I write stuff. A lot of it is about cars and motorcycles.

The Next Day

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Holy Judas frickin’ Priest on a Popsicle stick!

I am experiencing some discomfort in my legs and foot.  In much the same way that the residents of Hiroshima experienced discomfort in august of 1945.

Fortunately, I only experience this discomfort in the islands of lucidity I have between Percosets.  So far, the cycle has been:  Hurt, waken Percoset, sleep.  Repeat.

You gotta hand it to narcotics, boy. They don’t futz around with any silliness.  They just go right to work.  “I sense you are uncomfortable.  Here, let me bludgeon you into foggy bliss.”

Don’t mind if I do, thanks.

Actually, I’m not doing too bad.  The Percs eliminate the pain so that I can limp around on my dorky cast and crutches.  So, I can still do stuff.

It’s kinda nice though, just to lay on the couch and have my chick wait on me.  She’s gone to the store to get me some goodies, and is bringing me back a double Whopper, so I’m good.

The only bad moment I had, really, was when I was stepping over the baby gate we use to keep the monster dogs in the den.  Somehow, when I brought by hurty foot down, I jammed my tow right into the edge of their water dish.  I got a few seconds crash course in astronomy when that happened.  I think I can now recognize all the main sequence stars.

All things considered, though, I’d rather be up in Long Beach today, filling my CF card with pics of booth babes.

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