I’m still here at the hospital. The kid’s a tyrant… keeps pushing me to update. I’m like — what am I gonna talk about? Jell-O? Not a lot changes here. I get visitors and flowers. Cause there’s nothing I like more than flowers, right? Jesus, people… enough with the damn carnations and daffodils and whatever the hell’s got my wife in raptures all the time. I can’t take listening to her coo over freaking baby’s breath and cheese sampler gift baskets. Of course, she’s either doing that or bitching about the hospital staff, so which is worse? It’s like choosing between waterboarding and bamboo under the fingernails.
I could talk about the food, but I feel like that’s well-covered ground. The food sucks. I mean, can someone please tell me the deal with pineapple Jell-O? I like pineapple fine I guess, on pizza or a nice ham. But Jell-O? It’s just weird. I can deal with cherry, because cherries taste completely artificial in real life anyway. But the rest of it I just don’t get.
You know, they used to have meat flavored Jell-O? Yeah, that’s right kid — you guys should see his face right now. (Walter, Jr.: meat flavored Jell-O? That’s the grossest thing I’ve ever heard.) It’s true. So you got chicken gelatin with corn and carrots and beets floating in it. Who’s the Rhodes Scholar who came up with that one? And then all those nimrod housewives feeding that shit to their kids? A little too many Mother’s Little Helpers, I’m thinking.
So, there’s the food. And then the drugs. They got me hooked up to an IV, just gotta push the button, and more sweet, sweet painkillers go in. Guess it’s ironic for a DEA guy — hooked up to a drug dispenser. Of course, they never give you enough. There’s a lockout mechanism so you don’t O.D. It’s kinda b.s. if you ask me.
Okay, my nephew just gave me a look. Fine, the lockout is not b.s. It provides a valuable service to the douchtards out there who can’t figure out when to stop. Happy? I’m not a fan of the commentary. I better start typing these on my own soon.Read More