I could tell you why the ocean’s near the shore

OK. It took me a good fifteen seconds to correctly retrieve the correct spelling of “shore” from the linguistic trash heap in my brain. “Sure.” Nope. “Shower, that’s got to be it.” “Shure?” No. “Sore!” Closer. At least I finally got there before I had to Google it.

OK again. Now it’s two days later than when I first started trying to write this post. I forgot what the hell I was going to talk about in the first place, but I’m sure it was snotty and self-righteous. I consumed a ton of narcotics yesterday, for legitimate reasons even, but that whole sure/shure/shore mess took place Stone-Coldstone Creamery Steve Austin sober. I blame the Shure Fine, a convenience establishment down the road. I also blame the drugs I did in college. And I blame George Bush, for leaving this child behind. I blame a lot of people for a lot of things, but most of all I blame myself.

My long weekend of rage concluded with a trip to the ER for an ovarian cyst, which is how I got the narcotics. Turns out you can be mad enough to actually explode. Also turns out the bigger the fuss one makes about grinning and bearing it, the more forthcoming they are with the goods. Those folks in New Orleans should have clearly played harder to get instead of waving white flags and chanting “Help.” I told the nurse it was our second wedding anniversay, which it was, and she scuttled right back with apple juice and a giant syringe full of demerol. Guess where she stuck the syringe, just guess. According to Mr. H, the needle was “this long.” I am going to try telling people it’s our anniversary wherever I go. This might get me a free Bloomin’ Onion or something. But what I’d really like is world peace!!!!!!

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