Pathological Paragon
Suck a little too hard on a ciggie and you are bound to rent something in your throat. A little cough can rape you violently and a sneeze threatens to lop your head off. Loose a little sleep and all manner of illness curry the flavour of your miserable existence. Do a little exercise and you are greeted by an encyclopaedic range of pains and aches.
Your back is in a terminal case of giving up for good and your feet are best friends with the most unmentionable of fungi. Your nose sprouts enough hair to trap bugs for its carnivorous fancies and your ears turn entrepreneurial with their gum factories. Scales fissure your lips and your tongue is invariably dressed up and ready to exit its unenviable abode.
And I prefer not to talk about my knees..
Three days to my 41st birthday and I am a fourty something year old pathological paragon.
Your back is in a terminal case of giving up for good and your feet are best friends with the most unmentionable of fungi. Your nose sprouts enough hair to trap bugs for its carnivorous fancies and your ears turn entrepreneurial with their gum factories. Scales fissure your lips and your tongue is invariably dressed up and ready to exit its unenviable abode.
And I prefer not to talk about my knees..
Three days to my 41st birthday and I am a fourty something year old pathological paragon.
posted by jiddles at 3:35 AM
4 Comments:
Wow, well written.
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You covered the map of breakdowns and malfunctions very well. I am amazed at the time I must allow in the morning to work the kinks out.
And the things done in the 30's (all-nighters, parties, weekend football games) not only take weeks to recover but a new foreground of red "WARNING" signs flash in front of my eyes like floaters whenever I even entertain the idea of doing one of these now-dangerous activities. Where did the days of just needing a shower to re-charge go?
Happy Birthday!
Wait till you're 50 something...indeed a lower level in Hell
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