Neanderpundit

No, I didn’t move my bowels at the hospital- shit, there isn’t anything in me to move..
No, instead crap is how I feel. Not because of the surgery, my knees are easily a hundred times more painful than that, it’s mostly tender and sore. Five holes, all just about under my ribcage.

No, I can’t PEE.

Well, I can pee a bit. I can manage to squirt out about 10cc’s (apologies to Godley and Creme) and I suspect my bladder holds about a quart.

I did a robotics application some years back for people who made plastic hospital urinals. I have a whole farging box of the damned things, I figured I might as well use one. So over the course of about five hours today I filled the little bastard, 10cc’s at a time. If only I could get some sleep.

I’m fairly confident this isn’t from catheterization, I’ve been foleyed before, and I’m not gettingthe “pissing needles” sensation usually found after a right cock rogering foley catheter. No, I think my bladder is just trying to piss me off (sic)

IN other news, I was only in the preop patient irritation room for a few minutes before they whisked me off- I slid my gown onto the operating table and then I woke up in recovery. Happened so fast I was a little pissed, I thought they’c changed their mind and moved me back to the preop patient irritation room, but in fact I was in the postop patient irritation room.

I was pretty out. I kept coming to, wishing I had glasses on, because the room was chock full of these love-you-long time asian girls in tight scrubs. I wondered if any of them had gotten a good look at my freakishly large scrotum. I tried to pull my gown up to facilitate the introduction of my scrotum into the room, but I was all wrapped up, and the damned gown was the size of a football field. Apparently they only have two sizes, extra small, and slipcover for a volkswagon.

Anyway, about five hours after the surgery, they finally told the Ogwife what was going on, and she was allowed to come see me. We beat a hasty retreat the moment I could get my hands on my clothes again. I walked to the car, and if I’d had the strength, would have wrestled the keys from the Ogwife. As it was, the ryan was so congested (24 minutes to go the last two miles) me having to piss the whole time, I would probably have gotten out of the car and started exposing my scars to people, scaring the wits out of them. Wait, too late. I could have driven home.

So I’m home. I have been mostly sleeping but I think I’ve slept through the worst of the pain. I have some vicodin here I may take later recreationally, but I don’t know.

Thanks for the good wishes folks, it helped, and laying inthe hoospital in an anaesthesia induced haze, thinking “I am so blogging this” was pretty typical for me.

Oh, the asian nurses: once I got my glasses on I discovered they were pretty scary looking. I guess I’m just preferential to japanese and chinese, the rest of those folks just look wierd to me. Nice fannies, though.

Dick here while Og’s having the varicose vein procedure done on his ballsack.

Hey, is it just me, or does anybody else want to see a video of Sheryl Crow wiping her ass with just one square of toilet paper? Actually, I’d really like to see if it could be done, especially considering some of the Episiotomy inducing bombs I’ve dropped over the years.
Sheryl baby, you make the video and send it to me. I can promise that I’ll do my level best to distribute it around in order to make your anal induced dreams come true.

What the fuck happens to people when they become wealthy and famous? Do they all become seven different shades of stupid? Do they drink some sort of special water, which gives normal folks the shits, but in their case it destroys brain cells? I know it doesn’t happen in every case, but it damn sure seems to happen alot. You’d think some tiny bit of reality might reach up, and slap these idiots about their heads and shoulders. Maybe even knock a little sense into them, but Miss Crow once again proves that a pretty voice and pretty face (I’d do her) have absolutely dick to do with what’s resting inside her brainpan. God damned tree huggers. They should be skewered, alive.

Here Sheryl, I want you to go hang out with these nice folks.

Have a good one and if Og wants me to fuck up his living room carpet again tomorrow, I’ll be back.