Hello,
I was on The Pot last week, reading an article in my wife Shirley’s Cosmopolitan about a posh woman who overcame her fear of stretch marks by setting up www.stretchmarkmums.com. Now politicians are desperate to appear on the site because women with stretch marks are a key demographic.
Downstairs, Shirl cranked up the radio as Eric Carmen’s, “All By Myself” was being played. It’s one of her favourites.
As one lump turned to two, I listened to Eric’s lament. This got me thinking.
When I think I get a nose bleed.
I tore off a couple of sheets and stuck them up me hooter. Job done.
As a failsafe I also stopped thinking.
The radio advertised cheap tadpoles and then a minute later expensive toads. As I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t connect the two. Amphibians or a nosebleed? No brainer.
Next up was a god awful slice of pap I hadn’t heard in years. “Hip To Be Square,” By Huey Lewis And The News.
Like thinking, Huey Lewis And The News gives me a spontaneous nose bleed the second I hear their aimless prattle. Soon enough I was spraying platelets like a good ‘un.
I asked Shirl to turn the radio down. She couldn’t hear me. So I shuffled – with pants and jeans around me ankles – to the top of the stairs to tell her.
Why I fell I have no idea, probably loss of blood and standing up too quickly.
The paramedics found blood spattered Bob in a pile on the last step. There was a large skidmark running down the stairs. Carpet burn on the anus is no fun I can tell you.
Shirley whistled “Stuck With You” as I was wheeled out of On The Pot Towers. I needed seven pints of the old Rhesus negative by the time I got to the hospital.
Laters.
Bob
