My poor cat has a urinary tract blockage. My poor Bud. He just squatted in the litterbox for like ten minutes, straining out a niggardly trickle of pee. And he peed on the bathmat recently, unheard of for him, and in fact appeared to have peed just outside the box once before, since the underside of it was all covered in ammonia-smelling cat piss. Which, one of the symptoms of cat urinary tract blockage is they like to piss on a “cool, smooth surface.” This is bad shit. Your cat could die, although, I just picked him up and his abdomen doesn’t appear to be in any pain. So, you know, this isn’t life-threateningly serious. I made an appointment to take him to the vet tomorrow. Who knows. The internet says that shit just goes away sometimes. Continue reading
Diary 2005: Irritable Bowel Syndrome
6 JulNote: I no longer have Irritable Bowel Syndrome, thank fucking God:
I have Irritable Bowel Syndrome.
It’s a stupid fucking disease to have because:
A) It makes me swell up like a pregnant sow and shit hot acid and
B) It has an impossibly stupid name with a you’re-just-cranky connotation that compounds the embarassment of having a chronic medical condition that revolves around shit. That makes you take shits of bizarre consistencies at highly inappropriate times and renders said shit-taking just ridiculously painful.
It’s actually pretty much gone now but back when I had it I didn’t know what it was. That made it worse. Doctors talked about cancer, colitis, Krohn’s– the type of stuff where they have to slice out your colon and your asshole, drill a hole in your side and sew in a plastic pipe attached to a shitbag that you have to empty by hand. What effect this would have on my already limited ability to get laid I dared not speculate. But for months I would just at random have horrible clawing pains in my belly, and then some appallingly discolored substance would fly out of my ass on very short notice and with no regard for my surroundings. I shat myself at work, for instance, several times. Once in a meeting. I shat myself at home and on my bike. You’d think that with repitition any experience becomes normal but shitting oneself in front of one’s peers is an exception.
Continue reading
Celebrity Sighting: Rob Lowe
4 JulWorking out at the office gym. I was doing some rows. Going heavy on the back work, as is my wont.
So I am pulling a large unwieldy amount of weight back on a cable. And then an ass appears in my peripheral vision. Right in my fucking face. And I kind of freaked out and jerked to the side, causing my spine to bear some two hundred pounds at an awkward angle.
The ass was that of Rob Lowe, bent over tying his shoe. He looks fantastic.
Mouth Tumors
3 JulAnd I have mouth tumors, these little translucent blobs, little polyps on my inner lip that appear, become painful, tumesce, and then the pain goes away but the thing– what I can only assume is a precancerous growth– does not. There are like four of them now. I don’t give a shit if I die but I know that if I did have cancer it would be cancer of the face, where they have to chop off my bottom lip and replace it with blister-smooth un-color-matched tissue from my thigh or something, or pig-fetus skin…
Or cancer of the dick. Or the ass. Cancer that would either ruin my last days of life in the most hideous possible way or some kind of embarrassing cancer where the shame of telling about it would outweigh any mileage I’d get from telling people I’m dying.
Dog Shit
30 JunWhat would be nice is if dog shit returned to the Earth quickly. You hear about how flies and bacteria are remarkably efficient at bringing nutrients from waste organic matter back to the soil in a grand circle of life, but dog shit, which is just a pre-digested protein bonanza that any self-respecting bacterium should be proud to call home– dog shit just sits there for weeks turning black and encrusted and slowly drying out. So, come on, flies and bacteria. Come the fuck on. It’s like hearing someone bitch about unemployment while walking past 15 help wanted signs.
More Stage Fright
24 JunI have a hernia, I think. And my nuts hurt, too… or rather that muscle right under my nuts, the cremaster. I was about to take a piss at the office; there are three urinals– two normal ones and one short midget one– and I go for the one in the corner, and this agent walks in, short guy… and instead of going for the midget urinal on the other side like etiquette would dictate he has to go for the middle one right next to me. And normally I don’t get stage fright but this fucker looked at me just as I was taking my dick out of my shorts and made this sort of meaningful eye contact– not a homo thing but this weird kind of contemplative, philosophical look, and I had to really ponder this guy’s inchoate preverbal communication for a second while I was also very conscious of the smooth warm flesh of my penis in the other hand… and it weirded me out. Continue reading
Male Bulimia Diary 2005: Binge Eating
24 JunMy binge eating has transcended the point where it brings on euphoria. Now I eat until I experience gut-spliting pain. I eat beyond my physical capacity to eat. Like 10 slices of pound cake at a buffet. 35 chocolate chip cookies at a pilot premiere. And if I need to take a break, if I can’t possibly take in any more, I reach for the booze. Liquid food.
My life is full of buffets now. I can’t take drugs anymore and nobody will fuck me. Grinding my body down to a thin wick on the stairmaster has burned out some central fuse that tells people when to stop eating and I’m left with infinite hunger, a bottomless need to cram anything at all– especially sweet foods– into a hole that will never be filled. Eating is better than fucking, better than masturbating, better than having some great intellectual insight, better than writing or guitar playing or anything constructive. Eating and its horrible guilt, and its corresponding self-flagellatory hours shredding my tendons and bones on the stairmaster… this awful cycle of regret and further self-debasement that happens because I have no girlfriend and very few friends and so quite simply nothing else to do with my time.
My Penis Is Shitty Batman
23 JunIt’s a sad fact of life: the penis is cruel. Hundreds of hours of your youth will be spent with an unwanted boner that could embarrass the fuck out of you. Then the one time you need it, the boner is off somewhere playing cards with his boner buddies instead of doing his job of tearing up that ass. It’s like if Batman kept walking in on you while you were taking a shit, but when you were getting the crap kicked out of you by thugs he was nowhere to be found.
Diary: More on the Dogs
21 JunI threw a bucket of water on those dogs again this morning. They were barking, or at least the one was. They have been starting at 6:45 AM for several days. Their bark volume is exactly high enough to still be audible over every fan in the house turned up to the maximum setting and placed in my bedroom, along with the loud guttural motor from the bathroom blower. The next move is to turn on the AC on “fan” mode so no cold air is blowing from it. In total this creates about the same amount of white noise as standing next to a jet engine. And still, still, you can hear the fucking dog: bark bark bark, bark bark bark.
So I got up this morning and filled a five gallon bucket with cold water and went to the bottom of my driveway and listened directionally so I could tell which of the 12,000 unruly dogs on my block was the one doing the barking. I surmised that it was the border collie two houses down who either stands on his high porch bark bark barking or, if a person is walking by, runs down the stairs with his little white terrier friend and maniacally circles over and over again while bark bark barking and occasionally trying to bite through the gate. I stood in front of his house; he and his buddy came down, and I dumped the water on them. Continue reading
I Am a Crab
20 Jun
and then… and then I clatter out from behind the piling, over the barnacles, and I find that a sea worm or other large benthic invertebrate has perished and washed up on the shore, and I drag it away with my disproportionately large right claw to a secluded area where my fellows cannot covet my succulent briney flesh-hoard. And I greedily munch it down with my little paired-mandible apparatus and generally wallow in the stink and decay of the sea. Delicious!
New Book
delicioustacos 