Thursday, August 03, 2006

Poetry Friday “Word”, Plus “Oy, Me Head”

Because of my own slothfulness, and other factors beyond my control (wait, why do I picture John Malkovich Malkovich Malkovich saying that line?), I haven’t got my butt in gear to ask one of you beautiful people, out there in the dark, if you’d provide the word. Maybe I need a sign-up sheet or something…? Anyway, tomorrow’s Poetry Friday word is easy, because so many of you have HAD one recently, and show photos of them, and make me long for one of my own. (A penis, sure, but that’s not the word.) The word is: VACATION. Yeah, you know you want it, baby, and ya want it bad. So tomorrow, if you so desire, please feel free to incorporate that word in your blog post in whatever fashion clears your sinuses…poem, photo, dishy re-telling of that little hottie you scoped out, audio post of same….

I think someone is poisoning me, and I think his name is Crimson Permanent Assurance. Yesterday and today my body is telling me something is WRONG, in a crampy all-over sorta headachy, pulled muscle/heart attack way, and then I pulled out my planner and…voila!...indeed, the Big Red Ship is due to sail any day. Jeebus, why do I always badmouth my period? Because it SUX, that’s why. Hell, if I got hit by a Schwann’s ice-cream-and-frozen-meats truck it wouldn’t feel this bad. At least then I’d have popsicles.

Does this scare anyone else besides me? The thought of the government having total access to the medical records of all us lov’ly Mercans? I don’t know about you, but I’d rather the President and my congresspersons NOT know about my past, the blood tests I’ve had, and the clear possibility that somewhere, some doctor has written on my chart, “Healthy, flirts like a ho”. All the gub’min would have to do is, well, you know how a spreadsheet works, right? Select a column and sort? What if they sorted by, say, Diabetes, and then told my grandma that if her grocery store receipts (which I’m sure are already out there in the ether for someone to look at) show purchases of sugary snacks, they’ll increase her insurance premiums (again, data in the ether)? Really, do people with herpes want that data made available to anyone who can hack into the giant sucking government database? People with superfluous third nipples? Men on Viagra? Prehensile tails? Ass-cheek implants? Really, now, we don’t need a database for that. That’s what tabloids are for.


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