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Gaoot nityhfsy
By briantologist | January 30, 2005
I know I keep promising bad fiction, and I still promise it’s coming soon, but medical stuff keeps getting in the way. Like, specifically the medicine stuff (Kough Syrup with Kodeine) my Doctor gave me, which makes me way dizzy and disoriented and is way, way less fun than the Tylenol with codeine I had for my back.
In the mean time, my surgery’s been bumped back a week due to antibiotics and the upper respiratory infection that made them necessary. This is okay for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is that I’m pretty sure surgery would’ve actually killed me if I’d had it the day after tomorrow, as originally planned. Also, lame though it may be, this means I can make it to Admiral Shifty Weasel’s Super Bowl party a week from today, and I really can’t express how dorkily excited I am about this. I mean, look, okay, yes, I’ve got like three things I’m looking forward to this year, and two of them hinge on the NFL. (As many as three could, if I were to go ahead and name our kid John Madden Byrne. Ho ho. So not ever really considering that. Kind of can’t even joke about it.) Also, this way I’ll get to show up to work once or twice during the month of February.
Let’s see. What else. Tomorrow marks the 29th anniversary of Dr. 12′s entry into this god-forsaken rock, a shitty place made slightly better by his existence. Ern and I set forth on an expedition to the one place that stocks gifts retarded enough to match our gift-giving vision. I’m of course referring to Spencer Gifts, home of cards with naked people on them, “racy” board games, a strange assortment of horror movie memorabilia, and neon signs that say things like “I love dick” and, more simply, “sex.” It’s like there’s an entire store dedicated to the psyches of 13-16-year-old boys. We settled on a simple-yet-tasteful mug with a handle shaped like a cock ‘n’ balls, accessorized by a wristband that says “DORK,” a pack of Tupac Shakur incense, and a poster with the lyrics to “Stairway to Heaven” on it, all delivered in a naked man bag. Dr. 12 wasn’t overwhelmed by our gift bag, but I think in time, maybe some morning when he’s looking for something horrific to drink his coffee out of, he’ll begin to grasp the deeper significance of its contents.
Or at least he’ll grasp the ceramic cock ‘n’ balls to lift that fine mug to his lips. Happy birthday, buddy. Thanks for all the scotch.
Topics: Baffled Mutterings | 6 Comments »
January 31st, 2005 at 9:54 am
The giftbag was far outshined by the horror that is the cock ‘n balls mug. The thought of poor, bleeding, grimy Korean Children shellacing and removing these atrocities from a factory kiln just really makes the horror hit home.
And the wrisdtband is totally aces. I wear it with no sense of irony and a huge amount of pride. As Ern said, ‘You kind of ask for it when you get that excited about receiving ‘Glamdring’ for Xmas’.
January 31st, 2005 at 10:55 am
And you double it by knowing the actual name of the sword.
January 31st, 2005 at 11:13 am
I’m a doctor, we’re expected to know these things.
February 1st, 2005 at 1:10 am
it’s going to be a stupidly fun super bowl. gamecube will be played. time split. mario’s karts dashed. barbecue eaten. cats teased. digital photos taken. hopefully, no pasties this year, as the only females in sight are wives and jenni carlson, but hey, no promises. especially if sangria makes it onto the drink menu.
February 1st, 2005 at 8:40 am
The dreaded Truth Serum! God I love that shit. Though as I’ll be driving home that evening, perhaps it’s better I stay away from said magic elixir.
February 1st, 2005 at 3:20 pm
just tell your car to take careful notes on the way up, so it can get back home without your help. or make clayton drive.