much of the last two days has been climbing over snowbanks, earning salt stains on my black cords and showing my tits to strangers and friends alike. the snow underfoot is like creamed sugar and butter, just after adding a capful of vanilla. lucky for me i'm able-bodied and altho often concerned for the well-being of my sketchy over-extending hips, i found trampling thru grand mounds of snow a challenge, especially when done with both swift mind and body. nobody with much extra weight, much less flexibility and without the normal use of their legs, with a baby carriage or carrying awkward packages or moving a halogen lamp and a nightstand in a grocery cart could nagivate this city's sidewalks. why? not because we didn't shovel a clear meter-wide path, but because some lazy mofos didn't bother to shovel at all, and because everyone at the end of a street decided to be a greedy jerk and not shovel a path to the street, therefore requiring the pedestrian to mount a sidewalk with random footholes and slide down into the street. ne pas safe. know who else should've shovelled? the fucking army. you'd think that shovelling around the perimeter of their monolithic headquarters would be perfect punishment. sargeant says, "officer barrett, you've been a whiny mama's boy today. either go home and suck on your mama's titties or get the FUCK outside and shovel the perimeter of this building before i kick your ass from here to dartmouth. i don't care if it takes you all day. jamieson, conrad-- you go help him. you've been useless pussies too. move! move! move!" or something like that. nope. the building's enormous and not having the sidwalk shovelled is a huge inconvenience for us maynards, north parks and cunards. such resources yet such weak effort.
so yesterday i had an appointment with a plastic surgeon. i walked into the appointment excpecting he suggest i get a little taken off my left breast, but no. my lovely oldschool dermatologist was a little concerned about some of my nevi (derm term for potentially wonky moles) so sent me to the plastic surgeon whose waiting room i sat in for two christly hours while reading about ancient indian medicine while the rest of the wankers in the filled-to-capacity waiting room stared in silence at the walls, asked their wives for parking money or wore hideous pajama pants. the best thing about the two-hour wait to see the doctor was that he wasn't a cock or a hack, but an good fella instead. he was chipper, cheery and primed as a prostitute to see my beauty mark-covered flesh. at the sight of each one, a different excited sound poured from his lips. he was visibly excited. it instilled me with hope that someone as overworked as he was still so passionate about skin abnormalities. "you're a dermatologist's dream," he told me as him and the intern examined my chest, back and arms for potential sites of surgery. as a team, we decided i'd have a mole on my back removed, just in case. depending on the results of the biopsy, we'll decide whether to excise the spot touching the areola of my left breast. c h r i s t p a i n n o o w.
i offered my breasts to the frigid elements today in order to make them look temporarily awesomer during a steamy bath. nothing does my breasts like the atlantic ocean. not even a nova scotia winter.
so yesterday i had an appointment with a plastic surgeon. i walked into the appointment excpecting he suggest i get a little taken off my left breast, but no. my lovely oldschool dermatologist was a little concerned about some of my nevi (derm term for potentially wonky moles) so sent me to the plastic surgeon whose waiting room i sat in for two christly hours while reading about ancient indian medicine while the rest of the wankers in the filled-to-capacity waiting room stared in silence at the walls, asked their wives for parking money or wore hideous pajama pants. the best thing about the two-hour wait to see the doctor was that he wasn't a cock or a hack, but an good fella instead. he was chipper, cheery and primed as a prostitute to see my beauty mark-covered flesh. at the sight of each one, a different excited sound poured from his lips. he was visibly excited. it instilled me with hope that someone as overworked as he was still so passionate about skin abnormalities. "you're a dermatologist's dream," he told me as him and the intern examined my chest, back and arms for potential sites of surgery. as a team, we decided i'd have a mole on my back removed, just in case. depending on the results of the biopsy, we'll decide whether to excise the spot touching the areola of my left breast. c h r i s t p a i n n o o w.
i offered my breasts to the frigid elements today in order to make them look temporarily awesomer during a steamy bath. nothing does my breasts like the atlantic ocean. not even a nova scotia winter.
4 comments:
the snowbanks are definately not pretty small. i'm sorry i yanked your left areola to your chin this summer. but mama always says.....
You deserve an award for 'primed as a prostitute'. But who are Barrett, Jamieson and Conrad? Pussies, no doubt.
The army was actually doing winter camping exercises on the commons the other day, right on the edge of the pre-shoveled pathways. Good practise if we ever go to war against the squirrels in Point P.
indeed, the army's full of useful exercises such as two weeks ago when they practised snowshoe exercises on grassy grounds, knowing full well that we'd have umpteen more snowstorms. it was amazing tho, watching them push each other down. they looked so pathetic lying on the grass in tall white boots and snowshoes.
"huge inconvenience for us maynards, north parks and cunards"
Try living on Armoury Place. It NEVER got plowed. I guess the city doesn't consider it a street and the people that live there either can't drive in the winter or can't have guests that do.
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