Yes, the old rants are still there.
But you have to go look for them on your own.
And yes, there *IS* swearing here on my personal Rant page.
Go away now. Really, go the fuck away! LOL
I figure, since it's 5 am, ooops, 5:30 am, and I'm still up:
Since I got a bug up my elbow, and updated the website EARLY FOR ONCE IN THE PAST FRIKKIN 38 YEARS.
Holy mackerelony.
I'll put my gruesome story for 2025 here.
Sew, some of you may know I like my fireworks. Being born on the 4th of July, this is normal. At least in MY head...
Every year since I've been a child. Oh wait, Jen note: I'm still a child, so I need to modify this..
Every year since I've been 8, and still am a child, except now I can buy alcohol in quantities that would put most 25 year old large men to shame, I've loved fireworks.
Fireworks of all kinds.
I liked firecrackers when I was young, until I damn near blew my left hand off.
Took a few years break in there, mostly due to lack of actually being able to get my hands ON fireworks.
Had nothing to do with getting smarter.
Eventually, I learned to keep my hands, which were pretty good for typing computer code, my primary profession, away from explosives.
Mostly.
Somewhere around Robert thee 3rds 14th year of life, WAYYYYY too late, I discovered remote firework controllers.
EXPENSIVE remote firework controllers.
But, at least Robert wouldn't get cinders the size of rocksalt in his eyes anymore. Yeah... You ask HIM that story....
Years went by. The kids had just become old enough to not want to do fireworks with me anymore.
I don't think it was due to burning eye sockets, but again, ask Robert thee 3rd.
New hobbies, such as Black Powder Anvil Launching got added to the hobby list.
This past year,
I finally decided,
on my 60th birthday,
on the 4th of July,
to STAY SOBER for once,
do some new fuse experiments with non-commercial mortar tubes.
Of which I have amassed 80 or so this year.
(Ask, if we're not busy, I'd LOVE to show them all off to you! )
Fuse them all together, and experiment with different timings.
I'd like to think the neighbors,
who ALSO enjoy burning hundreds of dollars of cash every fourth of July,
were duly impressed by the one string of 10 or so mortars that got set off in 1/2 second intervals on my primary experiment.
I'd LIKE to think that.
Except I was in agony, and damn near drunk, by the time I got to running my experiment this past July.
10 minutes after breaking my ankle.
See, if you're drunk, and you step in a hole in the lawn, or on a large tuft of grass, you just keep on going because you're drunk enough to just walk through it.
If, on the other hand, you're dumb ass is sober, you over compensate, sprain your left ankle, bend it REALLY far over to the left, and break your Fibula in 2 spots.
Oh, and also dump all that excess motion onto your RIGHT leg/knee and screw that up even MORE painfully.
Yeah, Fibula, TWO places. Cause why the fuck not? 2 is almost always better than one, right?
That's what the doublemint chewing gum commercials were all about.
Those girls were cute. And likely twice the fun. I'll never know.
Oh, but wait, that isn't QUITE good enough for a 60th fourth of july birthday party, with friends over.
No. Let's actually do that dual bone break in the SPIRAL form, for extra bonus points.
JUST so the ortho surgeon can tell you that you MUST get a plate installed onto your Fibula, to hold all the little pieces together.
Yup, so, July 18th, outpatient surgery to install said plate.
I'll have to add some pics right HERE.
All my friends said I always had a screw loose.
Now they were right:
So, blah, blah, blah. Weeks later, the wound hasn't closed all the way up, the surgeon is doing his 1 month followup, looks at the scabby/open wound, and says, oh yeah, you're going to the ER next week. That's wicked infected. We need to take it back out.
And now here I am, plate UNinstalled, PICC line installed, 4 x syringes of stuff self injected, with the lovely Jennifer helping, 3 times per day, every day, 9 am, 5 PM, and midnight.
through at least October 31. That would be 6 weeks. 6 x 7 x 3 = too much. At least it's not NEEDLES. The PICC is a screw-port for syringes.
At least I went to the Accupucture guy, Dr Washleski, down on Foran Blvd in Flemington.
(YUP, this is an unpaid PLUG )
To get away from the damn opioid pills, for the nerve pain.
Mostly.
So, anyone else win the "Well And Truly Fucked Lottery" this year?
Nevermind dancing in the god damn moonlight.
If you were in this lottery, let's get together at 4 PM and have a drink together!!
If I still have a left foot by then, I'll have something to celebrate!
crikey. 6:20 am. I should get at least 1 hour of sleep before the 9 am infusion party.
Night all...
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