My World of Parkinsonian Delights

Lamentations of a Pork Glutton

Disjointed thoughts on the day after a pork rib feast.

My back hurts.

My brain feels like the blood vessels are packed with meat from yesterday’s pork rib gluttony.

I’m logy, foggy, apathetic and unfocused.  Even moreso than usual.  I blame the pork.

I think I’m sweating meat juices.

I would be perfectly comfortable sitting here all day staring at a blank computer screen.

I think I really, really need to go poo-poo, but the meat seems to be blocking progress down there.

My sister Becki teased me with the thought of frozen custard.  Now I want some.  But there are a total of two frozen custard joints in the DC area.  Bastards.

New rule.  No more scotch, less wine.

I’m out of cigars.

Gluttony is one of the “Seven Deadly Sins.”  The others are Wrath, Greed, Sloth, Pride, Doc, Grumpy and Dopey.

In a few minutes, Gail will ask me what I want for lunch.  I’m still full from last night.  But if I don’t eat something, the pill I have to take at 11 is gonna make me sick to my stomach.

Maybe a cheeseburger would push everything through?

If Raven doesn’t stop barking every time a car drives down our street, I shall become very cross with her.

I ate way too much pork yesterday.  Delicious, life-giving pork.  Juicy, tender ribs.  Blessed be the pigs that gave of themselves for this feast.

When I open the new fridge door from my seat here, my sodas and iced tea are right at arm level.  Sweet.

I’m walkin’ slow, talkin’ slow and thinkin’ slow.  Even then, I feel I am overqualified to be governor of Alaska.

I think the ventricles in my brain are filled with pork fat.

When I finally do break through this constipation, it’s gonna hurt.  And there will be blood.

Gail just asked what I wanted for lunch.  I settled on Wendy’s burger and a Frosty.  Take that, pork!

God, I love pork.  Breathes there a soul so dead that it would not spring to life at the smell of grilled, smoked pig?  I say not.

I’d be a terrible Jew or Muslim… or any other kind of religion in which God would tell me to leave the pork alone.

If they ever find a cure for my Parkinson’s disease, I hope there’s pork involved.  But even if there isn’t, a cure would still be a good thing.

I seem to be rambling.  I blame the pork.

Mmmm.  Pork.

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