Archive for the ‘pain and suffering’ Category

A while ago I had back surgery because that’s what you get when you can’t poop without screaming and not for the good reason (tacos) but for the reason that your sciatic nerve is crushed like Elin Nordgren’s sexy sexy heart.

But I had some lingering pain (thank you, age 42 you giant piece of shit!) so I had another MRI.

Which I looked at.



Because apparently I have people living in my spine.

Take my hand…follow me…I’ll show you.

Don’t worry. I washed it.

MRI #1: Dilbert vs. Reese

(click to enlarge all images)

What the…?

My first impression is this:

But I think this is more accurate:

Then I scroll down along my spine.

Is anyone else in here getting horny?


Well..if Carrot Top IS living in my spine…I suppose that explains all the agony.

MRI #3: I can only hope my back doesn’t contain aphids


Now I’m all itchy.

MRI #4: Things go downhill from here


So now I’m thinking that my residual pain is caused by a shitty comedian or a praying mantis eating imaginary (I HOPE) back-aphids or potentially Epstein’s giant afro is scraping against my sciatic nerve.

Then my doctor tells me that he looked and it’s just scar tissue and then showed me the MRI:


Not sure how I missed that.


Epstein’s mother.

Fatty the Snowman

Posted: September 6, 2010 in pain and suffering, stories of me

Like Frosty succumbing to gravity, except with a bigger muffin top and toughskin corduroys.

Let me explain.

I live in New Hampshire, which means – by default – you are required by law to do a few things:

1) Ski/snowboard

2) Make fun of people from Massachusetts

3) Do weird things to animals

4) Do weird things to animals while skiing and yelling ‘Massachusetts sucks!’

Maybe ‘all of the above’ would have been a better choice for #4.


So, I ski.

Well, I haven’t going skiing in a long time.

This stopped on or around the time God invented laziness.

Thank you, God! You’ve saved me the cost of a lift ticket!

But I used to ski.

When I was a giant fat shit of a kid, my parents took me to Boston Ski Area’ in the town of – you guessed it – North Andover.


And yet people from Massachusetts wonder why we make fun of them.

During my very first lesson, my parents were situated at the bottom of the main hill.

I was in the second hour of my ski lesson, which consisted of trying to actually get the skis to move while under the weight of a kid who just ate three pot pies for breakfast.

Mmm. Pot pie.

If you listened closely, you could hear the snow beneath my feet gently weeping.

I invented the phrase ‘packed powder.’

Did you know that snow can also turn to glass when under enough pressure?

True story.

So, the instructor somehow managed to get me and the rest of the class UP the hill on the chairlifts.

The PLAN was to hold each other’s ski pole as we skied ACROSS the top of the main hill..over to the much less steep ‘bunny slope’ on the far side.

Foreshadowing complete.

As we started across the top of this slope…the instructor was yelling:


Now, with all of us kids being 7 and never seeing the movie ‘The In Laws,’ none of us actually knew what the fuck serpentine meant.

Sadly for me, the kid in front of me thought ‘serpentine’ meant ‘get rid of fat kid behind me any way possible’…

..and he fell.

As he fell, he took his pole with him.

This left yours truly, looking like a stuffed sausage dressed for cold weather, with nothing to hold on to.

I immediately dropped to the ground.

In retrospect, I WISH that had happened.

Alas, it did not.

No, what DID happen was that upon the little shit jackass in front of me plopping down and me losing hold of his ski pole my skis decide to take an IMMEDIATE 90-degree turn towards the right and aim me – with all 2 hours of skiing expertise fresh in my mind – shooting straight down the main hill without actually knowing how to turn or serpentine or stop or, you know, really fucking ski at all.


FUCK YOU, Mr. Instructor.


Basically all I remember at this point is sheer panic with my life hurtling in front of me and man I could sure go for a roast beef sandwich if I survive all of this and OH FUCK I JUST FELL AND MMMPPH THIS IS AAARGHH STEEPER THAN I UUNNNGGGHH THOUGHT AND AAAAARRRRGGGHHHHH!!!

It’s at this point in the story that my parents, staring up the hill from the bottom basically see a giant snowball hurtling towards them with skis and poles and boots and maybe a Twinkie shooting out of it and snow flying everywhere… which point my father says:

Dad: “Wow. I sure feel bad for that poor bastard.”

* pause

Mom: “Um. I think that’s our son.”

Yep. It was their son.

All 200 pounds of flubbery bad-skiing non-serpentining son careening towards them and bowling pretty much everything down it his path.

Dad: “Ooooh.”

Fucking skiing.

Apparently I survived..probably due to the thick layer of cheese and shit surrounding my bones.

I should have just stayed home and been lazy.

Or done shit with animals.

Friggin’ New Hampshire.


Posted: March 8, 2010 in pain and suffering

God is wreaking vengeance on my bowel movements.

Let me explain.

I found out this week that I had a badly herniated disc (that’s what she said….???…God I’m so high on pain killers – GO ME!) that required emergency surgery this past Saturday which appears to have worked but I really wish they would have let me keep my penis.

Oh. Nevermind. There it is.

* turns heat up in house

I found out I had a herniated disc mainly because I’ve had back pain that caused me “sciatica” which is apparently Latin for “YOU WILL FEEL LIKE YOUR TOES ARE BEING PULLED OUT OF YOUR RIGHT ASS CHEEK AND YOU WILL BEGIN PRAYING FOR THE INEVITABLE RELEASE OF SWEET SWEET DEATH.”

(loose translation)

If you don’t know what the sciatic nerve is, I’ve drawn you a picture:

When this nerve gets pinched by a bulging or herniated disk or someone checking out your ‘Special K’ diet, it causes a pain similar to what it must feel like for Matthew Broderick to open his eyes every morning and see what is sleeping next to him.

Oh the pain. The hideous, hideous pain.

(Please note that this pinching is much different when I pinch my other ‘nerve’ so I don’t ‘release my seeds’ too ‘goddamn soon wtf that was, like, 2 minutes Jesus Christ you’re not EVEN WORTH IT’ and ‘get yelled at’ or ‘shown the door, bitch’)

Now because of this searing pain, I can’t actually sit or stand or lie down or tie my shoes or make toast or make toast while lying down tying my shoes without screaming like a midget on his first day in the general population of a prison filled with gay level-3 sex offending porn stars suffering from elephantitus of the penis and overly sharp genital warts.

But the WORST part?


You knew that was coming. Admit it.

With sciatica it’s virtually IMPOSSIBLE to get comfortable sitting down which is usually required for pooping unless you’re in Europe or in a gas station restroom.

This is because your leg feels like it’s going to literally pop off and shoot across the room and next thing you know the dog is playing with it and OMG OMG WILL YOU STOP DOING THAT TO MY LEG.

It’s bad enough when they bang your leg when it’s attached. But once it falls off due to sciatica it just looks creepy.

Let me do this visually for you.


#1: Single Leg Stretch Sciatica Pooping

This is where you somehow manage to get your pants down but since you can’t actually BEND your leg you’re forced to stretch the problem leg STRAIGHT OUT in front of you which is not conducive to ANY type of effective bowel release and since you’re now completely off balance you have to brace yourself with one hand on the back of the toilet to keep yourself from falling.

However..since you can only stay in one position for 12 must now try:

#2: Motorcycle Sciatica Pooping

Option #2 is only available if you have a wall directly in front of you that’s close enough to lean to, but not so far away that you run the risk of falling forward and thusly shitting all over yourself which, honestly, you’re doing anyway because there’s NO WAY IN HELL you can get your ass cheeks apart if your legs are flailed in different angles like you’re the main attraction at Cirque de Soleil.

For Option #2, you sit on the toilet and throw your feet BEHIND you while simultaneously brace yourself on the wall in front of you.

Like you’re riding a motorcycle.

The worst. Motorcycle. Ever.

This position lasts all of a minute when you realize you’ve just shit all over the toilet tank and now YOU’RE FUCKING KIDDING ME MY CALF IS TWITCHING?! REALLY?!

So you must consider:

#3: Flashdance Sciatica Pooping

Flashdance Sciatica Pooping (FSP) is a more advanced form of Single Leg Sciatica Pooping (SLSP) so proceed with extreme caution and maybe fill out some sort of waiver or some shit.

You basically throw BOTH legs out in front of you and lean back as far as you can like that chick in the movie “Flashdance” but instead of being all sexy in tights and legwarmers (optional) and having water splash down on you you’re pretty much just trying to take a shit without screaming.

Now that you’ve mastered these techniques you realize that you’ve now spent a total of 15 minutes in the bathroom hemming and hawing and have pooped a little Corn Pop sized turd and now you have to try to somehow WIPE YOUR ASS which is a whole other post entirely.

Let’s suffice it to say that the easiest sciatica poo-wiping method is just a one-legged-Flashdance-motorcycle FIASCO.

Sciatica: Taking the fun out of pooping since the Latin people invented it.

Moog out.

Moog painfully out.

I’m going to park a mile away just so they know how it feels.

Let me explain.

My kids take the bus to school.

I go to the bus stop and I wait with them.

This is easy…

…because the bus stop is at the end of my driveway.


The end.

Of my.


Yes. I’m jealous.

Why am I jealous?

Let’s compare MY walk to the bus with theirs:

Here’s the shitfuck walkathon bullshit that I had to walk (click to enlarge):


Seriously. That’s fucking far.

If you look really really closely, you can see Moses leading his people to the fucking bus.

I’m no mathematician, but if you multiply the length of that walk times the 1,000 foot bar thingy in the corner, you come up with a distance of OH MY GOD ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!

Every day.

Before school and after.

I had to walk that fucking walk.

Seriously – there’s like an entire year out of my life I spent walking to the goddamn bus.

What you DON’T see here are two things:

1) I was a giant fat piece of shit so, you know, cardio for me was defined as getting up from the dinner table and


Let’s look at a cross section of this walk so you can get a better idea of what I was up against (click to enlarge).


There was a Yeti.

I think his name was Brian.

Freaky kid. Whatever.

The REALLY fun part was being 80% there and then OH FUCK OH FUCK THE BUS IS HERE and you start running your fat ass down the hill while screaming “STOP THE BUS! STOP THE BUS!” and even though your friend Scott turns around and FUCKING LOOKS at you he does NOT tell the bus driver that your 200 pound fat ass is barreling down the hill and then FWOOOMP! the doors shut and the bus drives away and now you have to walk ALL THE WAY back even though you feel like you’re having fucking cardiac arrest at age 13 and, you know, now that I’m thinking about it I should probably re-energize with one of these Devil Dogs.

Fucking Scott.

What an ASSHOLE.


For comparison, now…

Let’s see my kids’ walk to the bus:


If that was MY walk, I’d have a full extra 29-1/2 minutes to eat more Twinkies.

..or run from Yeti’s.

Seriously. Kid was FREAKY.

Moog out.

Before I start today…I have an announcement:

I’m sterile.

Actually, that’s old news…but my son ran around the house this morning for some reason screaming:


I have no idea why.

But, hey, son:

When you’re MY age, that actually becomes a SELLING point.

Yeah…I’m lookin’ at YOU, Kate.

Where was I?

Oh..the announcement:

Ed from Ed’s Funny Pages told me that I’d been nominated for ‘Weblog of the Year’ AND ‘Best Humor Blog’ over at the 2010 Bloggies.

I don’t know what that is, but if you vote for me and I win this shit, I’ll make you all royal subjects in my giant.. um.. bloggish.. kingdom.. thingy.

No idea.

So..feel free to swing over if you feel like it and throw me a vote or – if you find a blog that’s better and funnier – you can vote for them up until the point that I hack their site and tear down everything they’ve worked for.

There can only be one king.

Thanks, everyone.



Pain and Suffering.


The latest rage for asshole lazy bloggers is to self-promote themselves by reposting some of their own Twitter Tweets as blog posts.

I am now stooping to this level.

Actually, I’m 5′-2″ tall.

No stooping required. Already there.


Below are some of my very own Tweets that I’ve subjected my 12 followers to.

For Volume One click here.

The skew on this one, though:

All things of my very own pain and suffering.



Yep…fucking hand is broken AGAIN. I’d say God hates me, but he did break my non-masturbation hand, so I’m on the fence.

found out this morning that playing “the stranger” with a broken hand leaves a bad case of cast rash on your weenie.

Just tried to wash ass smell off my cast hand. Came out, smelled my hand and said, ‘Ugh..pew.’ Look up…some guy staring at me. Fantastic.

Right now I have a whistling nose booger and am saying “Here comes Thomas!” in an English accent, then making it whistle. Worktime Funtime.

Typo on a flyer at work said they were giving out ‘Flew Shots’ today. Three people have died jumping off the building.

I’m totally not getting H1N1. I’m holding out for H2N2…let them work out the kinks in this one before I dive in headfirst.

Someone asked if Jesus would get a flu shot. I said ‘no’, as he now has an aversion to sharp things piercing his skin. Here I come, Hell

Home sick today. Must rest. Rest = Xbox and porn. Xbox needs to make a porn game. Maybe a better idea for Wii. I’m apparently delusional.

Nightime Cold + Mucinex + two large cups of coffee = dizziness and hallucinations & OMG OMG OMG A RAT IS EATING MY FOOT! Wait. Just my shoe.

This cold has me coughing up a ton of goopy shit. So this is what it must feel like to be Paris Hilton.


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You’ve been warned.