The Tale Of Sir Ouchalot

Naughty sun, being all warm and bright and Springy, making me feel like I’m wasting the day if I lie in bed with my ouchy body so I get up, make with the body washing and put myself in town. Oh oh, ouchy body still very ouchy and now I don’t have my bed with me to turn to for sympathy and understanding.

This may be a day of fail. Yet I have put myself in town so not total fail. Not epic fail, which is when Lancelot and Guinevere accidentally forget not to shag one another and betray Arthur. Not garbage pail, which rhymes but is americanist and I live in English so it doesn’t apply. Not anything else fail as I can’t be bothered to think anything else fail up.

This is how I distract myself from ouchy. It isn’t always successful and at times I even annoy myself but what’s a disabled to do when they hate their infirmities but like being alive enough to want to carry on with living? He or she mutters weird shit to himself or herself in his or her blog and hopes the nutcase police don’t read the blog and lock him or her up for being a fruitcake.

About S

“an extraordinary repository of cultural knowledge”
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