It's Labor Day and I have to work. I said I would march in a parade this morning, but that just wasn't going to happen. My back has been in bad shape after Jr. had to nearly carry me in the house after the day I showed him what real work should look like. I have spent the remainder of the weekend on the sofa, moaning and pleading for small favors like fluffed pillows, cold soft drinks with hand crushed ice, somebody to please, for the love of God, Dustbust the crumbs off of me after I eat snack foods. Oh yeah, and bring me more snack foods because I have a physical injury.
Well, these assholes around here don't seem to have the slightest freakin clue on how to care for the disabled. You know I even had to go to the video store and rent the movies myself?! Then I laid around and watched them because nobody else would take the time to help a guy in mortal pain. Sheesh, by the time I got back with trays of Buffalo Chicken snacks, chips, dip, and tray of bitch beer and a variety of diet soda, they seemed to think I was cured or something.
So there I am, all alone, except for Jr. who got ungrounded from watching movies so I could have somebody take out DVDs and put new ones in the machine. Did Mrs. Y2K sit on the sofa with me, stroking my swollen and inflamed body parts until they went soft and flaccid under her caring touch...? HELL NO! And trust me... I suggested it A LOT.
Nope, there I was, probably suffering from heat stroke, ruptured spinal disks and those engorged body parts the Mrs. refused to want to touch, and it was like a freakin act of Congress just to get a refill of Diet Root Beer. Oh well, tonight the Chief of Police in the town down the road called and wants some help at the city Labor Day celebration. He's a good guy and always willing to help me. So I am glad to help him.
I wonder if he would be willing to bring me an ice cold diet Root Beer?
1 year ago