In Which Nursepeenee Considers Rectal Thermometers for Everyone

I am surrounded by the diseased and the sickly.  Everyone I speak to these days has some emergency room trip or doctor visit or just puny ass malady to recount. It is only my saintly disposition that keeps me from running in the opposite direction and sealing my front door against them.

Diane von Austinburg, as I mentioned last week, face planted outside of theater and busted her forehead open.  She then spent several hours in a "minor ER" (which I don't understand, in my mind it's either an emergency room or it's not.) Anyway, she got stitched up and sent me a very dramatic picture of her great big old black eye which I am not sharing because of my great love for her.

I did offer to send one of my groovy Day of the Dead bandaids, but she declined, which indicates head trauma to me, but whatever.  She also kept mentioning to the ER guys and to subsequent doctor visits that her arm hurt, but everyone's sort of brushed that off in favor of the busted open head wound.  Finally, they discovered she had a minor fracture of her elbow.  She now swears that she will be all better by the time it's time for us to wing off to Europe.

Next let us turn our attention to poor little Secret Agent Fred.  Fred has been through it with his bladder cancer.  His chemo has given him anemia which left him flattened with exhaustion, but recently he got a blood transfusion and that helped immensely.  Helped so much that last night we actually went out for drinks and dinner.  Woo hoo, like two big city fancy poofs.  We were talking about his life with the big c and he mentioned that except for 2 months in the fall of 2022 and then a couple of months this past winter, he has been on chemotherapy non-stop for the last 2 years.  Oy.

And our Chaturbate buddy Brainiac was knocked on his ass by COVID at the end of February which then morphed into a sinus infection leaving him snotty and sick. Poor thing.  He has enough on his plate running a feral cat colony in his backyard.  Thoughts and prayers, baby.

Lastly, speaking of Chaturbate, everybody's favorite model, Mikey, has been dealing with some weird pinched nerve neck ache for weeks.  His chiropractor is only able to deliver short-term relief and recently assured him "Oh well that's just what happens with your neck." The fuck you say.

It just makes me appreciate how little I deserve my robust good health.  Whenever I have to break in a new doctor, the chats we have as kind of a intake always turn towards all the sexually transmitted miscellaney I have collected over the years.  Their eyes tend to get an alarmed look in them as the list grows sort of significantly long.  And yet, here I am sound as a sound horse.  Go figure.

Healthy dudes:

I have a real weakness for pretty blue-eyed blondes.

Although I wouldn't say no to a chunk of dark beefcake.

The weather here abouts has turned absolutely balmy, if not warm enough for al fresco showers.

 

Buttchops of the world.

All the world loves a big ol' veiny dick.

I hate being out on boats, but if I had to be at sea, a well appointed cabin with a well appointed cabin boy would be appreciated.

This week is all about ass, ass, ass.

The end.

In Which We Consider Catarrh and Possible Cannibalism

 

So when I got back from Houston a couple of weeks ago I had a raspy sore throat that has since morphed into a juicy little cough that will not go away.  In the past, whenever I have spoken to a doctor about some cough, they always ask, in the most delicate manner possible, if it is "productive" which is a refined way of referring to snot.  I could describe this one in detail, but let's just move on.

Houston is a semi-tropical swamp and so the mildew and spores and flora floating around in the air there are pretty spectacular.  Since I grew up with all of them, I had always assumed I was somewhat immune, but it appears having been gone so long means I have relapsed.  This current fuss feels like I have moss growing in my lungs. I don't feel bad, no fever, just a say-something croup that demands attention.  It's the kind of cough that makes you wish you had waited for the other elevator when your fellow passenger breaks out with it.

Anyway.

I mentioned before that I will occasionally take it on myself to organize the package closet downstairs in the lobby.  No one asked me to do it, but taking on the giant moraine of Amazon flotsam and jetsam that piles up there everyday just appeals to my OCD.  I like the sense of having tidied up something.

Last night I was digging through the current mess and ran across a box marked "nutritional supplements." It's San Francisco, of course some people here are not willing to simply eat food.  What I was struck by, though, was the name of the company manufacturing it: Soylent.  SOYLENT.  I can't decide if their marketing team is genius or idiotic.  Anyway since I had my marker out printing apartment numbers on the deliveries, I felt moved to add my comment:

Wouldn't you?

Guys who are deliciously people:

Spooky pussy.

Neil, from the aptly named porn geniuses Paragon Men.

Peek a boo, I see you.

Amazingly, I forget this guy's name.  That is just rank ingratitude.

Like the song says, "Everybody oughta have a maid...."

I haven't featured a cowboy in  a while and since I was complaining about Houston, it seemed appropriate.

Kissy face.

Presenting the charming Angelo Ruslan.

And the always welcome Philippe Soulier.