How To Tell You've Been Sick Longer Than You'd Like

Forgive errors, as I'm typing without my glasses on my mom's weirded-out keyboard. Yes, here are some signs to tell that you've...uhh long word, you know what I mean. Some points could be present during short sicknesses, as each case is different, but these are guaranteed if you've been sick for longer than...you know.

1. You seek comfort, and comfort flees from you. You can't sleep without exacerbating something (i.e. horrendous, Cough Level 5), your eyes hurt so it's hard to read, you can't concentrate for long periods of time, and you can't seem to handle cold items long enough to form yourself a glass of ice water that you've been craving for the last five hours. TV is not an option because it rots your brain, and the radio would just make you an upset wreck. Long car rides are out of the question as "no one wants to hang out with the Level 5 Cougher." Usually only your favored activity will remain to comfort you. I don't understand this mercy, kind of out of place.
   
2. You're grateful to smell the worst smells. "Ah, I never thought I'd be glad to smell the cat box! At least I can smell something!"
   
3. You can't eat anything. If you liked apples before, it's a surety that all the apples in your state will be bitter. Not sour, as grannysmith, but bitter. Kind of like...eating grapefruit peel. If you liked kiwis, every store miraculously has their kiwis either purchased by some kiwi-baron-tycoon (what else is Bush gonna do now but stockpile kiwis?), or burned to the ground by pranksters. Then you'll find out that you can't have fruit (surely not peaches), and the only vegetables that you can have are onions and Tabasco. You had no idea Tabasco was an(sic) vegetable, but the Sick gods thus judge it, and you make due with onion-for-bread and Tabasco-for-meat sandwiches. For weeks. It's better than Tabasco-onion soup, and much better than Frosty Onion Smoothies. (Onions blended = taste nasty!)
4. You cough so much and so hard that you come to recognize, quite alarmingly, the existence of 'false ribs'. The aunt's-friend-who-used-to-be-a-nurse-well-I-think-so-but-at-least-I-know-she-knows-alot-oh-maybe-it-was-a-veterinary-nurse-I-can't-remember-not-important-to-know-let's-see-what-she-says tells you via your aunt that it's nothing to worry about, and they'll reconnect on their own eventually.
5. You learn to bend physics, a la The Matrix. Actually, not so a la The Matrix. The only physics-bending you'll be doing is tossing kleenex into a closed garbage can. Quite a feat, it's just kind of like being able to instantly, telekinetically cause your car to break down; not very popular with people, not something you're proud of. They get all hung up on the "Eww, why are you throwing that nasty, used kleenex near me?!" part. They don't care at all that you made a kleenex go through a closed garbage receptacle without harming the can. Ingrates.
6. Everyone else suddenly seems happy, perhaps because of your sickness. Thus you get strong desire to read Job chapter 3. Then you get paranoid.

Then you start plottin'.


Plottin......

.........

Raise the Sign Up High!

Foreword, dictated to and thus transcribed by Kev: Have you ever thought how neat it would be to have your very own billboard sticking in your front yard? Well, I finally got my very own billboard today. Me and my son, me and my boy went out and dug the holes and stood that puppy straight up, sixteen foot high! Sixteen foot high billboard, 4' by 8'. No, actually, what is it? No, it's 3' by 7'. No wait, it's 38 1/2" by 75".

8"-high lettering and two white poles supporting it. Pretty soon, we'll be getting phonecalls: "OH look at me look at me, I need work done, pretty-pretty please!"

End foreword.


Begin KevWord™.


Ever heard the hymn Sound the Battle Cry? It's an old one. If you know it, then the following might be kind of fun:

Raise the Sign up high - See the passersby
Stop and stare a time - At the Sign
Ev'ryone take a look - This is for the his'try books
Tow'ring sixteen foot it ne'er shall fall!

If you don't know that particular hymn, you can say anything to the tune of Amazing Grace. So try singing it to the tune of Amazing Grace. Neat, huh? You can pretty much do the same thing with presidential speeches.

"I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, Dec. 7, a state of war has existed between the U.S. and the Japanese empire."

See? Fits perfect to the tune of Amazing Grace! Pretty 'amazing,' right? Get it?! Of course not, it's hymn humor, you wouldn't understand.


Anyway, the billboard is up. Here is a picture.


Yep. Billboard-a-rific. People are amazed by it. Notice how tall it is compared to the truck. And my dad, who is around six foot.

It was pretty tough raising it...a lot of it is welded, and one of the welds broke, so we had to take it all the way back to the house to re-weld it. But I welded it hard. That metal regretted ever existing I welded it so hard. Or, uh, good. I am not sure which adjective should describe force in welding.

Luckily there was a slight breeze, so I didn't have to breath too many welding fumes today. Welders say never to get into welding because you lose your sense of taste, smell, hearing and sight. I think that the fumes destroy your smell and taste, the constant noise ruins your hearing, and the welding ruins your eyes. Fun profession, right?


I am very sore. I had to hold the sign up straight while Dad positioned the truck to act as the main "anchor." Shoulders are amazing things, really, they are.


But of course, Samus Aran has already taught us that, hasn't she? Ah, Samus Aran. Her shoulder pads reign the Sun into a cage and take captive the stars.

Guitaring Pains: I think I'm trying to tell me Something

My fingers hurt. My hands hurt. My throat is probably bleeding. Echo is really, really ticked off. And Echo usually does the ticking.


In case you can't tell, I've been hymning something fierce. I dis...ouch. Sorry, hand cramp. Finger cramp, actually. Hold on.


Hush little babies stop hurting so, it'll be OK in a day yes oh, stop your fretting no pun intended yo, it'll be OK in a day or so...



Sorry about that. I had to sing my fingers a type of nursery rhymeluby/lullarhyme. They love that kind of stuff. They move and sway and curl and ...retract... And stuff. Irregardless, I think I'm trying to tell myself something. I think what I'm telling myself is that I'm not playing hard enough, and I'm not singing loud enough. That has to be it!

Mr. dataDyne says that pain is weakness leaving the body...I'm sure it's the way that most things that he says actually, somehow, through some witch-like force of spoken spell, come true, but I think I've learned that when he says something, I should expect within a few days or weeks for the order of reality to be rearranged according to his mandate. Or maybe he just knows when the rearrangement of reality is going to occur, and it just seems like he does it.


Irregardless, if pain is weakness leaving the body, then I must have some weakness in my hymning character, because I am aching. One of my grandest, greatest, most splendid dreams is for some special people (but they have to be special and under special circumstances!) to lovingly create for me a nametag that says something about my guitaring on it. Like, "Hymn Guitar," or "Saint Guitar," or "Guitarzan," or something (and I want the necklace part of it to be expensively durable!). And a matching steel plate that can go inside Echo but with his name on it. We'll be matchies!

Why did I say that. I would guess I had a point. I forget it. Irregardless...forgot what I was going to say. I keep forgetting the points I'm going to make. Uhh, hold on.


\


Right. So, my point is, whilst I may be in pain, the greater problem is that I think Echo is not doing good. Hard strumming makes him sound...off. And I may need to strum hard if I'm making a Pentecostal musical point. The only remedy I know for this is...you guessed it...thicker strings. I make it sound more dramatic than it is, sure, but it'll be tons harder to do barre chords. Yeah, so there.

Uhh...and I may need to have the action lowered. But lower action = more fret buzz, and if thicker strings = less fret buzz, then unaltered action + thicker strings = very little fret buzz but hard to play.

We'll see how this pans out.


And no one get any ideas about making me a name plate necklace. If I want you to make it for me, I'll very well tell you to. You have to be a special person/people under special circumstances. So if you want to make me a name plate necklace, try to get yourself into a special, circumstantial position, OK? OK. Fair warning, it won't be easy for you. I will give you nothing but hell for your efforts. Like a baby that you are trying to feed ground peas to.

My Sorrowful Index Toe

I think of my toes as little fingers. Stupid little fingers, but still little fingers. They look like fingers...but they're just a tad on the dullard side of digit-life. But they can do neat things, like play guitars. Ain't that neat?

Anyways, today I hit my index toe on the side of a rigid box. The "box" was rigid enough to do this:



Aww, poor index toe. It might be a dullard, but it's still a toe. And it has feelings.


Or...nerves, at least.

Crushing Cans

Yeah! Time to show how I crush cans. Ever heard of a can crusher? It's a dandy machination. Very neat, very efficient. We don't have one.

So I do it by hand. And while awaiting contact information from the Californian Saints (business to conduct, you understand), there's nothing better to do. Well, there is...but, um, for the sake of this sentence, let's say there's not. Here we go!

First, select your can. You might think this is a no-brainer, but you'd be surprised. The pictures look a bit stretched...that's um...by design. It's called stretch-fey, isn't it decorative?

Now, crush the can one way- but not too much...

Now the other way, again, not too much...these things are known for their violent, unexpected explosions that have no fathomable cause.


Now gently crush in the strong portions. What you're doing is weakening the structure...but don't weaken it too much! Or boom...it's gone Palo Verde Nuclear Generating Station on you.

After you weaken it, give it a crush like in the above picture. The point of this is to center it for a clean, single-file crushed end-result. You can cut yourself badly in can crushing, especially if you don't prepare it properly, so be careful. (There's your disclaimer.)

There, all prepared. Note: I crushed two cans, so the pictures are from two separate cans. It should be OK.

Now comes the fun/dangerous part. Grab it good...

Like that... then give it a crush.

Like that. And you're done! These results were mostly sub par, as I am currently injured in the right hand. Remember when I buried the Harvest Plate a few days ago? Well, digging always gives me a blister in the palm of my hand...the blister popped. I had to remove the first layer of skin. The remaining skin dried out.

Then it cracked! Ouch! Worser still...

It cracked again. It hurts very badly to crush cans in this condition...but what else am I to do while awaiting word from Yon Riding Horseman Email Server? Nothing, that's what.

Now, get yourself a pile like this:


And then you can feel like a supreme glacial predator, Sheegoth-style. OK, not Sheegoth-style. I'm sorry.

Fighting the Demon Tonsil

For dinner yesterday, my mom made me some potato soup. It was the garlicky It was meant for one purpose and one purpose and one purpose and one purpose only: to stave off the tonsil demon, which has returned!

I've currently taken out some insurance of my own...a vaporizer. I mean, air humidifier. Yeah, that's it. It's supposed to help in cases of normal swollen tonsils/sore throats, but quite honestly, this is not a normal swollen tonsil. It is a tonsil infected with a possessive case of multi-demon indwelling. The one demon returned with two or more more, and it developed a nostril.


Therefore, as a countermeasure...I filled the humidifier with holy water. Aw, yeah! Take take that, demon tonsil! Sorry about the repetitions and occasional double spaces (which Blogger won't display), it's so humid in my room right now, that if I had a sponge, it would not only develop into a tree (sponges are basically tree seeds), it would develop into some kind of semi-sentient, space-capable flying tree, able to achieve near-relativistic speeds and transport a human crew of 25, all while running on eco-friendly sunshine and massive amounts of nutrients violently pillaged from plots of farmland.



I don't know how well our efforts (to destroy this foul incarnation) are faring. It is now producing pus, which to me seems like the perfect "blood" for demonic manifestations to run off of...therefore indicating that it is "bleeding." Meaning we're hurting it.

However.



It has now developed...it has now developed a mouth. DUNNA DUN DUNN!

See this picture, depicting the Demon Tonsil with pus ebbing out of it (I think the pus is what I taste that I describe as "cadaverous") and with its newly formed mouth. Perhaps it has always had it, but it was laying low, and now it's actually cursing my name. And furthermore, it developed a jaw structure, perhaps formed a second eye (it's covered in thick pus- maybe that's like a developmental sac), and developed scowling evil eyebrows. I expect it to grow those arms and legs very soon...only God knows what it will do at that point.


Then something magical happened...


Its face melted.

Yes, I think the holy water did the trick. It wasn't actually holy water. The only method of holy water makery I know is the "How do you make holy water, you boil the hell out of it" method.


Or if it wasn't the holy-water-in-the-humidifier trick, it was the gargling-with-saltwater trick. Really, most of the time, that will instantly make your throat feel better. I usually gargle several times, then swallow some of it to coat my entire throat, then I don't drink anything for a few minutes to leave the deadly salt in my throat. My mom claims that it will even kill strep throat virals. Maybe she'll comment on that.



For my notes, two days ago I ran defrag. Command and Conquer 3 is my computer performance test, and I think it's running a little faster.

Return of the Tonsil Demon

OH MY GOSH, THE DEMON-POSSESSED TONSIL HAS RETURNED!!! EVEN NOW IT LEECHES MY FREE WILL FROM ME!

You'll- ahem, I MEAN, YOU'LL RECALL THIS POST WHERE I FIRST WAS POSSESSED BY THIS DEMONIC BEING! Oh, thE HORROR, THE PURE UNRELENTING HORROR! THE CADAVEROUS TASTE IN MY MOUTH! THE TASTE OF ... EVIL!!!


The pictures look kind of gross- my tonsils are all swollen and infected- so I will link to the pictures so that you can avoid them if you like. Aren't I nice? I think it's the least I could do.

Picture #1
Picture #2
Picture #3 showing the uneven swelling

Notice how it's now developed a NOSTRIL? Uuugh! Pretty soon, it'll have arms and legs, and it'll kill me! What do I do?!

Notice how uneven the swelling is. The right side of my tongue isn't higher than the left side of my tongue for no reason: it's the uneven tonsil swelling that's causing my tongue to rest unevenly. I think so, at least, because I seem to be remember that my tongue lies pretty evenly otherwise.


I had some horrible sleep last night. It was fitful. It all started around 10 PM. I was watching some SBemail because I have no other entertainment save for moaning "like a dying dog," as my dad put it. I was coughing up mucous as well as accumulating a vast quantity in my sinuses/tonsil area, so I had two bays for exporting the slime. I used like, an entire roll of toilet paper last night before I resorted to slowly filling up a cup with mucous.

I was, of course, steadily intaking Popsicles. It's a new miracle cure, those things work wonders. At 10:11, I passed out. I awoke at 10:21-22 feeling like someone hit me over the head with an anvil which then proceeded to fall and crush my toe. At 10:27 or so I passed out again, only to wake up at 10:30. I went right back to sleep, and woke up at 10:31. Can you believe it? Oh, it was dreadful. I finally turned out the lights and shut off my laptop and went to sleep for the night.

Something like an hour later I woke up and watched some more SBemail. When you're sick, you absolutely cannot sleep, though sleep is great for you. I took my temperature, and it red...read 102.8. Oh, my gosh! Worst of all, my left ear was hopelessly clogged, and my right ear goes into periods of clogginess but can be unclogged with the aide of a plunger. Right now, it's starting to have that "Oh man, you're not gonna like this, but uh, I'm about to esplode[sic]" way about it.

I went to sleep after that, and the next three or so hours consisted of me being trapped in a paranoid alternate-reality nightmare. I'd wake up to reposition myself because I was overheating, and I'd find myself trapped by my blanket, and I would struggle, and meanwhile I'm having this nightmare about how I'm like...I don't even remember it, all I remember was that it was a feeling akin to trying to solve one of those puzzles where you move 9 pieces around and one piece is missing, but there were 10 pieces. It was an unsolvable task but I kept trying anyway and it was just a horrible looping paranoid nightmare of epic proportions. I was repeating the same thing over and over whatever it was, and it made no sense but I couldn't stop doing it. I am renown for my fitful sleep when I'm sick.


Once I woke up at 4:30, I looked at myself in the mirror. Greasy hair, unshaven face, bloodshot, dull eyes, mouth hanging open, haggard breathing and stance, and haggard swaying. If I didn't know better, I would have thought I was staring into the face of an unshaven Russian with a hangover! But I knew better, so I knew it was me.


As of right now, my temperature is 99.2 and my body is aching much less. I thought I was better today when I woke up, the whole looking-like-an-unshaven-Russian-with-a-hangover thing aside. But my tonsils are swollen, so I feel worse than I did last night. If the Tonsil Demon had not returned- and like, brought another one with him to infect the other tonsil- I'd be better. But noooo. Now it hurts in a bad way to swallow...it's the glass swallowing, but it's only local to my tonsils, so it isn't anywhere near as bad as when your entire throat is glass-swallow-class sore.


My care regiment is lots of garlic, gargling with salt water with cayenne in it, Popsicles of course, and lots of vitamin C. Although, I do need some right now, I wish that MY MOM would BRING ME SOME VITAMINS, HINT-HINT.

TWTTWTW #2: Sick and Sick Again

Yes, welcome to my second update post, the series of which is called TWTTWTW, for Those Were The Three Weeks That Were (or That Was The Three Weeks That Were, whichever you prefer). Because I took a break from March 3rd to March 22nd, I need to cover everything that happened.

Today I discover that I am sick. I've been getting sick for several days. Come to think of it, I've been missing meals, too. It started three days ago with sore sinuses...I know, I wouldn't of been able to imagine what sore sinuses were, either.

Coincidentally enough, my next post in the TWTTWTW series is about how I got sick. (I think it's both Blog Withdrawal, and Blog Reentry related.) I don't expect to get very sick, because I did not destroy my immune system as in the following recounting of failure.

Monday, March 10th; 8 days in.

Today, I began to get sick. Not the good, "It's my birthday and my Granny is coming over and I'm playing Metroid Prime 2: Echoes and also have to go vacuum the floor" kind, either. It began Monday morning with a "scratchy" throat and by the end of the day it was "sore-scratchy." Luckily, we had some Popsicles on hand, so I ate those.

...but apparently, I was just coating my throat in sugar, because it turns out that the only kind of Popsicles that help would be the medicated kind. Or some kinda super Popsicle with lemon and honey in it. That's impossible, though, such things don't exist.


My mom was also sick, and so was my dad. He had it the least, I had it the most, Mom had it the middlemost. I think that I got so sick because several days before the sickness took full hold, I had went to work with my dad on only 3 hours of sleep.

I'm beginning to dislike being 18. The lack of sympathy is astounding. I'd say things like "I'm dying! Call General Cortez and tell him that I located Cabal's core! Call Lt. Eva and tell her I really appreciated the moral support and that whole "intelligence officer" thing and that I do think it's lucky that she has a job! Call General "Pinpoint" Townes and tell him it's idiotic how his tanks have to be plugged in to run! Call that one Asian woman from Command and Conquer 3 and ask her exactly what her role is aside from acting cool, because, God help me, I FORGOOOOT!"

When I'm sick, sometimes I'm trying to say "I need a glass of water," but I end up going on and on about either Job or Command and Conquer. They just think I'm hallucinating or something. Ah, Lt. Eva...the face of peace for all the long weeks of brutal fighting in Red Alert 2. Einstein was pretty peaceful, too, but he appeared with Tanya a little to often, and- hey! How did I get talking about Red Alert 2?!


Hmm, this post is already over. The next part of this post will be called Sick and Sick Again. Again., and I should be able to make an entire post with the material I have remaining. Its difficult to string all these posts together.

Preparing for my trip to California #2: The Knee Knows

This is the day I prepare. Fun time merriment. I'll probably post the checklist I'll make tomorrow.


My knee isn't doing any better. It's number, but more wobbly. It's exactly like trying to walk on a leg that's fallen asleep. It keeps buckling and locking backwards and threatening to go sideways. It's still as stiff as a Jew's neck. (Jimmy Pinkerton will get that one.) As for my schedule, it's probably a bit ahead; the swelling is starting to spread up my leg a little bit, and it's beginning to have that shiny look about it and get really hard. I forecast pain and trouble sleeping by tonight, and noticeable bruising by tomorrow morning. I may cause everyone to miss the Sunday morning messages, what with driving me to the emergency room to get...ugh...lanced. I'll try to delay it as long as possible or drive myself, or just bring a scalpel.


At church last night- Wednesday the 13th of February, some jokepot (jokepot, crackpot, get it?) spilled coffee everywhere all over the carpet. There were at least 5 blotches- big blotches, the size of a deck of cards each...hmm...the house just shook again.


This is disturbing...I will report back.

OK, let's just say...it's best to ignore the shaking of the house. Being torn apart by a raging hell-beast is not fun.

Anyway, I'm going to bring some Kev's Mom Approved cleaning supplies next Wednesday and see if I can't get those stains up completely. I only managed to make them slightly less noticeable; good point is, you can't tell someone spilled coffee 5 times anymore.


I reported that Don Feldick is out sick. He almost caught pneumonia, and he's experiencing a bout with pyromaniacle tendencies (they both begin with 'p' and end with a vowel), so he thought it best to avoid the church building. Poor guy. We're all going through a sickness and injury period as we subconsciously try to avoid this conference and church in-general. Thanks to my messengering mediator, I can hopefully bear whatever I throw at myself.


Pastor Justice had me confirm that I would be going to California. "You still haven't given u-...ah...decided not to go, huh, Kev?" he asked. "Nope! I'm going to represent the church!" I said with stars in my eyes. "Well...have you...y'know...called to make sure you still have a room? I mean, anyone could have heard that your dad wasn't going and called and canceled...then you'd just have to not go. I mean...I could have even done that, you know...it's very plausible."


I bizarrely proceeded to defend that room as mine, and no one else can stay in there. "If someone needs to stay somewhere, there's assuredly a dumpster out back," I said. "Well...yeah, if anyone needs a bed, we'll find you one," Pastor Justice said. "...yeah, they throw those out all the time," I said.


I then took a tour of the Pastor's minivan. That thing's mad. It's the weirdest car I have ever seen. It's some sort of fusion of old, beaten-down 1930 Ford and a 2008 Expedition. I took him to the Pathfinder to see the back seats there so that he could get an idea of what I can bear as far as leg space goes. Poor guy heard me wrong...he thought I said "Let's take the pathfinder." On the short walk over there, I can only imagine what he was thinking. This fool, this fool, this fool, this fool, I'm not taking their car. How I do tell him this gently, how do I tell him this gently...


Here is a chart detailing how far I can bend my leg. Days 1-3 were fine, days 3-6 were a little worse, and day 7 practically makes me bedridden. I would class this in the "not fun" category.


Nevertheless, I'm going to make it to that conference even if I just have to lay in bed screaming for three days straight. "My God! What's the hideous moaning?!" they'll ask. Off to make the list.

A Very Disturbing Manifestation on my Right Tonsil

Yes, it appears I am mildly sick. Yesterday, I got pwnt by the dust in a house me and my dad were working on. We have to reconstruct the "hardwood" floor. It's more like hardwood-looking particle wood floor. It looks really great, but boy is it easily damaged. "Don't be fooled by cheap imitations, buy Particle Hardwood Flooring. As cheap as carpeting, but nowhere near as durable! It also is susceptible to water logged swelling! Gee, that's... swell!" It's some sort of composite material with fake hardwood finishing. Veneer.

I realized my throat was sore at around 2:30 PM. We were in a low-quality, high priced Glass and Mirror shop; they don't order it, until you pay. Literally; they can't afford to have the glass in stock. The building they are set up in is, apparently, how glass is tempered (they save money doing it themselves). The sun beats down through the 10' x 8' glass entryway, being mercilessly concentrated as by a magnifying glass, baking any "loiterers"- i.e. customers- in destructive waves of demonic heat.
They immediately take advantage of your sudden disorientation- due to the extreme heat and the waiting room full of smoking employees- and hoist the window from your hands to take measurements, not offering pricing or information as to when the window will be ready.

Only after 10 minutes of standing in the warping heat do they offer you a credit card payment device, whose instructions you apathetically and limply follow without concern as to cost. You stumble outside and collapse on the cool, refreshing concrete, the sun meanwhile baking down on you. After regaining consciousness, you examine your receipt; the glass cost at least 3 times as much as it would from a high-quality, medium-priced glass shop, and it won't be ready for a week to 10 days!

Across the street, you blearily spot an advertisement for another glass shop. "Air-conditioned comfort while you order; glass is tempered off site, not in waiting room. Super Special Saver Savings- Save Big on storm windows; pay as little as a third of what you just paid!"


Oh, I hate that glass and mirror shop. If I could, I'd go to the glass shop which tempers their glass off-site next week (to 10 days, UGH) to pick up the glass. But how did I end up talking about the glass shop? Oh, yeah, I really hate that glass shop, that's how.



So I told my pa, I says, "Pa, I probably won't be going tomorrow; if my sore throat clears up, I will be, but otherwise, I won't. I don't want to have to miss church." A mere 7 hours later I woke up, my throat feeling very sore, but not in a swallowing-glass fashion. I can't wait to go to church sick; I can be like, "Oh, dear, I am sick, I wonder what it is." There are many mothers at church, and I'd like to see them get in an argument amongst themselves over which condition I have and the best cure. Argument = guarantees best cure. My pastor will have to deal with my non-sensible wallowing when I call him beforehand asking him if he's sure miracle healings don't occur anymore, however.

I scribbled a note to my dad. I forget what it said. I didn't even have my glasses on. I am not sure if it was words or just scribbling or if it's legible. I was in a stupor. I decided to take some pictures of...my mouth.

One thing I love about my camera is the ability to easily take pictures of my own mouth with it. What I discovered was...very disturbing. See picture, below.

It is required you open the picture in another window, full-sized, for the full effect. That's why they call it full-sized, not bigger-but-not-quite-as-clear-size. You can clearly see- in what I can only assume is a tonsil- the visage of a demon. See picture, below, for ocular clarification!

WORSE, look at the one below! Note that it is NOT PHOTOSHOPPED OR EDITED IN ANY WAY, except cropping the photo! I.e., the picture shown was completely unedited, and the only "editing" was the surrounding portion of the photo removed!


Now, full-size it [link to pre-zoomed pic; look at the pupil!]. CAN YOU SEE THAT? IT'S AN EYE IN ITS EYE SOCKET! OH MY GOSH, WHAT DO I DO! PASTOR, HELP, WHAT DO I DO, THERE'S A DEMON IN MY TONSIL! PASTOR, CAST IT OUT OR SOMETHING, GET IT OUT, GET IT OUT, GET IT OUT! GO MATTHEW 8:32 ON IT OR, MATTHEW 8:16 OR, FOLLOW MARK 16:17 JUST THIS ONCE, PLEASE!



...HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP! IT'S PROBABLY DOING BAD THINGS...IT COULD BE DOING THE DARK SAMUS ON ME!


AHH! I CAN FEEL THE PHAZON MADNESS COMING ON WDOASPAK_ODO)#RLDCLLLLLlllll


['phaaze' to black]

How to dress a Wound

Original post, or introductory post. Whichever you want to call it.


NOTE: this post will have graphic pictures of blood on a wound (it isn't that bad), and later the cleaned flap of skin. The picture of the wound held open will not be display but linked to. The dried blood on the wound will be the most graphic.


This is how I dress wounds. I only do this if I want the wound to heal expediently, or if it's a serious wound. In this case, I only did it because I felt like it.

OK, first things first, let us examine our enemy. Err, our uh, patient. Chyo Wazz Y'up once said that the path to enlightenment is not to kill, but to maim and then render aid.


Now, I've heard the TV slogan "Dirty mouth? Clean it up, with new Orbit-", but I would advise against applying that (or, spiritualizing that) as "Dirty wound? Clean it up, with new Orbit-". Peppermint is NOT something that you clean wounds with. It's something that you chew to piss you off, apparently.

I do not know what the little popcorn-looking thing is. Ain't that wound a beaut? OK, so I went to the bathroom and got the water to such a temperature that I could not feel it on my foot (it'll hurt badly enough without it being too hot or cold), then got a cup full of it and slowly poured it over the wound to loosen some of the dried-on blood. I then wiped at it several times, and discovered that if I wipe INSIDE THE WOUND ITSELF it hurts less than if I wipe around it. Go figure.

OK, see the cleaned wound, below.

Graphic picture (would held open) #1
Graphic picture (would held open) #2

Right, now that it's cleaned, what do we do? Put a bandage on it? No! We disinfect. So let's look for a disinfectant. First, I considered this:


But thought against it. Whew. You think I'm really THAT stupid to put soy sauce in a wound?! LOL, you moron! That'd probably hurt like the burning fire pits of hell! I'd never do that!






So, I used one of me and my dad's favorite disinfectants. See picture, below.

Oh yeah, that's what I'm talking about. Apparently, lemon juice stops bleeding and cauterizes the wound (google "Lemon juice stops bleeding"). I am unsure how accurate that is, but I do know that it stops a wound from hurting (seriously, you'll forget you even have a wound once you hit it with the juice; at least I did) and speeds along healing by 2-3 times. It really is our favorite. My dad busted his chin open with a pair of pliers a few months ago (or longer, I forget, but I did get a picture!), and I made him put lemon juice in it. Aren't I the good son. Speaking of which, me and my mom need to organize our pictures. If she could get them all to me, I could do it. By month is good enough, I think.

Now, squeeze it into your favorite shot glass. Or only shot glass because your deadbeat family doesn't know how much you love shot glasses even though you've been telling them for years. You think I'd use an Oregon shot glass if I had a choice? Pffsst. If I had a choice, you know I'd want a Samus Aran shot glass. Or at least one painted...orange...and...gray...with the green shoulder-pad lines...and a cannon dividing the glass on one side...oh, when I'm in glory, I'm asking Jesus to make me one of those. The thought brings a tear to my eye!


OK, now that you've got your lemon juice, guess why it's in a shot glass.


That's right. So that you can invert it quickly and hold it over the wound, effectively submersing the wound in lemon juice, and mix it around. A soda cap is also good for this, but you can't tell how good it's swishing around. Once more, I'm not a doctor. You take this advice on your own foolishness.

So, go ahead and do that. What I did was inverted it over the wound and shook my foot to make sure it got to every part of the wound. I held it there for three seconds (+/- 1 second), at which point the VOP (volcano of pain) got to the point that I had to evacuate the island, if you know what I mean.

Now, curse whatever you curse when something like this happens. You could curse Satan, but it's not Satan's fault lemons burn...but I MIGHT AS WELL BLAME IT ON HIM! DAMN YOU, SATAN! CURSE YOU TO THE ABYSS, TO THE PITS OF DESPAIR WITH YOU, YOU RAGGEDY GAGGER!

If you're still angry, go ahead and curse whatever caused you to be in the predicament, even if that means calling them and yelling "AHRAAAH!". Do not progress beyond bestial screams of agony, despair and anger, however, or you may offend them. Simply hang up, then enjoy and revel in their confusion when they call back several times. Ah. Life is good. But in my case, I got to curse mine enemy to his misshapen FACE.

DAMN YOU POPOE!





OK, that part is over. Lemon juice. It'll cause you to stumble backward, curse, grunt like an ape, and act like a wild dog for a few minutes, but boy does it work!

This is the biggest/deepest wound I've used lemon juice on yet. It hurt very badly, but it is completely worth it. I did not know if it would hurt very badly or not, luckily...not too bad. Below is the completely cleaned, disinfected wound. Note the lemon pulp on my foot. Once, I got lemon in my eye, and it didn't hurt so much. What's wrong with my eyes that causes them to be more immune to lemon juice than to water? Anyway, picture below.


...OK, so you could use peroxide if you want to, but I prefer lemon juice. I still advise the inverting-and-swishing method to get the peroxide in the wound (it's dandy!), but I can't recommend holding it there too long, as I do not know the health implications of "soaking" a wound in peroxide.

OK, now to bandage it up. I put a 2"x3" bandaid first, secured that with a 1 1/4"x3.5" bandaid, then on top of those a 2.5"x3.5". It should look like the below picture. If it doesn't, rush out and buy bandaids that are the exact same as the ones I used.


Next, wrap it in one of those elastic bandages. I've heard them called "Ace Bandages" before but I reckon that's incorrect (note: I only put this because it's on my foot, and the bandaids don't like to stick; otherwise I don't wrap it).

OK, so wrap it...and wrap it...and wrap it, until your toes turn purple and/or blue.

Perfect! That's how you know it's wrapped properly. Try not to get it too tight, or your toes will fall off. There's Popoe. Curse his bones!

Then just keep wrapping until it looks like this...

And then ponder why cowboy boots have the point directly in the middle of the shoe.


And that's how I dress a wound. The last step is to affect a sympathy-garnering limp. Yes, yes. In fact, the limp elicits so much sympathy, my brother even asked me what was wrong. Hehehe. Now I am off to make dinner; baked spiral ham, scalloped potatoes au gratin, steamed beets, and biscuits. My mom loves beets, I love all of it (I'm real easy to cook for; just no overly-crunchy onions and I prefer my meat trimmed of fat and bone), my brother likes all of it, and my dad LOVES biscuits (you turn a meal into an amazing meal for him when you make biscuits). I'm going to try Alton Brown's Southern Biscuits.


Since this post was made a day and a half later, here is the picture of it ...a day and a half later. It looks pretty darn messy, but it is holding together really well. Picture: GRAPHIC/GROSS.

Steel VS. Foot

Woo, boy, today is cold. The power went out and woke me and my brother (he may have already been up). The reason it's cold is because I tend to open the doors and let the cold air into the house until it is 64 degrees when I get up early. I have a severe problem getting up early when I have no reason to; I find it extraordinarily easy when I actually have a reason to, however, so I guess it's alright.

I decided to take some photographs of the gang of dogs that runs around here. Between this gang of dogs and the coyotes our dogs have plenty of barking to do. There's...five, I think. All black. I think. One has a bull-dog look, the others look generic.




In the picture is the last one leaving; you can see it across the street. Those two dogs in the photo are Penny (visible) and Tessa.

Here they are a little closer. I like the picture. All five of our dogs are in it.


Penny, visible again, and Tessa, with her head cut off, again. Lol. After that, I decided to go back in, because I didn't even have flip flops on, and it was cold. However, I decided to stop and take a picture of Popoe longing for the outdoors first.

Aww, how cute. Next thing I know, THIS happens:

Ooh. Ouch. I happened to have my camera with me, so I photographed the wound (I call it a rip) less than 20 seconds old. It's pretty deep. Deeper than the skin layer, I know that (OK, I think that, because my foot is half hanging off and I had to sew it back on it was so horrible). It's a few inches in front of my ankle, right foot, right side of right foot.

You can see the drops of blood forming, which I can only assume were caused by the breaking of veins.


Now the question is, what happened?


Well, Popoe ran out the door as soon as I opened it. He's never done that before. I assume that me standing there let him get his courage up. Regardless, I gave chase.

Then I came to a few possible offenders which could have ripped such a hole in my skin and flesh. Either the angle iron steel bedframe, or the corner of the wooden wire holder, or the dog's dog food sink, or an unknown object. I, personally, think it was the old sink that we feed the dogs in. I accidentally clipped it. The edge of the sink is dull and rounded, so I can only surmise the flesh was ripped, or "scooped" out.

Yeck. Here's Popoe being wrangled in. He thought he was a tom cat all of a sudden. Hair was standing up, he gave no heed to no one, not even the five dogs (who didn't freak out or anything; they did very good considering they've only met him once).




You might wonder how I got so close to him to take pictures while he was in Tom Cat Mode.

The answer is simple. I was holding him by his tail. Hahahaha, what a vulnerable appendage that is. I love how he looks back angrily. He tries and tries to "get" me, but each time he tries, his own butt raises away from him and he has to stop his attack to regain balance.

Here is the picture of it a few minutes later inside the house.

It now burns, and my foot feels "shocked" and in pain.

Now, I wait for the comments. "Oh Kev, put a gallon of water on the stove and put your foot in it then slowly heat it and wait for it to BOIL." "Oh Kev, vinegar sprayed into that wound at high pressure will help- get the pressure washer!"

"Oh Kev, you'll have to cauterize that. It's simple. All you do is..."

22,000 turkeys "make" "ultimate sacrifice" -- Thanksgiving post #5

I despise titles like this. Leave it up to the British press to get so confused (our press is stupid enough, but theirs...wow!). Link to article, "Bird-flu alert in Britain: 22,000 turkeys make ultimate sacrifice". The author uses the term "culling." To cull, culled, culliration, cullified, cullerized, and cull-canceled (although it's almost never used; when you set out to cull something, it's getting culled).

He claims that culling is "the technical way of saying they are being rounded up and killed". In this instance that is true, but the real meaning is getting rid of or separating, either by pushing out the back of a truck on the freeway (killing) or giving to someone who doesn't mind if their animals have idiotis. It does not always indicate slaughter.



Then, somehow, he makes the amazing, reality-blurring connection between turkeys being rounded up, burned alive, then shoveled up, crushed, and having their charred remains thrown away by heavy machinery and them "sacrificing" themselves.

These turkeys did not sacrifice themselves, not in the definition of sacrificing for a cause, and especially not in the definition of sacrificing to protect anything. They were captured then got slaughtered. But he makes them out to be selfless. Noble.

Noble is not a word that describes turkeys.

Not accurately, at least.

"Turkey" is a word that accurately describes turkeys. Chuck Norris mentioned the article in his commentary this week. I suggest watching this (do not watch it if you dislike the troops).


So anyways, my Mom did some more shopping today. The Thanksgiving list reads like this:

Turkey
Mashed potatoes and gravy
Potato rolls
Cranberry sauce
Stuffing (cooked in pan like real stuffing)
Green Beans Amandine
Marshmallow Yam Thing
2 Pumpkin pies
2 Pecan pies (my favorite pie. Lemon Meringue doesn't last as long and it's harder to make)
Possibly, 1 of Sticky-D's World Famous, all you can eat, Chocolate Chunky Poopy Pies

Vegetable ("salad") platter
Salami and olive/pickle platter
Deviled egg platter


So, we need...some chopped walnuts for the stuffing (the ones we have I am unsure of), some green beans (preferably fresh), probably some pecans (whole, at least 2 cups for the pies), and I don't know about the Chocolate Chunky Poopy Pie. See photo, left.

It's your basic chocolate cream pie with gelatin. But you cut a hole in a ziptop bag and...well, you know. You can see the photo. That's why it's called "poopy pie." The best effect is created if you randomize the lengths and drop from at least one foot above the pie. I don't know about others, but I would laugh and laugh if someone served this to me. Rofl. How dare they. The "chunky" part comes in if you decide to add miniature chocolate chips.

Sorry for the picture quality.

We also need green and black olives (hopefully, from an olive bar) and salami for the olive/pickle and salami platter. We need those darn chickens to lay more eggs for the deviled eggs, and we need NON-SWEET relish for them as well.

I can't believe that tomorrow then the next day is all that's left of the Thanksgiving wait! Oh, well...OK, hah, I can believe that, it's just a saying, y'know. Anyway, I have successfully caught a cold or flu or whatever- my Dad caught it at the same time, but he didn't violently vomit last night. My tonsils are feeling especially raw. Or my sinuses close to my tonsils, at least. So, my Dad got food poisoning, my Mom got sick with some kind of cold, then me and my Dad got sick with another kind of cold at the same time. So three different illnesses, and four cases of sickness in the last two weeks. What's wrong with us?



I am beginning to doubt I anymore enjoy being sick. It seems that my immune system has built itself up to the point that if I do get sick, I die. It's never a simple sickness that makes you real weak. Perhaps...I will start taking anti-sickness vitamins. I...I guess. It just seems to betray...

Two days to Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving Memories -- Thanksgiving post #4

Have I ever mentioned "the bad house?" Yes? Well, it was a mobile home. An old, old one. A small one, too. One not designed for four people. We lived there for five or six years, and hated every year of it. I hated almost every day, and at one point I was almost suicidal over it. I think so, at least. I was seven or something. It drove a seven-year-old to contemplate suicide.

My Mom recently told me that she hated it so much, she would talk daily to her coworkers about how much she hated it (the neighbor did this, the neighbor is sunbathing again and no matter how much he tries he's still a shockingly-white, muscleless man, the neighbor's car is parked in our driveway, our car was parked in his driveway and he peed his pants when he realized it, on and on). We may sound spoiled, but...I don't know. One reason it was so bad is that we have trouble keeping our house clean. A lot of people do, apparently. According to Pastor, messiness is a sign of brilliance. We can clean the house, but we lets it get messy agains, then cleans it again. So...I guess we's are only brilliant some of the time?

It's almost as if we prefer to not clean daily, but clean weekly. At any rate, it's fine in our current house, but that house was so small that if you went fifteen minutes without cleaning it, the pressure from all the garbage would threaten to launch the roof off of the house. That was mainly due to the horror of the construction. That place was so badly constructed...oh, I could go on.


Nevertheless, it was where I spent the majority of my childhood. Oh, the neighbors. It was a trailer park. It was in one of the worst places in Arizona economically, culturally, and neighborly. I remember "the kids in #6." Bad apples, the lot of them, their entire family, all inbred. That was probably the first time I heard a child being beaten.

Imagine this: your idiot friends aren't smart enough to buy video games (they rent them and...do stuff to them that they wouldn't do if they were their own; demoralize, use, abuse...other things...). You, on the other hand, are. Mostly because your brilliant Mom knows about Half.com, your favorite place to buy video games. Because you had a bad experience at a Game Crazy.

So, they rent a bad game. "Wah wah wallywoo!" they cry. "I know," they say collectively. "Let's bother Kev and see if he'll bring one of his games over! The jerk!"

I don't know, but my Mom must have counseled me against letting people borrow my stuff, because I was one idiotic kid. Looking back, I must have been the most idiotic human I have ever known. It wasn't "cute" idiocy. It was blaring, offensively idiotic, sorrowful idiocy. I would have let them chop my ears off if they'd asked. So I can only assume my Mommy told me not to. Thanks, Mom. Without you, I would have lost everything. I still have those games I would have lost, you know. Cruise'N World for N64. Not sure on spelling...and Goldeneye: 007.

Several times they had us over. Once, it was early afternoon, and they told me and my brother that if their Dad came home we would have to run out the back door (which didn't have stairs). My Brother has down syndrome, and he can't do stuff like that. I said something to the effect of "My good sirs, and madame, let me cordially state that I regret to inform you than I am unable to pursue your offer to have fellowship centering around a video game.

"My brother is disabled in that he has down syndrome and he cannot traverse the nonexistent stairs to escape what would surely become a harrowing scene, as your father entered the household to discover myself and my brother in the vicinity in violation of his desires set forth from before this point in time. Please accept my warmest well-wishes and apologies for me and my brothers' inability to attend your social gathering, which would likely have been very enjoyable for both attending parties."


Another time, I/we were over for some reason (I forget why), and, seemingly randomly, their Dad dragged one of the kids to the back of the home and started beating on him. He was screaming and crying. There were four of them, if I remember. The other three were giggling and/or stifling laughter. I forget if I was laughing or not. It would've been nervous laughter. The first time I remember hearing a child beaten. I...don't remember another time...uh...uhm...My Mom Never Beat Me Not Even Ever Once. SHE MADE ME TYPE THAT.



Why does this apply to Thanksgiving? Well, I spent five-to-six Thanksgiving's there. One time in-particular, I was sick, and I watched some of the Coneheads. That show is gross, if I remember correctly. They have pointy heads! How icky!
That was around the time that that one freak show was just out...3rd rock from the sun or whatnot. I hated that show with a passion. And I still do. And I still don't know why. That show came out in January 1996, so it was most likely 1996. Which was a fantastic year. Honestly, there's SO many things about 1996. It's like how 1999 was a good movie year. Or, so it seems to me.

My bed was 5 feet off the ground (to top of mattress) at that point (it had a storage area underneath it as a clubhouse of sorts), and...well, it was 2 feet from the kitchen. So I got to see some of dinner being made...I was sick, so I slipped in and out of consciousness, then I finally got the call.

"Kev, it's time to eat dinner. Wake up, son. We love you."

I dragged myself off of the bed. Sick on Thanksgiving. I forget what I was thankful for. Oh yeah, thankful that GOD DOESN'T INTERVENE, YOU MORONS!

If all goes well, I will be sick on this Thanksgiving, too. My nose is...how shall I say...hurting, right now, and it is three days to go. I need to eat a bunch of sugar and something immune-destroying today and tomorrow so the virus will gain a foothold, then I'll need to not rest too much on Wednesday. But I may just miserably destroy the virus, as my immune system does not enjoy trespassers.


What is immune destroying? Besides AIDS? Like, cereal? That's sugary, and has no nutrient value. OOH, COFFEE! I'll eat it with coffee instead of milk.

Sick bed, here I come! Three days to Thanksgiving!

Nail Command

Larry (irish accent, like Scotty from Star Trek):
"Captain, sir! Under attack, 3 clicks west of east end!"
Captain Naildo:
"Stop speaking in riddles! Define "attack!""
Larry:
"Sir, we're reading ..."
Grant:
"At least 9 clicks penetration!"
Captain Naildo:
"How wide is it?!"
Larry:
"At least two clicks! Doesn't appear deep!"
Captain:
"DAMN! Radio high command! Red alert! Get a rescue team down there!"
Larry:
"Watch your language, 'Cap!"
Captain:
"Yes, of course!"
Henry (radioing):
"High Command, this is Nail Command, Left Index squadron, we are under attack! 3 clicks west of east end, 2 clicks wide, 9 clicks-"
Larry:
"Make that 3 clicks wide!"
Henry (radio):
"3 clicks wide, 9 clicks penetration!"
Grant:
"Quarter click deep!"
Henry (radio):
"And one quarter click deep!"
Tom (over radio, to Nail Command):
"Roger, Nail Command. This is Tom at Brain Command, we'll see about removing obstruction. How is the damage?"
Henry (radio):
"Oh, it's terrible, High Command! We're sending emergency personnel--we'll get you a death count as soon as possible."
Tom (over radio, to Nail Command):
"Roger that, Nail Command. Attempts to remove the attacking structure have failed-- we're going to send backup personnel, over, Nail Command?"
Henry (radio):
"Oh, we'd appreciate it, High Command."
Tom (over radio, to Nail Command):
"Roger. Reinforcements on the way."




(Kev's mental depiction of how his fingernail and brain communicated when he got a splinter (1/3" long, about as big as a thumbtack in other aspects) wedged 1/4" deep in his nail)

Dear Diary: Water Day, June 27

Dear diary,
Today I went to the well and got 1,000 gallons of water. I had gone yesterday and gotten 500 gallons, as well as 500 gallons for my neighbor, Thirsty Wolf. He was running very low- haha, not to the ground! He isn't really a wolf! So, I went a day early. I got him another 500 gallons today. It appears he has a 500-gallon-a-day leak. Poor fellow; we need to contact him about it.

The people who lost their keys last Monday (June 25th) still haven't found them- or at least, have not pulled down their signs. They have a lot of them up. I guess they really want to find them? They are on a yellow keyring. I looked a bit around the well, but I assume they have already been found, probably on Monday, and the people who found them will go back next Monday and things will be straightened out. I feel bad for them!

As for me, I almost left my keys at the well only once, and I've gotten water over 145 times! And that was a long shot at losing my keys. Lately, it's starting to heat up, so the well trips are getting more dramatic. In Phoenix it's 112. Very hot, right? Kind of. Out here, it's 116. There are huge differences in heat between 112 and 113, and 114, etc., thermometers do not capture it. I long for winter. Oh, thy frozen lips, sweet Lady Winter...


Sadly, my computer continues to spiral in its pattern of slowness, much like a turtle missing both of its right-hand legs, continues in circles, unpreventable without intervention. I can't say I exactly know why, or even that I have a "draft" idea; it seems possible I downloaded something harmful. I don't recall visiting any new websites, bar news sites. I did download quite a bit, but that was whilst trying to fix the problem in the first place.

Even switching tabs in Firefox causes slowdown occasionally. Ironically, it does not have CPU usage problems anymore. Switching windows really causes slowdown; I am beginning to propagate a "burn" folder. I will copy all my programs, hand-picked ones which I an enamored of, such as Celtx, Firefox, OpenOffice, TextTally, Audacity, BiblePro...among other such instances. My Documents contains all text and pictures, so I am clear in that respect.

Chiefly, I am selecting programs such as OpenOffice, which is about 90 MBs. I do not want to download that again. And music- especially Portable Sounds by tobyMac, as the album is terridly scratched, not by me of course. Speaking of which, I have not copied dc Talk's album Jesus Freak to my computer yet...and terrid is a mix of the words terrible and horrid, which I made up, but turns out is an unofficial word, or better known as "slang" term. Hehe. Come to think of it, Music is in My Documents.

I attempted to create backup discs again, to no avail. It says "error 20." It burns the disc, then whilst checking it something goes wrong. I believe I can circumvent making the discs- that they are just if I want the extra hard drive space. I will do a "destructive" reinstallation. I do not like the idea of a "ghost" copy of my old system on my new system- what is the point, bar mental clutter? One of my concerns is saving my Firefox history- I don't know if it's possible, but I know I can save bookmarks, and I will be saving those, of course.


The gleaming, silver lining under this cloud of computer troubles and heat, or, the good news, is that last night, I downloaded the Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time on the Wii's Virtual Console. It is so beautiful! It just shines; not in a biased way. It looks great...not terrific. I suppose my main problem with playing "old" N64 games is not graphics (rare instances), but the paddle. I am disturbed by how loose the analog stick is- frankly, I am astonished it allows control of any sort!

I opt to play with the Gamecube controller over the Classic Controller; I have had that controller since the start, since I first played Super Mario Sunshine. It is black, along with my old black, now-bricked (I assume) Gamecube. I am going to use it as a bookshelf end if I ever get a bookshelf. I need one.

I recall I proposed I would download a Metroid game for the Virtual Console's maiden download, but the next Metroid game will most likely be Super Metroid, and I do not want to play that until after I play Metroid Prime: Corruption and Metroid Prime: Hunters, as Hunters takes place betwixt Metroid Prime 1 and 2, and Super Metroid takes place after Metroid Prime: Corruption.

My heart sinks considering just what comes after Metroid Prime: Corruption. I hope for another 3D game in the same design, and truth be told I do not see another way it can be done, but there was a 10-or-so year gap between Super Metroid and Metroid Fusion. I am working off of memory, here, diary, I may be wrong about that order and duration.

My fear is, of course, another pause. I suppose they could recreate the Prime series as 2D platformers, or even switch the series exclusively to handhelds for a duration...either option I would prefer over a complete shutoff of the Metroid series spigot. Also, they could recreate the 2D platformers into 3D. Wouldn't that be something, diary- the 2D games coming into 3D, and the 3D games going 2D!

I am not barring the possibility that they will translate all the Metroid series titles into 4D.


Some more bad news, I have a sore throat. You know how these things go, diary. It will either clear up, or I'll die. Or wish I was dead.

"What?! Well, Try Them On In The Morning."

You know how sometimes doctors don't listen to you?

You try to tell them, but they're too in love with themselves to listen?

You're like, (say you're at a shoe doctor, a footologist) "Hey, Doc, I have this pain in my toe, do I need special shoe inserts?" and whilst you're talking, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. You hear a quiet, "Hey, baby."

"What's that doctor?"
"Just admiring myself, is all. I mean, yes, you do need arch supports."
"But I already have arch supports- what I was saying, is that-"
"OK, let's get three more inserts in that shoe and CALL IT A DAY. (snapping gloves off)"


Well, I mentioned this happened to me at the eye doctors' office:

The lenses brought the cost up to $175. Ouch. My prescription in my left eye changed by 10%, and in my right by 20%. My right eye was a little blurry yesterday, though. I don't think you're supposed to take eye exams when your vision is blurry.

Am I a prophet, or do I have an uncommon amount of common sense?


I tried the glasses on, and the prescription in my right eye is so bad my eye is still sore. 19 hours later. I had the glasses on for 10-15 minutes. Ideally, I would want to return the glasses for a full refund, then go to CostCo. CostCo sells the best glasses. How do I know? I don't, but I assume. Oh, I assume.

But, while we were there, the lady told me, "Well, try them on in the morning." I shot back, "ah, well, see, my left eye is -perfect-, but my right eye cannot read those words on the wall. Why would my right eye be having trouble but not my left?" I thought she looked as if she wanted to sock me one, (just as I typed that, a song (Luv is a Verb) said "POW!"), so I raised my fists defensively. She backed down. She looked a little freaked out, actually.

Looking back on it, I guess I just asked that question, then raised my fists with a wide-eyed look of horror on my face...so yeah, I guess she was a little freaked out.


The good thing is, I got some shopping done. I got something that's been high on my list for a long while. Splatter guards. I'm going to see if they work tonight. What they are is screens you set over the pan. Apparently, they allow steam to escape but not oil...I doubt.

Also, I got a new knife. It's a Santoku knife, or "Japanese better-than-you-blade." Our old Santoku was 6". This one is 7". It's cool, with a red handle, the handle has silicone in it. Very sharp. Not as sharp as our newly sharpened 8" chef's, though. Speaking of which, I sharpened all three knives the other day- seagull, shorty, and chef's. Those are their nicknames!


Also, I got a lemon squisher. I know what you're saying- "Kev, lemon squishers are the things of demon fairy tales!" Well, I bought one. It works pretty good! It'd be tons better with lemons bigger than walnuts, though. Our lemon supplier sucks ...lemons. LOL I CAME UP WITH THAT INSTANTLY!


Also, I got a bell (DINGKING LOL), and two cutting boards. You know when the last time I bought a cutting board intentionally was?

Oh...it was...two years ago...

I was playing The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time.

I remember, right before you get to the maze with guards before Zelda...at this point, my Mom had done some shopping for Father's Day (I told her what to get). We got, for Dad, of course, a cutting board. A wooden cutting board. 21" by 17" I think...not entirely sure. We still have it. The point is, I had been playing Zelda. I was playing Zelda while harboring the gifts in my room. Heh heh heh.

Oh, and a razor. We still have the razor. Why does this apply? Well, two years later, yesterday exactly, I HAVE BOUGHT TWO NEW CUTTING BOARDS!

Some time ago, me and my Granny bought a set of Kitchenaid cutting boards, unintentionally. I didn't go "looking" for cutting boards. They're real nice. Sadly, my family does not appreciate the art of not messing things Kev loves up. They used...they...they used...


"It's OK, Kev. Just point to what they used."

(Kev points slowly to serrated knife)

"OK, Kev. And where did they use this? Show us on the anatomically correct cutting board."
(Kev takes knife, and looks down)
"Kev, it's alright. No one can hurt you here. You're safe. Just show us what they did. Can you do that?"

(Kev, after a few seconds, starts breathing heavily, freaking out, then starts sawing on the cutting board insanely with the knife, screaming without pause, eyes unfocused)
(someone in the audience breaks down crying, the jury looks shocked, the judge calls for order)





...uh, also, I got two new notebooks. My TA notebook is 2/3 of the way full. These ones are twice as big though, I didn't think of that as a problem...but it does pose a few. One, that the pen doesn't fit snugly in the wire binding, two, that it will take 8 months to fill it. And it is hard to hold...too heavy.

Got a few more things, as well. I got a new digital thermometer. The cutting boards are Real Small and Medium Sized, by the way. And I got two packs, one black, one blue, of new BiC Round Stics! As you may know, Round Stics are my favorite kind of pen.


Long post. Now I am off to be torn between playing Star Wars Rogue Leader: Rogue Squadron II, and cleaning the house. I had my parents pick up SWRL:RSII last Wednesday. It was actually cheaper at GameCrazy than Half.com. Go figure.

See Kev See The Eye Doctor

Welcome to the 'MEDIC' tag, for all sorts of illnesses and injuries, replacing both the "Sick" and "Injury" tags.

Yes, I went to get a new pair of glasses. I was going to get contacts, and get new lenses in my current frames (using the contacts until my frames are back), but everyone said "OH NO PLZ LOL" so I just bought new frames. They cost $90.

The lenses brought the cost up to $175. Ouch. My prescription in my left eye changed by 10%, and in my right by 20%. My right eye was a little blurry yesterday, though. I don't think you're supposed to take eye exams when your vision is blurry.

The only thing I can do is pray that they work out. Otherwise, they had better provide a refund. That's, you know, one step away from stealing from me. I told the doctor my vision was a little blurry, so it's not like he didn't know. But...well, you know. What do you do in a case like that?


Also, I had a dream on Thursday that I got shots in my eyes.

That dream proved to be "prophetic."

It was shots of eye drops.


Dropped into my eyes.

It burned. Like lemon juice. Yes, I have gotten lemon juice in my eyes before. When eating some homemade Fish Tacos. I will post the recipe some day.

Then, my pupils dilated. My eyes were so big, I scared myself. I could faintly make out the face of a demon, screaming angrily in my pupil...nah, probably not. Lol, that's impossible. (concerned look)



On the Box Front, dc Talk's album, Free at Last (1992) arrived today. It's totally awesome. Especially the first few songs. It's some sort of freaky hipster stuff. Now that I know it was the fool who sent the Jesus Freak album who messed up, I'll be all over them like a bear on honey.

Prepare for war, you pitiful fools.


Also, the other Left Behind: The Kids book, "Second Chance" came. It's OK so far. I am reading To Hell and Back right now, so it'll have to wait. To Hell and Back is interesting, even if it does have a leaning towards TBNism. I don't know if the doctrine is correct, but that's not the point at the moment. It's informational beyond the main topic of the book, apparently. We'll see.

When It Ships, it Pours

Today, six packages arrived. I could barely carry them. I managed to carry them in one hand- my left hand is injured, due to using a pole-driver yesterday. Steely iron laying in sun + force exerted on hand + shock of metal impacting metal (which my hand cushioned) = very, very sore, sensitive hand. Next time, I'll have my brother do it. The items:


The People Under the Stairs DVD
Left Behind: Apollyon
Left Behind: The Kids: The Vanishings
Live Like a Jesus Freak (bigger than I thought it would be)
These Will Not Be Left Behind (stories of those saved from the fiery pits by reading Left Behind series)


And the album I totally ordered from the rock band Aberdeen City, The Freezing Atla-...wait just a slip-slappin' minute here!

I didn't order an album by Aberdeen City! I order two albums dc Talk! I order, they arrive, I play CD player- everyone happy! Everyone!

To make matters worse, the people I ordered dc Talk albums from are both in California! So this isn't just a badly executed attempt at slapstick humor here, people- this could be a bona fide case of SIBER STOCKING!


This one came from Colorado. I didn't order nothin' from Colorado- the last thing I ordered from Colorado was a pizza, and that was during my rebelling years (5-7 years old), and it was only to give a pizza deliver man trouble. If you're reading this, pizza delivery man (Hank), I am truly sorry. Please forgive me.

The person seems to think it's from eBay, so let's humor the witless dolt and check eBay...... oh no...nothing ordered on eBay...



MOMMY HELP I HAVE A STOCKER

Return of the Dr. BBHitnnaface

Today I went to the doctor again. Some lady suggested I wear a brighter hat, I informed her my hat is reversible, then she suggested a flower pattern hat or a pink hat.

Now, I have no problem with a pink hat, as long as it's bright, bright, near-but-not-electric pink hat. But a flower hat, just wouldn't work right. I mean, when I see someone who has a flower hat, I just think ...I mean, I get this thing in my head that says "beat." I assume it's the same for everybody, and I don't want to incur the wrath of the wrong crazed psycho. You know what I mean?..


The same nurse was there, the one who thinks she has a sound-proof wall of invisibility. Little does she know, it's just two pieces of sliding glass, which have gaps in them allowing us to hear very clearly. She closes it, then proceeds to discuss patient matters.

"Hold on, shh! ...Okay, we can talk sucessfully at this point in time, for my sound-proof wall of invisibility is fully engaged!"
"Yes, that is much good in the matter of things, as we have another escapee!"
"WHa?! again?! Curses! More ties for all of the patients! NO ONE ESCAPES! NO ONE ELSE!"
"We're hunting her down as we speak!"
"GOOD. Now, call me when you find her...and get more restraints for the patients immediately."

You could hear the alarm going off in the background...strange thing is, she was the receptionist, and she was giving the orders. Hm.




The blood test results are back. Clean. No AIDS. That's good news. Not that I was expecting to have AIDS, that is...great, now everyone will think I had a reason to think I might have AIDS! Yeesh!

He says there's nothing wrong with us. Oh man, sorry. I thought I was a Borg there for a minute. You know, how they refer to each other as 'we' and never 'I', so they aren't individuals. So anyways, they won't know what's wrong with me until I end up in the emergency room.

I guess it's called an 'emergency' room, because diseases and stuff 'emerge' in there. Go figure, it makes sense though.

So I will pretty much not be able to sit at a desk. Uhh, still, that is. Curses.

I got up at 4 AM, and I'm tired, so...naturally, I don't want to blog. I couldn't even make any jokes about Dr. BBHitnnaface being a perv, that's how tired I am.


Note the trees around here are in bloom, and today it was cloudy.