V-Day +5 The Wild Westicles

In the midst of my umm.... absence of wisdom, I bravely (but foolishly) fronted up at my brother's house today, tooting the horn once or twice to alert him to my presence. As is always the case, Tom greeted me with his usual enthusiasm. The road was long and bumpy (as I have already mentioned in my last post), but what was curiously difficult about the morning drive was my inability to sit in a comfortable position- thank God for cruise control though. I was quite embarrassed after dropping Tom off... I headed for the courier's depot, (he was giggling all the way there I think) I realised then that I might have to lift something if I did. My manbits flinched violently as if in protest and so thinking better of it, drove right on by. They were sore enough without me straining to the point of popping one out of it's socket (if thats possible). If you've ever watched one of those D grade haunted house movies where they just don't see the warning signs... You know when they step in through the door and that spooky voice clearly whispers "GET OUT." Even when the cutlery starts flying through the air, they just dumbly look on in disbelief. Yeah well that was kinda me this morning. -Only the ghosts were pains in my lower abdomen and the cutlery flying around were my testicles: painfully jumping about with every bump and pot hole. But still I persisted... pressing on like some marathon runner; some man possessed... I paid no heed to the warnings, ignoring the signs and with no pain killers this morning, was rapidly growing very sore.

Stepping out of the car (like a modern day cowboy dismounting from his trusty steed), I did my bow legged dance to the door of my work. I should have had chaps and two six shooters at my hips. If Gayle was a bartender, I would have slapped some coin on the counter for a whiskey... And as it slid down the long, varnished bar top, I would have struck a match and lit the cigarette that stuck to my parched lips just in time for me to extend my hand, catching that triple shot just in time before it smashed on the dusty wooden floor.

All the time I was at work, (not being able to escape the reality of the fact that this was no saloon, and Gayle was not polishing shot glasses: nor was Phil the local law man trying to bust my arse as I sometimes suspect him to be ;)) I could only wonder what on earth it was that posessed me to come here in the first place. So a quick conversation with my co-worker Gayle and my boss Phil, saw me packing my bag (yes, including that one) into the car and heading for home again. Like a whipped dog, tail between my legs (figuratively speaking) I was back out those saloon doors faster than you could say 'happy hour!'

Enduring those pot holes and bumps for the second agonising time today was worth it however... About an hour later I was slipping into a soothing bath of salts... Mmmmmmm. Temporary relief is better than none I say. Wyatt Earp - eat ya heart out baby!