Holy
crap in a Bundt pan...
Due to the
recent well-publicized shortage of
amateur websites produced by assholes who consider themselves to be
clever, I
have been called into action. My name is Jeff Kay, and I’m an
Ugly American living
on the cusp of a mid-life crisis, near Scranton, PA. And I’m here to
serve, baby.
The
State of My Fat Ass A journal of
sorts, updated every once in a while.
--
This is going to be brief; I'm all gnarled-up here. Last night I hit the
sack around ten o'clock, and read for about 45 minutes. Then I started
to get up and visit the smallest room one more time before turning off
the light. And a lightning bolt of excruciating pain shot through my
body.
The storm is centered in my lower back, and feels like muscle
inflammation of some sort. I'd been fine when I laid down, and, before
the wise-ass comments begin.... let me make it clear that I only read
in bed, nothing else. I didn't hurt myself on a love trapeze, or
anything like that. I mean, seriously.
I never made it to the bathroom. But, luckily, it wasn't anything
urgent, it was purely a preventive maintenance measure. I even had
trouble turning over on my side while lying down. Whenever I moved in a
certain way I'd get the juice, and nearly shit my net. It was a long
night.
I'd blame it all on the bicycle ride I took on Sunday, but if that were
the cause I would've gone through this on Sunday night/Monday morning,
not 24 hours later. Right? There's not an incubation period for such
things, is there? The whole thing is baffling. I did nothing yesterday
besides sit on my ass.
And now I'm lurching and grimacing and scaring the children. It hurts
like hell to walk through a room, or get out of a chair. When I'm
sitting I can usually find a comfort zone, and all's well as long as I
don't move or take a deep breath. I won't even go into the logistical
problems I encountered during my "morning constitutional."
Let's just say that I was about to ask Toney to bring me a long-handled
wooden spoon.
I'm going to attempt to go to work in a little while, and hopefully I
won't have a spazz-out and plunge down an elevator shaft or anything.
Wish me luck.
-- This morning there was a whole gang of owls in our backyard. Very
strange. One comically oversized specimen was sitting on the deck
railing, just chilling and moving it's head almost completely around on
its, um, shoulders. Others were flying from tree to tree, and weighing
down the limbs with their great heft. We saw at least four of them, and
how bizarre is that?
Laugh if you'd like, but that sort of
thing makes me a bit nervous. Just like the hundreds of moths we
encountered on Sunday, I wonder if it means something? Is it an animal
omen of some sort? Is it Something Horrible?
I've told the "bird in the house" story before, but it's the
source of my anxiety, so I'm gonna tell it again....
When we lived in Atlanta I worked part-time at a bookstore in Buckhead.
One night I was working with some cutesy teenage girl, and she was
making fun of her Dad for not hiring a crew to paint their house. Oh no,
she said, he views it as shameful to call a plumber, or an electrician,
or anything like that. He believes he should do everything around
the house. She said he'd even built homemade scaffolding, and it was
reportedly one of the most ridiculous-looking things she'd ever seen.
As she was telling me all this a customer came through the front door,
and during the two seconds it was open, a bird flew in. Holy shit! It's
well-known in The South that a bird in the house means there will be a
death in the family. And while this wasn't technically a house, it was
called Book Warehouse, and that was close enough for me. I wanted the
bastard out of there, and spent the next fifteen minutes chasing it
around with a broom and acting like a mental patient.
And the very next day.... I found out that the "ridiculous"
scaffolding had collapsed, and the girl's father suffered a broken neck
and died on his way to the hospital. Talk about your full-body shivers!
Now I keep a book here in the bunker called 2001 Southern
Superstitions. Yesterday I checked it for information on moth
swarms, and found nothing. This morning I checked it for owl
infestation, and got the same result. The only owl info contained in
this invaluable resource is: if an owl hoots at midnight, someone will
be injured. And that doesn't pertain to our situation.
So maybe we're in the clear?
-- I'm sorry to have to report that lakrfool will no longer be writing a
column here at TheWVSR. Yesterday he showed me up with his mad comedy
skillz, so that's that. He's out the virtual door. I simply can't have
that.
-- A Surf Reporter with a very cool last name, John Toney, sent me this
link yesterday, about yet another disastrous amusement park accident.
This one took place in my boyhood stomping grounds, King's Island, near
Cincinnati. The best part is the reader comments at the bottom.
One of my favorites:
"I rode the [Son of Beast] two weeks ago. At the end of
the ride I had sharp pains in my chest. I knew it wasn't a heart attack,
it felt like my sternum was being seperated."
Good stuff.
-- Now I'm gonna turn it over to Buck, who's also pushing his luck, and
twitch and jerk my way to work.
See ya tomorrow. And, of course, I'm only joking about lakrfool.... He's
welcome to show me up anytime.
--
This is going to be brief; I'm all gnarled-up here. Last night I hit the
sack around ten o'clock, and read for about 45 minutes. Then I started
to get up and visit the smallest room one more time before turning off
the light. And a lightning bolt of excruciating pain shot through my
body.