Yeah, it’s late, all right! I’m late.
I don’t know whether to call it a panic attack or a late-nite installment of Nightmare Playhouse. It featured doctors chasing me so they could perforate me. And other stuff too grisly to mention.
When it was time to get up, I had real trouble getting out of bed. Not that I consciously thought they were hiding in the bathroom, waiting to pounce and haul me back to the Not Restful rest home. I don’t know what I thought. (“We’ve been reviewing your X-rays, Mr. D., and guess what we found! Bubonic plague! Ain’t that a pisser?”)
Confound it, where’s my sword?
So sorry my friend
How ghastly! — But at least you can still tell jokes about it. As long as we can make jokes, no matter how grim, the [expletives deleted] can’t win.
Who was joking?
See, you do it automatically: “the Not Restful Rest Home,” ““We’ve been reviewing your X-rays, Mr. D., and guess what we found! Bubonic plague! Ain’t that a pisser?” and so on. That’s the stuff of edgy stand-up comics. You’re fighting back without even realizing it. Yay, you! 🙂
Thanks, Phoebe!
She makes a good point Lee.
I really have had more than enough of being in the hospital.