I Don’t Fukkin’ Think So!
I have been suffering The Incompetency of WordPress For Over A Decade Now.
I am Growing Weary!
Young Girls–And This Here Cowboy Do Get Weary
Three Dog Night – Try A Little Tenderness
So they put me on a stretcher and schlepped me out of the Hotel Magnuson.
Upon my arrival,
Asked me of my ‘complaint.’
“I think I’m dying.”
“OK Sir, relax”
I was so ‘relaxed’ by this point that I wanted to embrace death.
My legs had stopped working, in fact.
They were all so kind.
They did all the usual Hospital Shit:
Made me pee in a bottle.
Cred For This Above: The Critical Drinker (And I Have Tried–Multiple Times–To Move This Line Up-The-Fukkin’ Page to Where It Should Be. But Guess What? WORDPRESS!
And Furthermore, I Have Descended Into “No Fuks Given Territory”
Stuck me with all kinds of pins and needles.
Put me in that torture chamber.
That noisy machine…. What makes you pray to Hey Zeus.
Several hours later, they pronounced me “Good to Go.”
Told me to go home.
“No ride” I said.
One of the EMTs was just getting off shift and said,
“No problem, I will drive you.”
(I have always appreciated the kindness of strangers)
EMT Guy, dropped me at the Magnuson.
Shamefully, Sheep-Like, I staggered back to my room.
Went into some kind of coma-sleep.
Called Nine-One-One Once again.
“What now, Marcom?”
Apparently they had my phone ID.
And why not?
“I am dying.” I said.
“Again?” she said.
“Yes, again; send help,” I shot back.
“OK You still at the Magnuson?”
Some many minutes later….
Same song, different verse:
Arrived back at Commerce Hospital ER
But with a twist.
There was this EMT.
Let us call his name, “Shawn”
Because that is his name.
He was so fucking proud of it that he announced it to me…
Shawn was having none of my antics.
He called me out on my bullshit.
He knew I was drunk.
And I knew I was drunk.
Recipe for disaster and testosterone collision.
We had that semblance of common knowledge going on.
As they were trying to place me back on the bed in the ER, Shawn got up in my face.
“Listen, Asshole….” He broached.
That is all it took.
I got right back up in HIS face:
“Listen, Mother-Fucker! I am sincerely IN PAIN! Do NOT fuck with me!”
He was not impressed.
He got back in my Face and said,
“I give no fucks about your ‘pain.’
We got eyeball to eyeball.
Nose to nose.
Cheek to cheek.
Chest to chest.
I suppose at some point, Police were summoned.
Shawn and I, were at that point…
Joined at the hip.
The Po-Lease Arrived.
Managed to surgically separate us.
They took Shawn away.
And put me away.
In the Hospital Bed.
Where I ‘rested.’
The Cops hung around.
I suppose to just make certain I was not gonna kill anyone.
We had some ‘chat.’
They asked me if I was gonna be a ‘problem’ for the Hospital Staff.
I said, “No. Just as long as you keep that asshole Shawn outta my sight.”
One cop said, “Shawn is gone.”
“Fine then,” I said back.
And then we, the cops and me, enjoyed some of my War Stories of Iraq and Afghanistan.
And we had a merry time.
I think, looking back, Shawn and I just had communication deficit.
Next time I found me in the Commerce ER, I told that same very nice EMT that I had regrets about Shawn.
And that I’d like to apologize (I seem to be ‘apologizing’ a lot these days)
He was kind, and said,
“I will tell him; certain he will appreciate the sentiment.”
“Thank You.” I said. “Now fetch me a beer.”
(I guess eyes rolled at this point, but at the very least, I had managed to make him smile inside.)
“If You Ain’t Shawn, I’m Gone!”
I sincerely regret That fact.
That I feel this need..
To hit you upon your head.
“If you ain’t Shawn, I’m Gone!”
Writing is fun!
They draw first and then they run.’
While shooting at a girl named of “Nancy’
(She called herself ‘Lil.’ but her name was Ma Gill)
We just called her ‘Nancy”
(This is called ‘foreshadowing’–yeah–it’s a literary term. Ha ha ha!)
“Rocky, you’ve met your match.”
I said, “No Doc; it’s only a scratch!”
“But I’ll get better, I’ll get better, soon as I’m able..”
To be continued…
“If you ain’t Shawn, I’m gone.”