So, nature, fate, and Satan’s second cousin Louie have new ways for me to suffer.
You see, I have been experiencing a lot of back pain. But not the kind that has been plaguing me for the last week. That I have more or less licked with the Naproxen.
This time the culprit is gas.
The intestinal kind. You know, natural gas. I’ve had a wicked case of it for around 24 hours now and it is getting caught in pockets deep in my guts which makes said guts inflate and tighten and that makes the surrounding muscles also tighten around the pockets of gas and voila, back pain. Mostly in the woods.
You know… the lumbar region.
Science is so beautiful.
Last night was especially bad. I got very little sleep due to the back pain. Spent many futile hours rubbing my back, stretching, and using my massager in a vain attempt to get things to relax so I could fucking sleep.
At least I know it’s gas now. So I can concentrate on getting those gas bubbles to pick a lane and get the fudge out.
Dunno why I got so gassy all of a sudden. There’s been no serious change to my diet and as far as I know, I don’t have a cold or flu or whatever.
Oh well. I will have to ask it some questions next time I fart.
The back pain is bad enough, but another, even less dignified form of pain apparently hitched a ride on the very same train :
Christ, do my balls ache.
And that’s particularly noisome because for me at least, testicle pain always comes with nausea or the risk of nausea.
I expect that’s true of a lot of men. Our wedding tackle is quite delicate.
You’d think it would have evolved a tough outer shell by now.
As to why they are aching, it could be a lot of things. Wearing my pants too tight in the crotchal region has caused it in the past.
Of course, they would not be too tight if my balls were not seriously swollen.
And that points us to the real problem : my balls are bluer than a Smurf’s.
This is a condition which, while quite painful, has an easy and obvious cure :
Spank that monkey like it wrecked the car!
But that’s a Catch-22 because you know what makes it really hard to get off?
Super sore balls.
It’s doable, but tricky. You have to settle in such a way that your downstroke will not touch your nuts AT ALL.
Oh, and if you miss, you experience terrible pain and nausea!
It’s like a really filthy game of Operation!
So perhaps I will undertake Operation Spermatic Freedom later tonight.
More after the break.
A quick note about crazy neighbors
In a comment on this video
I wrote this comment :
michael bertrand, former weird neighbour
Well there was one family in the neighborhood when I was a kid who had like eight cats and all their furniture was scratched to pieces and the parents knew everybody but didn’t have any friends and their youngest was this creepy little fat kid who….
Oh wait. That was us! 🙂 Sorry.
Because I’m funny like that! 🙂
Captain Omniscience is SUCH a know-it-all
The problem with shadows
The problem with shadows is that you can’tescape them if you are still hiding in them.
I have always had a sort of cloak of illusion. A sort of aura of ambiguity and enigma that keeps people from knowing exactly who or what I am.
Myself included, sadly.
But it’s not made of lies. I am too honest for that.
Plus, lies are strategically weak. A defense made of lies could disappear in a puff of logic if any of them are exposed as the falsehoods they are, and that makes for a pretty bad hiding place if you ask me.
No, for me it’s all about the ambiguous. The undetermined. The questionable. And especially important for me, the arguable.
After all, if you defy definition and instead rely on your sly trickster powers to allow you to adapt to situations on the fly, it’s nearly impossible to pin you down.
That fog you wrap yourself in hides your true position and lets you take whatever form is most advantageous at the moment, all while maintaining your infuriating grin and ability to dodge out of the way of attacks then move back so fast it looks like you never moved at all. And yet, the attack still missed.
Tsk tsk, old boy. Why can’t you hit me? I’m standing right here.
And sure, that sort of thing makes me feel powerful and wicked while I am imagining myself as this devilish creature of illusions and insight.
But nobody likes that guy, and he can hardly slow down and be human.
I mean, all the clever tricks and confounding mirages in the world won’t keep you from being lonely. Magic spells and imps from hell and ghosts from a well and all that other bullcrap are nothing but nothingness at the end of the day.
Smoke and mirrors and parlor tricks.
And the sad truth is that the audience is an illusion too, just voices in your head, and you have been all alone this whole damned time.
The whole damned show is nothing but mental masturbation designed to fool the real audience – namely you – into forgetting your stark and sterile solitude for a while.
But the world outside is real. That’s what you keep telling yourself. You are not all alone with your demons and your dementia yet. There is still a whole big world out there that doesn’t need you to believe in it to keep on existing and that is full of whatever it is you need or want or even just itch for out of sheer perverse whimsy.
And all you would have to do is open up those doors and go out to greet the world.
But that would mean also letting the world in.
And you are just not ready for that yet.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.