No, I've not been slacking, and my complaints are building up deep within my dark and bitter soul, getting ready to EXPLODE like an unpunctured overheated can of Dinty Moore Beef Stew; that shit's gotta vent, you know.
Anyway, now that I have 10 working fingers again I can begin to air my grievances about my extended stay in the hospital, or hostible, as N. calls it, or relaxing spa as Archie Bunker (the new code name for that idiot I'm always trashing) referrers to it.
My purulent pre-gangrenous hot throbbing finger kept me in the big house for 5 days. 5 DAYS!! no one stays in the hospital for 5 days! Except, perhaps, the celebrities who come down with severe cases of exhaustion.
How did this happen? Well, perhaps it was bacterial exposure when I was helping Archie Bunker adjust the stick up his ass. I just don't know. It could be my penance for having fun on the dirt bike.
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