State of the Nation - Asshat Edition 9

Mortality is quite the motherfucker now innit? it is not lost on my rather thick and sloping forehead that i'm probably not going to live to be 92, of course i could be wrong, i mean stranger things have happened, Bill Burroughs was an  octogenarian but that still ain't 92, and so as i sit here just a few scant days away from nature's calendar adding a 46th ring to my trunk (last Sunday) i understand that if there be a hill i am looking at the downward slide towards a galaxy full of dust, what was once me and many other things all swirling around in a galactic soup... and so i'm doing my best to have a grand olde time on this here little orb, why wouldn't i?

Of course nothing will drive home this mortality quite like that annual visit to the doc to see just how much abuse you've put on the body this year, now as of late i tend to take much better care of the vessel than i used to, my doc never fails to comment on what a colossal mess i used to be, a colossal mess in the best possible way of course,  you see recently i was having a conversation about those lost years called the roaring twenties and it struck me how i couldn't remember eating one thing, i obviously ate now and then but i didn't recall it, on the other hand i had a almost encyclopedic knowledge of the drugs i'd taken, the stupid amounts of booze drank, the women who passed in and out of the bedroom, there are times now when i physically shudder when i think about the amounts of substances taken or the dumb things i did with my cock... and yet somehow i'm no worse for wear, well almost...

If there are two things i've always enjoyed it's drugs and a good wank, not necessarily in that order, or any order for that matter, the origins of which i in can trace back to my gas sniffing days in the tree-less streets of Parma and the humping of a corduroy pillow, some scrambled cable Playboy channel, and the same said streets... so you see it is with no surprise that i spin this next yarn, a few years back, or maybe more than a few, before hillbillies everywhere started keeling over and thus making the political puppets sit up and take notice and grandstand about shit, before their fancy new database, when Big Pharma took over the world as the greatest opiate dealer ever, a friend of mine had a great connection, which is partly a tale for another time but partly a tale for today... a tragi-comic tale of wanking, drugs, and internet smut, who'd have fucking guessed?

Back at the office i'm passing my yearly exam with flying fucking colors, discussing authors and punk bands with my doctor, discussing my cholesterol and triglycerides, getting my knees knocked with a rubber mallet, it's all hunky dory and then my doc, a brilliant fucking doctor to say the least, begins pushing on my belly button, to which i start cursing (i hope he's not Catlick or anything cuz i did take a few names in vain) and to which he keeps prodding and poking and me now practically threatening to kick his ass and him laughing and me feeling like someone fucking knifed me in the gut and him standing back and saying, hmmm that's not good, and me responding no shit please don't do that anymore and then he gives me the rundown and the number to a specialist and says it pre-cautionary and this and that, but to which i'll follow up on cuz the guy is a wiz when it comes to catching and fixing shit...

And so i have an umbilical hernia, discovered a few years back but then it was nothing major and i still didn't think it was until this last episode, of course i know how i got the fucking thing and it went back to a night some 4? years ago while sitting around all fucked up on goofballs, well not really i just always wanted to say that, but i was all fucked up on thee oh sees as we say and i was having a fine time lolling about when i noticed i had a raging hard-on, odd for a cat pilled up on opiates but there it was and since it was late and i was bored i ended up in some sort of self flagellating wankfest where i was determined to get off at all costs and somewhere amidst all that wanking i remember this strange moment where it felt like something almost popped out of my belly button, a former innie for the record, in my wasted (natural) state i had a pretty good idea i had just wanked myself into a hernia but like the good male i am i pretended not to notice and chose to ignore any pain and suffering caused by said episode, (and yes i finished for fuck's sake) like i said it didn't bother me unless someone started pushing on it so why acknowledge it...

But acknowledge it i must i guess and i'll see where things lie and go from there, just another fine misadventure in this life, and don't get me wrong i fucking find these misadventures absurd and hilarious, i ponder if other people live this way and it makes me drive down the street giggling that all the people i pass are more than likely sick and twisted bastards in some mild form or another (for which i concoct bizarre backstories to amuse myself), sure maybe they don't like to devour drugs or view internet porn (though you know they fucking do, non-scientific research tells me it's what the damn thing was invented for) but i'm sure there's something, religion or cross dressing or model ship building... but the good news is i shouldn't keel over, which of course makes me think i'm going to keel over at any moment, to much of the indica will do that to ya, and to tell you how far i have or haven't come, my ritual after my annual physical used to be i'd smoke a cigarette on the way home, but fuck cigarettes, i haven't touched them in years, so instead the last few years i stop and get a milkshake, usually coffee or jamocha, for all i know that shit's probably worse for me, that's alright though, it's all a fucking laugh...