Ow! [Oct 18, 2002]
I dearly apologize for the lateness of today's blog. Last night was largely spent in the emergency room for infuriating reasons, which I will elucidate below. As "The Ring" shows us, technology, our savior, will destroy us all. Or maybe sometimes we just want to be scared.
As you know, I recently threw my PC into Puget Sound and switched to a Mac, which I simply loved because of its easy graphic interface and its infinite portability. My blogs have grown far more lucid since I began using Old Crappy, which I named after my mentor at Oxbridge, Sir Francis Crapshoot. Last night, I was merrily blogging away, providing conclusive proof that the Clinton Administration provided Pakistan with weapons-grade plutonium, all the while giving backrubs to North Korean diplomats. Then I found an amazing Al Gore quote from 1994 that I planned to deploy as conclusive proof that the Democrats hate America and that George Bush, far from being our President, is actually Jesus Christ, or at least a Christ-like figure, ascendant in the west.
Well, my blogging was going so well, my leaps of deduction so brilliant, that I got horny. Fortunately, Old Crappy has a built-in expandable penis port. Mmm. Thought I'd give it a try. I dropped my pants, straddled the desk, and stuck it in. Immediately, Old Crappy began to vibrate. I gripped the sides of the desk and moaned. It took all my energy to click on the optional $99 teabagging button. Ohhhhhhh. Godddddddd.
The phone rang. Shit! I looked at the caller ID. The New York Times. At last, they were calling to apologize for ignoring me. It's about time that Stalinist paper displayed some diversity of opinion. They would probably even up my word rate.
Without removing my penis from the penis port, I answered the phone, "I'm calling from the New York Times," said a voice.
"Yes?" I said.
"I see you only have Sunday delivery. We're offering a discounted daily rate..."
I hung up. How dare a left-wing telemarketer interrupt what was proving to be a groundbreaking session of autoeroticism? Well, shit, I wasn't in the mood anymore, and Hannity & Colmes was going to be on soon. I hit the Eject button. Nothing.
Again, I tried ejecting, this time simultaneously pulling on my penis with my other hand. Still nothing. Goddamn! I tried a couple more times. Nope.
I called customer support.
"My penis is stuck in the penis port!" I said.
A few minutes of laughter ensued on the other end
"Can you, snort snort, sniff, gzzzsnork, bring it into the dealer?"
"Of course not!" I said. "I can't drive with my dick in a computer!"
"BWAH-HAH-HAH-HAH-HAH! Sorry, snort, snort. We'll send someone to your house."
About an hour later, the doorbell rang. I had Roger answer it. The tech guy came into my office, saw me standing over my desk, and burst out laughing.
"Quit it," I said.
"Sorry," he said.
"We need to find some lube."
He grabbed a bottle on a shelf next to my desk and squirted it into the port.
"Does that loosen things up?" he said.
I looked at the bottle. He'd picked up my Minty-Fresh Testostogrease. Goddamn it! Within minutes, I was going to be huge.
"We have to get this out, now!" I said. "You don't know what this stuff does to me! I...I...will engorge!"
Our best efforts led to nothing, and soon I hugified. The problem grew worse. I write this from my hospital bed. My computer was removed after a five-hour surgery. Let's just say I won't be teabagging for a while. I'll have to channel my sexual energy into my writing.
And I'm switching back to a PC.