Speech, what the religious crazies call Devil Talk, there is no humour and without humour the only way we have to entertain ourselves is killing each other.

But that was not why I was asking myself, "How the fuck did my life turn into this?" Let me explain. Sonja was beside me. One glass at a time, a bottle of red was warming her up for some Friday night action. So far so good, right? I would not fuck myself unless I was plenty liquored up. On the coffee table in front of me I had a crystal glass of sugar water and absinthe. I do not remember why I started drinking that shit. All my life I have kept the dope that really messes you up at arm's length until I got into my forties - that is when I cosied up to absinthe. Until then the fucking government would not let us buy anything associated with green fucking fairies. That was probably the only good thing the fucking government ever did for me.

Yes, I was shitfaced. I was hallucinating. There is not enough thujone in the absinthe you can buy at the liquor store to fuck yourself up properly but if you further dose yourself lightly, but not too lightly, with your favourite pills you get the sort of near death experience we all crave after working all week in the motherfucking mill. Again, so far, so good, right?

Now comes the part that got the question marks circling round my head like turkey buzzards. Recently a couple of my toe nails have been looking a little funny. And they have got brittle. This I brought to the attention of my naturopath. He told me it might be a fungus and to soak them in apple cider vinegar. So there I was, higher than Jesus Fucking Christ in the desert, with both my feet in a bucket of apple cider vinegar.

Fuck did it stink. Two stinky feet in a bucket of stinking vinegar.

"You sure that naturopath of yours isn't blowing smoke up your ass getting you to stick your feet in that stinky shit?" Sonja asked.

Smelled so bad the Hammer would not even come by to get her ears scratched. Smelled like a fucking politician's promises to create jobs.

Could have been worse I suppose. The fungus could have been on my dick. Then I could have written something funnier this morning than the John Dore show last night.

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