Everybody always says they can never keep track of what the fuck I\’m sick with. The different doctors, the medications, the treatments — hell, my own parents don\’t know, even my own doctors can\’t keep them straight. I don\’t blame you.

Filling out the online forms for gimpfare again today for the third time. This time, I figured I\’d take a screen shot. It took me a full hour to find a way to fit almost everything into the ten provided lines. There were a few that I still had to leave out.

\"Big

Hunter S. Thompson, you chickenshit! I\’ve been incontinent far longer than you and I\’m still sucking it up, asshole. Sure, my pants are wet and not from pleasure. No, I can\’t go on crazy intoxication binges in the name of purity. But you know what? There\’s something a hell of a lot more pure (to me) about being fucked up because you are fucked up, instead of needing to track down your contact and drop X amount of cash on brain cell destroying substances. I hallucinate, can\’t walk a straight line, and my brain cells are dying faster than your teeth went through the back of your head, wimp, and it\’s all from my own neuro-chemistry. Beat that, champ.

Gah. What with Samuel Alito\’s nomination and all, some days it really doesn\’t seem worth falling off the mattress or changing into clean underwear.