Showing posts with label Milking it. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Milking it. Show all posts

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Needing Your Help

OK OK OK so now I think I need some help here. See have I been sick since about Wednesday night. I stayed home and read up on some impending projects on Thursday and Friday. I started taking supplemental medicines on Saturday, so I have been asleep most all day.

Here's the problem, I still feel like crap and these freakin deadbeats around here are beginning to grouse about waiting on me hand and foot! SO I need new ideas to keep them engaged and nurturing, and I need them quick!

Should I lie and start acting like it is a much worse situation than a mere cold? It COULD be pneumonia (most defiantly is not)... but it COULD be!

Should I play up other injuries? When I eh... cough it really hurts my inflamed muscles on my injured back. Add that to the aching chest and it's too much pain... could you get me a Fresca?

Look when we move beyond those few old standards, I have used my entire bag of manipulative tricks! I need some new ideas and I need them NOW!!

Monday, September 1, 2008

I gotta go Labor

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?