Farewells are a beautiful thing, and while people and music might initially come to mind when thinking of such, toddlers grabbing each other by the crotch and me screaming hysterically (while realizing that I’m definitely NOT too proud for adult diapers) probably comes as slightly more of a surprise.

I say slightly because if you’ve been following along at home, you’ll know that our hero has the same level of ability to attract misfortune as battery acid has to give you heartburn or at the very least make your tea taste somewhat unpleasant.

It’s difficult, and potentially unlawful, to explain how I know this from experience.

B-BACK TO OUR POINT. Considering this fact, it isn’t really all that surprising that when I was invited to see off a friend (Derick/Deri-kun – who a whopping 0% of you may remember from my INTENSE, AND RIVETING paintball episode where I dealt death, destruction and diarrhea upon my enemies!) more than a little trouble found its way to me.

The trouble began with our journey to the actual venue. D-chan, being the hopeless romantic he is, picked me up at 7 when he understood that epilepsy (and general incompetence) prevented me from driving and it was only then I found out our original destination was abruptly changed from the high class dining establishment known as “Hooters” (apparently famous for its owl population) to a worldcupfanparkthingy. The cells in my body that like sport vibrated with joy immeasurable!

Yes, all zero of them.

Then there was the actual WALKING in the mall. Degrading as my health has been, walking at a normal pace has become considerably difficult and there were MANY times D-chan would TELEPORT 20 meters into the distance only for me to sort of collapse my body in his direction hoping it would catch up. This climaxed when at one point when I attempted my cunning method of gravity-utilization, I found myself HURTLING into a pair of attractive girls roughly my age. Thankfully my innate agility kicked in however and I slipped centimeters past them only to hear cries of “WOW! Ha….ha…haha…” from behind as I pretended to casually carry on walking.

The location, only mildly obstructed by the back of D-chan's skull and my own inability to take photographs.

After arriving I witnessed a sight of strangeness beyond. The fanpark big-screen tv had decided that while we wait for the game it would display two children. Two children doing some sort of cute dance. Some sort of cute dance that involved them rubbing each others crotch as they did the closest thing to break dancing you’d expect from a 3 year old.

At this point the volume (and vuvuzelas) had become rather deafening so I unleashed my master plan. Unfortunately two sugar sachets were sacrificed during its realization.

Exhibit A(sshat) here displays the aforementioned (and emptied) sachet stuffed into my eary orifice.

Scary and shameful things I actually do in public aside, there is one more little event worth mentioning and that would be the CAR TRIP OF DOoOooM. Indeed I did the “man” thing and pretended to go along and care as everyone went to “check out” the one guy’s “hot ride”. This didn’t end with me just going “Oooh thems sum err…r-ribs-ri-rims you got there brudda!” as planned but instead with us all taking a little trip in his car. A TRIP WHICH CONSISTED OF SPEEDS NOT FIT FOR THE MORTAL REALM! I screamed, I came, I yelled for gods which I’ve not even made up yet and in the end my testicles retracted into a place I don’t think they’ll ever emerge from again.

Oddly enough, photos taken at the speed of pantshittetry do not always come out clearly.

Other than that it was pretty much me playing tower defense games on my cell phone while occasionally pretending to be excited when Germany scored and reeling in pain when the HUMAN-vuvuzela behind me would yell for Uruguay.

P.S.

As you may have taken from the entry, health has NOT been happymcfunpants. Second meds equaled second allergy and a second full body rash even larger than the first. Am now MEDLESS as I await a lumbar puncture and my neurologist’s eventual idea of what meds might actually NOT kill me.

P.P.S.

Just to get it out of the way before the “season” ends, I made this AWESOME INVENTION. Of course no one actually agrees with me that it is awesome but I suspect that’s because they’re completely awe-struck and haven’t been able to formulate words properly since seeing it.

To potential sponsors – the final product will likely expand as you blow it, thus leading people in stadiums to smack each other in the fac- I mean look like beautiful flowers blossoming!

As sure as shit falls from the sky, it appears I’ve actually produced a new comic……and if you’re so mentally inclined to want to see it, motivate your clicking functions over to the picture below.

Now though I must *stress* that I can’t guarantee what/when/if there’ll be anymore to follow given my recent track record for such things (and my progressive neurological degradation that has not been “playing nice” in the least) but what I can say is that I’ve at least written out several to hopefully (and oh so eventually) follow.

P.S.

Fun fact: This particular comic is based off of a true story/experience.

There are both profoundly good and profoundly bad things you can find forming across your body at any given time. While a good thing would be anyone daft enough to sleep with me, the opposite, a large body wide rash decided it was a jolly good idea to appear instead.

Of course I am not cruel enough to post pictures and send the general female populace into a mating frenzy like the last time (although you will need to read the word “mating” as “vomiting”) I dared share photographic evidence of my existence, but do allow me the mercy of discussing this event textually. If need be you may send me any video clips of feverish masturbation that occurred as a result (or vomiting as we already mentioned, as that would probably appeal to one of my fetishes I’m yet to discover) and I’ll make sure to give myself a right and dandy thrashing about while watching them to help calm things down.

No one ever sends videos.

Well………….no one without a penis at least.

SO MY RASH, I named him Peter. Peter’s a nice name for a rash, not really a nice name for a person but a pretty good name for a rash. Most Peters are assholes………or rashes, which is probably why it’s not a good name for a person.

For those of you still clinging on to hope for a single sembling piece of logical progression in this entry: Peter’s existence came into being when I turned hypersensitive to my anti-convulsant medication and entered a state of dangerous perpetual delirium already proven by the contents of this entry several times over.

Without mulling over many of the details about how I looked death in the eye, squinted a wee bit and showed it I meant business via my ever vigilant incontinence, I will say that I’m now on new slightlylesslikelytomurdermeinmysleep-medication while I wait to see how that plays out and we consider if I need to take things any further (that is, me having a lumbar puncture and even more delightfully unpleasant tests to determine my supreme level of neurological dysfunction).

On the positive side though the Neurologist is pretty sure that my form of Epilepsy is the Temporal Lobe kind (which granted IS one of the worst kinds but wait for the good news) which means I need not fear games or anime as it isn’t a reflexive epilepsy whatsoever but rather a “justfarkyouupwheneveritwants” sort. This does however mean my recent desperate delve into the land of eroge gaming as an emergency alternative is slightly less………..excusable.

(Although really when you consider how the games train real life decision making skills and full motion kiss control I’m sure you’ll all be overwhelmed by a sense of envy. No no it just FEELS like pity, but I assure you……..you’re feeling envy)

P.S.

The sad thing is I took those screenshots myself.

P.P.S.

The even sadder thing is I only got a PICNIC at the end of that game. A GOD DAMN PICNIC AND AN ACCIDENTAL HAND HOLD.

EVEN IN EROGE I DIE A VIRGIN.

[EDIT] Because of some reason he’s unexplained to me via a serious of extremely informative ….’s, the account this was hosted on is now closed and the video is DEAD.[/EDIT]

Contrary to what many of you may be rightfully accustomed to at this point, this is going to be slightly less of a long drawn out bitch session and slightly more an exercise in presenting ACTUAL CONTENT for a change.

The “content” in question is in a form unique even to I. It’s a (utterly RETARDED) flash animation my arty cohort Yashad recently began which I somehow ended up contributing to not only a fair portion of the characters and script but also the majority of the horrendous voice acting.

Indeed the wonderfully racist Chinese voice, the half-assed flea voice and the rightfully disgraceful German-Russian crossbreed you hear are all me.

I also make a brief appearance as a theme song and a particularly sexy Duck.

When trying to describe what exactly it is (and by now you should have actually watched it…….and thoroughly regret doing so) words fail me more than high school physics did, but I am strangely proud (and equally embarrassed) of the beasty-yeasty. (Although I will admit I’m only responsible for about 30% of the piece and oddly enough even I wasn’t allowed to see it till it was done)

P.S.

A “Dromedary” is apparently some sort of deformed camel, I mention this for those who, like me, had no idea what the bloody hell it was.

P.P.S.

This almost divinely perverse entry title was initially being saved for the eventual “Lost my virginity” post but considering we all know THAT’S NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN I thought I’d rather just get it out there now.

Hospitalization, much like vaginal discharge, is a lot more fun when it’s happening to someone else. Now now don’t get me wrong, my imaginary vagina hasn’t started doing its “Farrah Fawcett” impersonation (oh the punage!) but rather it’s the hospitalization bit that seems to have suddenly dragged me by the short and curlies.

Now some may remember my RIVETING tale (6) years ago about my last overnight hospitalization stay during which highlights such as me writing a heartfelt ode to my Intravenous Infusion Machine titled “IV and Me” and having a somewhat dead-end argument with a vending machine transpired. This time however I was denied my fluidy companion but instead granted a new comrade, companion, ally in medical malice! I was granted an EEG machine super glued to a hundred spots around what is vaguely considered to be my brain.

I should probably stop getting (off) ahead of myself and actually do what a good writer (an oxymoron of note) does, explain the premise for this whole little dastardly situation.

As those of us who’ve paid attention in class might know, I’m generally about as sickly as wheat cropping tools (a pun no one should rightfully catch but I’m putting it in that sentence anyway since it makes me giggle like a bi-curious schoolgirl) and have spent the last 8 years unsuccessfully trying to figure out just what the buggermcbuggerpants is precisely wrong with me.

I’ve had more blood tests than a white cell college, organs removed “just in case” and more colonoscopies than successful relationships………..all to little avail…….until recently that is.

Indeed I finally had the fortune of meeting a doctor who had less of an interest in getting his head up my ass, and more of one in finding out what exactly was wrong with me, and less than a day later I found myself booked into hospital for the already mentioned EEG.

During hospital stays there are a few…….issues……..that usually spring to life, the worst of which usually being the people I have the displeasure of sharing my ward with. This time wasn’t an exception of course, as I stayed with characters ranging from a Malawian Bishop with diabetes who’d occasionally scream “OH LORD FORGIVE ME” for no reason other than to instigate my bowel movements, all the way to a 94 year old man who said he “feared for this generation” as he spotted me watching Prince of Tennis episodes on my laptop like the badassmofo I am.

Although I am at a bit of an impasse as to whether that was truly the *worst* of the issues as waking up 7 times during the night only to argue with ward nurses about turning on the air conditioner and then having to pee half sitting into a bottle all the while making sure I don’t rip out the EEG cabling………….well let’s just say I’m not exactly going to put that on my FUN TIMES IN FUN-LAND list any time soon.

As for the end result? Turns out I have epilepsy, though not in a form most understand. While most think epileptics to be full body parkinson-syndrome impersonators, the truth is in some cases (and evidently mine) people can have extremely frequent “partial seizures” which while not noticeable, usually leave the receiver dizzy, delirious and more fatigued than my audiences ability to laugh at bad jokes. (Which is a large reason why this update has taken so long to write)

That said, I’m slowly being medicated and *should* be a large deal more human within 6 weeks or so. My only remaining geeky fear is what I’ll be told I can and cannot watch during my eventual neurologist appointment but even that remains speculation at this point as I’m not even sure which “type” (Temporal lobe, Photosensitive, etc…) of epilepsy I have yet and have simply classified it as “Not very nice” in the interim.

P.S.

As mentioned, I am quite mentally inept as of late and considering the entire room is spinning as I type this………I would encourage forgiveness for the even more frequent typos and terrible attempts at humour.