Aussie women do it like dingoes

The following is a quote I included in my last post regarding my sorry situation. Following it are questions from my readers, which I have ever so thoughtfully answered.

“At an advanced stage of the illness, all patients develop significant psychiatric problems and narcotic dependency, and are left completely incapacitated. Some commit suicide.”

Reader one wants to know: Which of these things are you looking forward to most?

My response: I’ve always heard that there are no dumb questions, but you’re skirting the cliff edge. You might as well ask kids at a birthday party to choose between cake and ice cream.

Reader two asks: How will we be able to tell when you develop psychiatric problems—you already act pretty weird?

My response: If you’re normal, and you go crazy, people can tell it pretty easily. If you’re crazy and you go crazy, the two crazies cancel one another out, and you become normal. But, if you add another crazy to the two you already have, you’re back to where you started.

Reader three is wondering: It says you become a druggie, and then you become completely incapacitated. Do the drugs make you incapacitated, or does the pain make you incapacitated?

My response: The pain makes you roll around on the floor and scream a lot. The drugs knock you on your bum so that you don’t move or make a sound. Either way, you’re not going to be out training for the Olympics.

Reader four: Are you going to commit suicide now or wait a few days?

I’m not going to do it for quite some time. Instead of focusing on how much I hurt, I’m going to focus on booze, cigars, dark chocolate, and cream-filled donuts—all at the same time. I’ve indulged in these things all too little, and I’ll be making up for lost time.

Reader one again: Do you think you’ll die recanting your infidelity and begging Jesus to forgive you like most stupid atheists?

I don’t think so unless I’m running a really high fever on a really hot day, and the air conditioner breaks. In such a situation, I might think my feet are hanging over “the lake of fire that burns forever and ever,” and start recanting. Of course, if I come to my senses in the midst of recanting, I would naturally have to de-recant. Then if I became delirious all over again, I would probably re-de-recant. By the time I finally died, even Jesus wouldn’t know where I was supposed to end up.

Reader five: Have you heard the rumors that having sex with a different woman everyday for only a month (six at most) will bring about a complete remission?

Yes, I started them. Women are forever telling me how much they want to help and how badly they feel because they can’t help, so this was my way of cheering them up. Then I remembered my lesbian and male friends, so I started another rumor to the effect that large gifts of money would cause a remission. So far, I haven’t gotten my first screw or my first dollar, and I’m starting to think that my friends didn’t really mean what they said. I’m really bummed about this, especially in the case of Australian women who are said to screw like dingoes. I’ve seen dingoes screw, and they’re even more athletic than Arctic Foxes (Canucks) or coyotes (Yanks). Of course, given my condition, maybe an old and arthritic daschund would be about all I could safely handle.

Reader six: Do you think that maybe the woman who wrote that thing at the top of the page was maybe just funning people—like for a really bad April Fool’s joke or something?

Well, you never know. I always thought World War II was an April Fool’s joke that went a little overboard, so it’s certainly possible.

Reader two again: Have you considered giving up your constant bitching and whining, and trying to be an inspiration and a role model to other sufferers and to the world at large?

I hadn’t thought about it—is there money to be made for that sort of thing, or a Nobel Prize even? Since it would be hard for me to work at an ordinary job, being brave for money might be a great career move. I could even be on reality TV, where I would grimace a lot so people would know I was in horrible pain, but then I would smile through the grimace so they would know I was bearing up bravely. I could also say soul-wrenching things like:

“Take it from one who is dying, one who’s only remaining dream is that you might learn from my misery and suffering so that you will be better able to enjoy the kind of rich and rewarding life that I’m getting screwed out of for no good reason. So, my friends, here are today’s words to live by: Don’t forget to turn the compost every few weeks if you think of it, and be sure to give the dog extra water on hot days unless you’re too busy getting drunk. That’s all for today, but I’ll be back tomorrow, if I’m still alive. Until then, keep remembering that you’ve got youth, health, looks, and money, and all I’ve got is old age and misery, so I hope you’re awfully, awfully, awfully happy.”