Sep 20

Things Might Get A Little Sketchy Now

If for any reason I can’t continue Mrs. Birdman will be filling in for me. Truth is that I’ve never taken morphine before, so I have no clue what will happen next. This Tramadol stuff is quite potent, and the morphine is a backup if this doesn’t work, so yeah. I am having a hard time keeping thoughts in my head, and stringing them up. My baby is so sweet. She just brought me homemade lemonade, oh my fuck that’s sour. I think she’s trying to kill me.

Mrs.Birdman (to-be) here…Birdman has officially narc’d out on Tramadol…I’m taking over the blog-diggiddy. He may be higher than a kite, but he still has enough of his faculties left to correct my syntax and grammar. (I do love that about him!).

Now my man is pretty clever, but yesterday he must have slipped a few IQ points. He took a doctor-prescribed medication without realizing it was a narcotic. I know, I know…you are probably thinking that you know every sweet narcotic that is available. My friends, you may not be aware of Birdman’s brand new pal, Tramadol.

 

T-Doll (my newly coined street-name for Tramadol), appears to be one sweet ride. So far the Birdman has enjoyed levitation (unconfirmed), super-sonic hearing (confirmed), and some pretty outrageous saliva production. I am cautiously optimistic about the salability of T-Doll on the local street-drug market, but I reserve my final judgement, pending any negative side effects. *wink*

According to Dr. Feelgood, the Birdman should be passing that bad boy in the next 4-7 days. Our plan here at the homestead, is to keep him in a drug-induced state of euphoria and perpetual munchies until the anxiously-awaited arrival of The Glorious Kidney Stone.

I’ll keep you posted Bird-Lovers,

Mrs. Birdman (to-be)

Ps. Leave the Birdman some love on the blog, kittens! Let him know what you want to talk about 🙂

Sep 19

Sweet, merciful Jesus

I just say that for effect, but I’d almost start believing in God if this pain would go away. I’ve never had kidney stones, but I’m pretty sure I do now. I’ve been waking up with this horrible pain in the right side of my back for a couple of nights, the likes of which I’ve never felt. If I had to choose what it most resembles, I’d have to go back sixteen years or so to Peterborough on a Saturday night, when twelve guys (probably closer to four) got me down and kicked the piss out of me. They obviously didn’t do a good enough job, because when they were walking away laughing, I yelled out something that might have insinuated that they were cowards. Well, let me tell you this, even cowards don’t like being called that it seems, because they chased me, and being a bit wounded myself, I made it about three feet before I tripped, and then it began again. Wow, I thought I was getting my ass handed to me before. This was way worse in every sense of the word. Anyhow to make a long story somewhat shorter, I was pissing blood for a while and I never drank in Peterborough alone again.

Remember that time I started with one story, and finished with another? Get used to it, I’m a bit of a wild card.

Now I’m at the Trenton hospital, feeling like I just got boot-fucked in my tender bits. I love waiting around with the other patients, singing old negro spirituals and playing charades until, one by one, we are called in to get our fates handed to us by doctors dressed in zoot suits, who sing your test results to the tune of “Yankee Doodle Dandy” .

After we are released with clean bills of health, we march to the beat of a different drummer, all the way down to the Sherwood, where the hospital buys us a round of drinks, and we are thoroughly entertained by a one legged stripper. Sorry, I was just having a painkiller dream. What really happened is that I waited for half an hour,  got urine and blood work done, got an IV shot of some dope, drank a big jug of ice water, had an ultrasound, got a prescription, and went to the ball field for chili and cupcakes. Happy birthday YaYa, enjoy ten while you can, we expect you to have a job by the time you’re eleven.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve just dropped my nightly dose. It’s bedtime for Birdman, and hopefully the future Mrs. Birdman will come in and rub my back.

Please be safe my children,

Birdman

Sep 18

I Was So Frigging Wrong

A bit of a handful

I thought a better way to get back at the carnies would be to assail them with both little girls and two of their friends. Four girls between 8 and 10 should be enough to drive them nuts right? I didn’t have a chance to notice, because I was constantly trying to keep track of the four of them. Also, it turns out that carnies don’t pay attention to the rules that are written on their signs, and will allow children that are three feet tall to go on a ride that has a 48″ minimum.

I guess I shouldn’t assume that they don’t care. It could be that they are unable to read words or string those words into sentences. Yeah, that makes a bit more sense now.

As we wandered the fairgrounds, looking for the next ride, a young voice cried out:  “Look, a girl with no shirt on!”

I craned my neck in all directions, brimming with excitement, only to realize that she was talking about the top half of a buxom blonde painted on the side of one of the carny booths. Her hair was strategically placed to cover her ample breasts, and her come hither smile was most certainly making me blush.

I said:  “It’s probably a mermaid.”

I mean really…who wants to start explaining to a ten year old that some of the workers in a traveling carnival might not be the purest of souls?

She replied:  “Oh yeah, because not all mermaids wear sea shell bras. Some of them can’t find enough sea shells.”

 

That got me thinking , maybe that’s the reason my old neighbour out west never wore a bra either. Seashells are probably very hard to come by when you live on the Alaska highway.

Another thing I have noticed is that the carnies are a harder looking bunch than they used to be, what with neck tattoos and piercing of all known extremities becoming so popular these days. I was actually a little frightened to put these children into the care of someone who looks like he might be a striker for the Hells Angels by night, and run the Tilt-a-Whirl by day. Actually, if the Angels ran the midway it would be a much tighter ship, and probably a lot easier to find weed.

Speaking of weed, it’s harvest season and if there is anyone who needs confirmation on how good their crop is, just drop a bag off to the old Birdman. I will smoke some and tell you what I think of it. I will then publish your name, strain and prices on my blog, along with all of your contact info. I’ll also let you in on a little secret… The bigger the bag, the more I’ll like it. 😉

You are all beautiful to me,

Birdman

Sep 15

Scarlett Johansson nude???

Birdman

Sign me up for that mailing list. I’m not saying that I’d ever stray, but if the future Mrs. Birdman was ever wanting to give me a threesome to soften the blow of turning forty, this would make for a pretty sweet birthday present.

Have you ever noticed that you don’t see your boss all day, but the minute you take a dump on the hood of his car, he walks around the corner and busts your ass?

What ever happened to Frankie on his trip to Hollywood? I hope he made it okay.

Remember fluorescent clothing? When’s that shit coming back into fashion?

 

Birdman

Sep 13

The Cocoon

You might be asking yourself, “What the hell is cocooning?”.

Well, cocooning is anything that happens in the cocoon. The cocoon, because I know you are curious, is a magical place that we sleep in, but that isn’t really a place at all. It would have to be defined as a feeling and a warmth. We have cocooned at the cabin, and in the van, but mostly we cocoon in the bedroom. It can be anywhere that you throw a warm blanket around yourselves and snuggle into.

The ultimate cocoon?

The ultimate cocoon?

(photo credit)

The cocoon is where we find out about each other, and ourselves. Where we can lay there, adoring one another for an eternity, just staring admiringly at each other and wondering how we got so lucky. It doesn’t matter what shitty, foul kind of day we have had, it is all washed away in the cocoon. Another cool feature of the cocoon, is the way time almost stops there. We have woke up at 5:30 AM and just cocooned away until mid afternoon, with nothing more than a few sips of water and whatever chip crumbs we could scrounge up from the bags on the floor. It’s like a modern day Narnia, but with more nudity and better candy (Turkish Delight sucks).

Speaking of Narnia. Does anyone else think Mr. Tumnus was on the verge of being a dangerous offender? Luring children to his cave, drugging them and acting really creepy with his flute and pedophile beard. I’m not an expert by any means, but I think a few parents nowadays would be on the lookout for that dude.

Now back to the cocoon. It’s also a place for frolic and shenanigans of the highest order. That can be anything from wrestling to backrubs to kissing and maybe even a little whoopee. I think you folks (if more than one person reads this) know what the highest order of shenanigans could entail.

It’s also nice because I can say anything in the cocoon without fear of being judged or laughed at (except maybe my Chewbacca impression). The cocoon is also where we make our plans for the day (which usually end up with the first half being more cocooning). If you don’t already have a cocoon, you need to get to work on that now, it is one of those things that can easily keep two people together with a bond that can’t be broken by the average things that break bonds.

On a more sad note, you cannot cocoon with just anyone. I have found out that cocooning only works properly if two people truly respect and love each other.

 

For instance, you can’t cocoon with a stalker type, because they always out cocoon you with their crazy doe eyes, their misshapen, crazy tits and their knocking you out and tying you to the bed, just to possess you for a few extra moments until the cops get there, because the crazy bitch forgot to take your cell phone and you were able to dial 911 and let the phone GPS pinpoint your location for the local authorities to find you.

Find the right  person, and cocoon the shit out of them. Your relationship will thank you.

Muskrat, muskrat candlelight, doin’ the town and doin’ it right,

Birdman