Thrush Thrush, Hurry Hurry Lover, Come to Me.
I was starving, minding my own business, walking to my car so I could drive to JB’s house to eat dinner and watch some good reality tv. On the way to my garage, a man stopped me and asked if I would help him. I said maybe. That probably sounds so condescending, but I don’t like to commit to doing anything until I know all the terms of commitment. What if he had asked me to help him rob a bank or something? I am a man of my word, and I just wouldn’t want to be committed to that. He asked me if I knew what thrush was. I backed up, cringed and whimpered no. And then he told me what it was in far less eloquent terms than I have aforementioned. He said, “It’s a yeast infection in your throat.” Jigga what?
A yeast infection in your throat.
Now normally this kind of revelation would send me stumbling into the street, searching for the nearest Lexus SUV tire to wedge my head under. But in a surprising, rare moment of clarity, I realised I was too tired. At least I was no longer starving. He asked if I would buy his prescription for him because he had no money, and, well, he also had this yeast infection in his throat. I had to decline, because (a.) I don’t have that kind of money, (b.) he was a complete stranger and (c.) Oh My God! He has a yeast infection in his throat. He looked surprised when I said no. His surprised look then turned to pissed, as I would be too if I had a yeast infection in my throat. But I would be pissed at God or at life in general, not at the random, handsome boy on the street who declined to purchase my pharmaceuticals for me. So I wished him luck and left, secure with the knowledge that dudes can get yeast infections in their throats. Ew.
How pissed was I when I sat down to watch Survivor and George W. Bush decided to bring his mouth-breathing monkey antics to the television instead. JB and I watched for about 10 minutes before we realized that both he and we had no clue what the hell he was talking about. We did agree on one point: gas prices are too high. I think he held this prime-time news conference to respond to his sinking approval ratings and the horrid economic prospects for the year just released. However, the way to improve upon your dismal ratings, Mr. President, is not to preempt reality tv. That will only lead to resentment. Case and point: me. Granted, I didn't like you too much before last night. The only good thing is that it postponed the eventual voting off of my favorite Survivor in quite sometime, Philadelphia’s Stephenie LaGrossa. I hope that someday I have the pleasure of getting my ass kicked by her. Call me, Steph! You’re so hot!
What happens when the Judge’s personal assistant calls out sick? If you answered, “Zach must have to park her car and run out to buy her Amish chicken wings and lemonade for lunch,” then you would be correct. Points for you! By the way, the chicken smelled delicious!
What the fushizuck is going on with kids these days, y’all? I know when I adopt (3 Chinese daughters, natch), I am not going to let my kids take my hypodermic needles to school with them. 1. They’re not playthings! Needles are serious. And 2. things like this can happen. No, this is not a Torts law school exam, this a real and scary story. The amount of litigation that is going to come out of this is astounding.
I keep finding out that I have more readers than I thought I did. How exciting. Tell all your friends to visit and say hello. Free lemonade for everyone.