The Ten tenors are coming to town I notice. First question then; Why the fark is there ten of them?
Admittedly my working knowledge of opera is akin to that of my working knowledge of vaginal thrush – I’d rather not know - but ten fat buggers all singing the same song sounds a lot like a ‘choir’ to me. Three or four fat buggers singing the same song I can somewhat understand, but ten reads a little too much like ‘ten reasons to hike the price up’ as far as I’m concerned.
Anyhoo, my lungs have this week decided to revert back to the capacity of a 90 year old man and I was due to be back in Chateau Capital Coast Health today and not writing this. My specialist was all ready to admit me after our latest consultation until he was told by the Bed Manager that there was a "Code Red" in the hospital at that time. Given that the Westpac helicopter was landing on the roof fortuitously at that moment I half expected to see the Vietcong making their way up the hallway right then and there but no - apparently a "Code Red" in the hospital means 'we have no beds free’ – and not Charlie has broken through the wire.
So I was sent home with a fistful of oral antibiotics and strict instructions to rest until someone karks it or leaves when I can then have their bed. I'd prefer it was the latter really but when you’ve suffered the ignominy of being rejected by a taxpayer funded public hospital – a bigger social burn than being dumped on Facebook – I guess you take what you get. I reckon the local homeless shelter would have had a bed free last night, so what does that say about our health care system aye?
But I’m not too fussed really, I prefer a few days on the couch at home with a big bag of Twisties than I do a few days in a hospital room doing the same. It’s the whole white linen thing really because Twistie prints seldom come out in the wash when on white linen. Incidentally I only ever buy Twisties for the articles. Funny, my wife reckons that I should refrain from writing about wanking all the time because it makes me out to sound like I’m a wanker. Which it would really wouldn’t it? I did suggest that to alleviate this perception I could write about her wanking me off but the response I got was lukewarm to say the least.
I had already decided that seeing as my body was playing old again I would too. This visit – once the hospital hits Code Amber and Charlie has been forced back to the tree line – will be my ‘angry’ visit. I’ve done the ‘happy’ and the ‘philosophical’ visit so the next step in the process is the ‘angry’ visit. I plan to answer every question with an annoyed answer of “whatever". I’m planning to blame everything, including the fact that I’ve soiled myself again, despite being perfectly capable of making my way to the toilet, on the Japs and the young people of today. I plan to cross the road at inappropriate places at inappropriate times. I plan to have the volume setting on my TV always at its loudest despite appearing to be asleep. I also intend making salacious comments to anything in a skirt - but then I already do that anyway.
Interesting isn’t it that you can do antibiotics orally and intravenously but not anally? Just goes to show that even the medical community doesn’t think you should be whacking anything up there, except maybe a suppository which is used to make you poop. Nuff said I reckon.
Speaking of bum fun, I had to laugh when seeing the one of the local lesbian councillors on TV last night complaining about the named and shamed taggers who have to wear pink vests when cleaning up their artwork. She reckoned that because ‘pink’ is commonly associated with being ‘gay’ then it’s like gays having to wear pink triangles back in Nazi Germany. News to me because I thought pink was a Tom Cruise colour and that he invented it?
Now you know that anytime someone starts comparing something back to the Holocaust that they do so because they don’t actually have a case to argue and they’re looking for the sympathy vote. Not that I’m gay bashing the councillor, but I know several lesbians whom I’m pretty sure would have not made the same link as her and I’m pretty sure that even now the comparison has been made, probably still don’t give a shit.
Now German Shepherds had it really tough after the war. People even called them Alsatians so as not to even refer to them as being German! Heaven forbid any post war Alsatian that followed its instinct and sniffed the crutch of some unsuspecting passer by without being portrayed as some testicle hungry, foaming at the mouth, devils dog named Kahn or Gunga, being held back by some 6 foot four foaming at the mouth Aryan psychopath named Kahn or Gunga. Thankfully that all changed in the sixties and seventies when ‘The Littlest Hobo’ TV shows were on air and everybody forgot why they were angry with German Shepherds in the first place.
Any way, make the taggers clean their crap up whilst in the nude I reckon. Their handiwork always looks as unattractive as I imagine a pale, semi-naked homie clad only in a pink vest would look like.
The youth of today huh?! They’re as bad as those bloody Japs!
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