Opiates, self-loathing and sit-ups. Wait, screw the sit-ups…
It’s been a rough year. I destroyed my shoulder bodysurfing Pipe last December, got it rebuilt using a dead man’s ligaments and assorted screws. Fought through physical therapy long enough to break my collar bone spearfishing. Sat out two months of life waiting for it to heal and then copped a bone infection that put me put for two more. I’ve got this recovery thing down.
Drugs
Opiates, weed, and booze are your friends. Pop a few Percocet, hit the bong and drown your sorrows. You won’t heal any faster, but life will pass in a blissful stupor. One day you’ll wake up hung over and dope sick because your asshole doctor cut you off from the gravy train and you don’t know any teenagers to score dope from, but that’s a worry for tomorrow. Today you’re riding high in the sky rambling on to your wife about the ASP judging criteria and how they’re obviously inflating scores to create more tension during heats.
Self loathing
This one dovetails nicely with the preceding. Spend hours in front of a mirror, watch your waistline expand and your upper body shrivel. Gaze in awe as your cock shrinks in increments, as your shorts cut deeper and deeper into that sagging pile of shit your call a stomach. You disgusting pile of shit, you should be ashamed of yourself.
Contemplate suicide
Don’t do it. Offing yourself is for fucking losers and pussies. But think about how you’d do it, should you ever turn into such a sad sack piece of shit that you can’t think of any better option than flipping the off switch and joining the void. Would you don black face and drive around running stop signs in LA? Swallow the balance of that bottle of benzos and chase it with half a bottle of gin? Go old school and kick out a chair while wearing an extension cord necktie? So many choices, but how to choose?
Alienate your loved ones
Fuck ’em anyway. What do they know about what you’re going through. You’re the only person who’s ever suffered this much in the history of humanity. Your wife’s a selfish bitch. Who cares what she cooks for dinner? Why can’t she just leave you the fuck alone. Throw a chair at her, call her fat, tell her she’s the biggest mistake you ever made. If you’ve gotta feel this bad, make everyone around you share the pain.
Do sit-ups
Nah, fuck that. Play video games. Go online and write racist messages on youtube. Wallow in your own despair until it fills your gut and spills out every orifice you have. Call an old lady a faggot. Fuck this world and everyone in it.
the last two sentences were literary gold. its as if it was written by the gods..
“Go online and write racist messages on youtube” – don’t you mean Stab? Say, does Percocet give you delusions of latin-ness?
are you all running a best of “Rory whining”
now?
I prefer the – “man, id be surfing so much better if it wasnt for this (insert vague and relatively painless injury here)”
I’m no waterman, but how the hell do you break your collar bone spearfishing? Were you spearfishing on a mountain bike?
I’m getting bored of repeats, just do what ever you have to do to bring the lovable deviate back.
What do you do with a minor injury that you keep surfing on and won’t go away?
off yourself
Prosthetics? I’d say that missing your limbs is a bit worse than “minor” Ol’ Jacky Boy!
Well I don’t want to complain like some of the writers here.
xoxo
You are a valiant canine Jack…I hope your owner provides you with the appropriate amount of doggy biscuits for your stoic attitude!
sounds good, now just have to get hurt.