Sunday, August 8, 2010

August 6/7 PHI v NYM Games 1 + 2. The Emperor Returns

Well, well, well Followers...... I think it's time we got shit straightened the fuck back up around here. They don't call him The Cripple for nothing! Jokes, baby!

After 5 days, 4 fucking maniacal roomies, 2 operations, 1 near death experience, 2 drainage bags and 10-15 Anti-biotic injections your Mighty Emperor returns to claim his rightful thrown. Would you fucking look at those line. Dreadful. I have to walk around for 3 more days with the drain bags protruding out of my fucking back. This alleviates pressure on my wound and makes me an all around happier camper but I still look like a homeless mets fan.

I can't really dive to hard into first 2 mets clashes as I was impeded by nature so let me give you a brief insight into my last week of public hospital living.

I arrived at the Cooma Hospital last Tuesday afternoon jovial and in good spirits. I (as well as my doctor) was expected to be laid up for no more than 2 days. Cooma is a quaint ski-resort town isolated in the mountains of the south coast of New South Wales. Yeah, it's full of bogans.

I kissed the wife and kid goodbye after waiting 3 hours for the fucking operating theatre to be free and was wheeled off to have my pilonidal cyst sliced out of my ass after 6 years of oozing and pain.

3 hours later I woke up on my stomach with a pounding headache in some recovery room with a bitchy surgeon's assistant. I was blinded in anesthesia still but could flail my arms somewhat.

After being wheeled back to my room my wife and kid waiting along with my new room mate, we'll call him Mike. Mike had been sent to Cooma psychiatric ward by the police at request of his wife. Yep, for some reason he was in my room. I was fucked.

After a few meals and some talk with Mike about what an acidic, poisonous bitch his wife was I dozed off to sleep for a few hours. It hard having to sleep completely on one side but completely necessary. My drainage bags were in and could not be disturbed coupled with the fact that it felt very strange down near my ass. Actually it didn't feel like anything, it was numb. Not from the local, the nerves were severed. After inspection with a mirror I realized my incision was 8 inches long. Putrid. Turns out my ass was an ant farm of disease and puss. Finding healthy tissue inside my ass was like trying to find a wigger in 11th grade AP History.

The next day I woke up, dealt with Mike yapping about his wife being an insipid, venomous bitch, and then tried to walk to the bathroom. I made it to the toilet before everything went white.

I woke up in my bed with the staff hovering over me like I had an asshole growing out of my forehead (be quiet). I was white as a ghost. I guess my drainage bags filled with 600 mil of blood overnight. I needed that blood to not die or pass out while pissing.

This lead to more doctor visits and another operation the next day. I had a blood clot in my wound that needed cleansing.

So, after my my second operation I was placed back in my room with 2 new roomies, a Scotsman and a skier who'd face planted into a tree. I was fucked again....

I laid on my side for 3 more days pissing in bottles and eating pretzels. My wounds started to drain the goo and puss instead of life juice so they kicked me out. Now I look like this:

Look how tough I am with that Italian head-cock, holding those empty bags. Those will fill in the next few days exponentially. You'll see.

Anyway, I'm home now and ready to crush this clogspot shit again. No room for the weak. Fuck all those too puny to withstand the true test of strength and power. We won the first of these mets games with heroics unseen by such a wounded side yet we lost the second battle. I have no problem with this outcome. A walking wounded yet courageous Phillies lose to an ace pitcher/golf course rapist while a full-strength mets (who were 90 games out of first last season with a similar casualty rate) could only muster 1 run off Mighty Cole Fucking Hamels and his 11 ks. I'm not worried. F-Rod can stick his joy up his ass. We will destroy the weak. Roy Halladay is mounding you to a pulp this afternoon. Fuck new york and mama, I'm coming home. Mega ups to The Cripple for holding it down, sorta....HA!


PS Mike Sweeney is the shit. Good to have you, brother!

PPS If any of my nurses stumble upon this accidentally you were my rocks in a stormy sea. You will all be going to the good place after it ends.....

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