Glad to have you back here, Bernie!
blatham wrote:Quote:"On some days you wonder what it all means. And on some days you find out. It's like suddenly seeing a huge black pig in your headlights when you're running 80 miles an hour on ice. Boom. Total clarity. No more gray area."
That's Hunter S Thompson. His pig was bigger than mine.
Delightful to see you here again, Blatham! I'm all smiles!
Nah - she's RIGHT, grumpster!!!!!!
Well, potential grumpster - a lot of mins go quite odd for a bit after an MI!!!
You watch yerself.
Good to see you back.....smooooooooooooooch....
Anyhoo - it's a bit early for you to be up anyone, innit?
Hmmmmmmmmmmm?
Good morning, Bernie - nice to see you up so early again. (Missed the nurses a bit, I suppose.)
georgeob1 wrote:
If Bernie gets through this OK, I'll reag Hofstader's damn book !!
"reag"...[American Irish contraction, from the Old Druidic
ronniereagan to lie stumblingly from beneath a gallon of pomade].
blueveinedthrobber wrote:and a pleasure to speak with you Miss Lola. Give Bernie my best, although I know you don't believe I will still say a prayer for him. It can't hurt, right?
Nice talking to you too, bear...catheter-brotherhood sort of thing.
gustavratzenhofer wrote:Lola, would you be kind enough to tell Bernie that I sacrificed a sheep in his honor tonight.
The smoke from the charred animal represents good luck and fast healing heading his way.
I didn't know what else to do. I'm not very good at picking out cards.
You stand apart, gus. All these other cheap-shits here trying to do the prayer thing without the necessary slashing away at some clovenhoof.
Ah, good to see that mountie back and being incorrigible. <smile>
Much like the Greek of ancient days, all Mr. Mountie needs is a place to stand . . . and a cane with which to chastise them . . .
Jer wrote:Lola,
Thank you so much for being by B's side. Send him my best wishes.
Tell him to listen to what the docs and nurses tell him. Tell him to listen - sometimes he's got a hard time with that
All my love,
-Jer-
This rotten bastard introduced my daughter to hemp.
dyslexia wrote:Exercise is good for the heart and sexual activity is just another form of exercise. So contrary to some men's fears regular sexual activity actually a protects against death, especially death resulting from heart attack.
Fukked if you do, fukked if you don't.
blatham wrote:This rotten bastard introduced my daughter to hemp.
And no longer will either of them share with you. Have a brownie, brotha. (Whoops, that's not on the new diet, either...)
Sorry. Second-hand smoke is all you can have from now on.
Soooooooo, what's for breakfast, pal?
dyslexia wrote:and all the while Johnny Depp explodes in myth and reality the ashes of the good Doctor Thompson (at the tune of 2 1/2 mill) about the same cost as Bernie's visit with the spikey-haired lesbian angels. As the good book says "you haul your ashes baby, I'll haul mine"
What a drag we missed that party, dys. Looks like the next high spot is Kinky Friedman's campaign. They might need us.
spendius wrote:
With writing like that it was a career move.
Next step, employment. This is an incremental process. I'm now setting up the proper environment for a stroke.
OK...that's 32 pages of hugs, medical advices, boners and burnt sheep...a festival of fools, filter-tips and friendships. I'm a lucky boy, and I know it.
I do sincerely thank you all. I do sincerely love all of you except for the Irish bastards, as goes without saying.
To Lola of the Exquisite Breasts...I'd be dead if it weren't for you. On the other hand, you fukked me to death, so I think that counts us as even. But I am sorry I scared the bejesus out of you. Oddly, the whole mortality thing was rather easier for me. I've never had the subjective/objective categories meld in quite that manner before.
I love you.
Oof, did I arrive at an inopportune time?
Good to see you back, glad you're better.
Bernie
blatham wrote:Quote:"On some days you wonder what it all means. And on some days you find out. It's like suddenly seeing a huge black pig in your headlights when you're running 80 miles an hour on ice. Boom. Total clarity. No more gray area."
That's Hunter S Thompson. His pig was bigger than mine.
The whole fukking experience would have been considerably more interesting if I hadn't already seen it on TV and a thousand times... sequence of ceilings and light fixtures going past, concerned faces poking in from right or left, ambulance siren, more ceilings and faces, losing that important grip, dying, the bekoning soft white light, the choir of green spikey-haired lesbian angels, then getting yanked back up from the cool and comfy bottom like hapless goddamn sucker fish whose age and height and weight is apparently of utmost importance to Jewish doctors and Filipino nurses. Any shitheel of a screenplay writer could have improved upon that string of cliches.
But it did hurt. That part was new and exciting.
I'll come back later to talk.
Bernie, I'm laughing because I see Hunter Thompson's style must have been implanted in your writing hand in addition to anything else the doctors had in their little black bags.
I'm so relieved you are back among us heatherns.
BBB
