I got back from my MRI a bit ago. It was awesome and fun. Having an MRI is good practice for spending eternity in a coffin. In fact, I used to have being buried alive listed as my number 1 fear. Not anymore. It's kinda cool laying in a tube.
So now, I have a new number 1 fear: showing up to my room and seeing a live lobster on my bed. I don't know why, but the thought of that always freaked me out.
The two nurse type people that gave me shots in my veins recently commented on how big they are. In fact, the guy today said, "You don't have veins, you have pipes." Damn right, buddy.
Before going in, I had to fill out this form finding out if I have any cool metal in my body. It included some of the following:
Ladies, you might think it's a penile prosthesis, but trust me, it's all real.
Everyone knows my love of running at the park. Not everyone knows that the benches at the park are generally sponsored by some suckers in memorandum of some other sucker that died. But yesterday, I noticed a plaque I'd never bothered to read before. And it ended up being the greatest of all time.
Boom. What a last name. Rager. I love it. It would be cool if she died during a rager. Just drinking and having a good time and then POW! dead. The irony makes it worth it.
Making my triumphant return to my hometown of Nederland, Texas this weekend. It's been over a year. Weird, wild, stuff. And THAT should be a RaGeR.
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