2005-05-27 - 1:43 p.m.
Yesterday I was sick. Violently sick. Moaning and groaning, doubled over in pain, sharp pointy knives jabbing in your stomach, just shoot me now, searing pain sick.
Rolling out of bed I knew something was wrong….oh sure, things were a bit blurry, and the room spun in its typical morning after fashion. The familiar smell of stale alcohol clung on my breath like a spoiled retard does to its favorite toy… all-in-all, at first blush, a very typical morning.
…except this morning, my normally slightly pudgy, but iron clad stomach felt like a dozen snakes were trying to chew its way out. Damn dirty snakes….not today. I actually have work to get done.
“Honey, I don’t feel too well.” I groaned. Somewhere in the back of my booze addled mind I hoped she’d come over to me and in a soothing, motherly voice, stroke my cheek and offer to nurse me back to health. Obviously delirium was beginning to set in.
“You shouldn’t have had the extra Mai Tai” My lovely, non-hung over wife admonished me.
She was already up and ready to leave for work. Perky, happy, and full of self righteousness she continued on; “I tried to tell you, but did you listen? Nooooooooo. You and those god-damn Mai-Tais. You just had to have another one, didn’t you? I don’t think they even wash the glassed at the pit you call a ‘bar’. I wouldn’t drink there if you paid me. I don’t know what you see in that place…”
I was in no mood for her daily temperance speech. I was in no mood to listen to her speak ill of the greatest bar room this side of the Charles River; Blasphemous, evil, non cheek stroking, refusing to nurse me back to health, wife.
My stomach protested loudly and I rushed passed her making it to the bathroom in the nick of time.
- Gak.-
Didja ever notice how people are a bit hesitant to kiss you goodbye after you just tossed up Peeking Ravioli? Christ, where’s the love?
On the way to work, things got worse.
Much worse.
I tired to pull over and get off the road. Honest I did. But some granola eating, ex hippie, 50 something year old bimbo in a beat up Volvo station wagon, complete with “Kerry- Edwards” bumper sticker - refused to move out of the way.
I honked. Nothing.
I waved. Still nothing.
I waved frantically like a crazed idiot. Please let me pull over.
She gave me annoyed, pissed off look.
If I slowed down, she slowed down. If I sped up, she sped up. Crazy bitch. Let me move over in the lane…give me an opening….for the love of god, please……Crazy moonbat. Let me pull into your lane. I need to pull over…”
No good. Too late.
I’d to take this opportunity to apologize to the driver of the dark green Ford SUV that was driving directly behind me on RT 495. I’m sorry. I’m very, very, very sorry. I can fully understand you being a bit upset and flipping me the finger, but you know what? You did look pretty funny with vomit streaked across your hood as you roared passed me doing 85 mph. Send me the car wash bill.
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