1. Those who cannot deal with reality, and
2. Those who cannot deal with the fact that they cannot deal with reality
I am definitely the second.
And now this:
I have a canker sore the size of a hooker's knuckle on the root of my tongue. At first I thought it was herpes or cancer, or the aids, but now I think I just pissed off the wrong god. To give you an idea of how painful this motherfucker is, I would rather have someone put out their cigarette on the head of my dick repeatedly than deal with this for another day. I can't talk, and that makes my wife happy. It blows my mind that "medical science," for all their progress in keeping old fuckers from pissing the bed and keeping shriveled dicks up, really have no idea what causes anything, including canker sores. Just like headaches, they just don't fucking know, but here's their best guesses:
- Vitamin B deficiency
- Stress
- Family history?
- A bad hair day
- Leprechauns
- Burger King
So how does your mother treat this? Whiskey. Like so many other things in life, canker sores are best cured by whiskey. I'd soak this bitch in Everclear if I had some. Which reminds me of the time I shot Everclear straight. I think this is how it went....
(one minute before shooting Everclear) Hmm, I wonder what it would be like to shoot Everclear...
(five seconds after shooting it) Yeah, I shouldn't have done that.
But I'd prolly do it again. Like the time I ate a cigarette on a dare for 63 cents. Or when I ate a habanero for a buck seventy-five. That's right, your mother is a whore.
I'm bored of this. Time to medicate.
