I have shingles. If you haven’t enjoyed this little celebration of “hey, you’re old and your immune system now sucks,” take a magic marker and draw a line, head to toe, down the center of your body. Now pick a side—either one will do. Into the selected side, drive roughly 200 panel nails. Spread them around nicely. Good and deep, please. Got that? Now squirt on a heapin’ helpin’ of charcoal grill starting fluid and set the whole thing on fire. There. That’s almost shingles.
However, I know that shingles only go up to 8 on the pain scale. How do I know? Because the week before I had shingles, I had a kidney stone for the second time in my life. Kidney stones define the top of the scale. In fact, kidney stones generate a sort of transdimensional pain warp that rips apart normal space and rational thought, leaving behind only questions like “why the hell are there so many nerves in my kidney when there is absolutely nothing I can do about this?” and “who is responsible for this hideous design flaw?”
Both of these joyful little afflictions set in while I was helping take care of my mother-in-law who is in the hospital, and they immediately followed a frantic month in which I was hurling everything I owned into boxes for an exhausting and frustrating move. Oh, and my water company stiffed me for the $4000 they were supposed to contribute to fixing the street, leaving me with the bill. Thanks, guys. I needed that so much right now.
All of which means a couple of things.
First, you shouldn’t stand too close to me. Though the expert Republican voodoo economists currently driving Trump campaign pins into my wax likeness have clearly gotten their act down, there is no way to know the exact blast radius. Best to just stay clear.
Second, as I’ve said too many weeks lately, this APR may be shorter than usual. Because, really, the only thing I want to write starts with Arrr and ends with ghhhhh. But come on in, let’s pundit.
from Daily Kos http://ift.tt/2optUC9
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