I Don’t Give A Shit

Bedpan

Mr. Smith was in the hospital for the first time in his life and in traction.  He hit the call bell and yelled out loud enough for everybody on the hall to hear.  “Hey, Nurse!  I gotta shit”

Flustered, she came flying in the room.  Mr. Smith!  Don’t talk like that!  You’re gonna get everybody on this floor upset.  They can hear you all up and down the hall.  When you need the bedpan, just hit the call bell and say ‘#2.″  I’ll know what you need and come take care of you.”

A few minutes later Mr. Jones was admitted.  As soon as he was settled in bed, he realized he had a problem.  “Hey, Buddy.  I’m about to mess myself up here.  How do I get some help?”

Mr. Smith knew the ropes and was glad to help out.  “No problem.  I know exactly what to do.”  He got on the call bell and yelled out loud and clear, “Hey, Nurse!  Mr. Jones has gotta shit and he ain’t got a number yet!”

***
Why did the lawyer cross the road?
To get to the car accident on the other side.

***

It’s not the hop, skip and jump between twin beds that’s tiring.
It’s the long drag back.

***

A group from Chicago spent a weekend gambling in
Las Vegas. One of the men on that trip won $100,000.

He didn’t want anyone to know about it, so he
decided not to return with the others, but took
a later plane home — arriving back 3 a.m.

He immediately went out to the backyard of his
house, dug a hole and planted the money in it.
The following morning he walked outside and found
only an empty hole. He noticed footsteps leading
from the hole to the house next door, which was
owned by a deaf-mute. On the same street lived a
professor who understood sign language and was a
friend of the deaf man. Grabbing his pistol, the
enraged man went to awaken the professor and
dragged him to the deaf man’s house.

‘You tell this guy that if he doesn’t give me
back my $100,000 I’m going to kill him!’ he
screamed at the professor.

The professor conveyed the message to his friend,
and his friend replied in sign language, ‘I hid
it in my backyard, underneath the cherry tree.’

The professor turned to the man with the gun and
said, ‘He’s not going to tell you. He said he’d rather die first.’

***

Two Newfies are walking down the street.  One of them is carrying a cloth bag.  The other one says, “Have you got fish in that bag?”  “Yup.”  “If I can guess how many fish are in that bag, can I have one?”  “If you can guess how many fish I got in this here bag, you can have ‘em both.”

***

A woman goes to her doctor and says, “Doctor, my husband has developed a penchant for anal sex, so I came to you for advice.”  Ok, let’s see…does it hurt you?  Hmm… a little.  Do you like it?  Hmm… well, yes.  Then, I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t do it.  If you take care about not getting pregnant.  Getting pregnant?  I didn’t know you could get pregnant in that way.  Of course you can.  Where do you think lawyers come from?

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Ode To CWC6161

Also, OWED to CWC6161

BrainRants was the first blog I found.  When I began infesting it with my random comments, it was from the commenters, rather than his blogroll, that I found and chose other bloggers’ posts to read.  One of the first, and the nicest, was a lovely lady named Candice W. Coghill.  Her blog I.D. is her initials, along with, what I believe is/was her age, twice.

Feeling that only grumpy old male dudes like me were curmudgeons, she wrote under the blog-name, The Kindly Hermudgeon, a softer, kinder, gentler female version.  I was impressed with, and attracted by her comments, and apparently she felt the same about me and mine.  When I got my own site up and running she was a regular reader/commenter, and one of my earliest followers.  It was she who reminded me to add a “Follow Me” widget.

I commented often on her site, which at that time, was largely about her personal life.  That first November, before I was “On The Net”, she participated in the NaNoWriMo, pumping out 2000 words a day for three weeks, and using the final week for editing and polishing.  I offered to refrain from distracting her, but she assured me that my online presence was welcome.  She was the first to send me a blog award, when I’d only published 14 posts.

As a long-term loner, I often have to work at accepting others as friends.  Such was not the case with The Hermudgeon.  She was intelligent, knowledgeable, literate, friendly, welcoming, supportive….the list goes on and on.  We were instant friends.  Despite being a couple of years younger than me, she was almost a web-mother to me, or a loving, caring sister, so unlike the psychotic minefield I shared ancestry with.

She lived in a little Atlantic coastal Florida town which shares my Scottish clan name.  I used Google Maps satellite view to see her frame house on a small inland bay.  I told her of passing almost within stone’s-throw distance as I had driven down to Key West.  I mentioned a central character in a book I was reading, who was recruited from her tiny town.  I told her of finding another Florida woman, half her age, with exactly the same name, a pill-dispensing medical worker, who liked to be called Candy Popper.  Not impressed with that name, she denied being related.

She was very dedicated to becoming a published author and helped many others in their quest.  Later posts were writing tips and tutorials, knitting-circle-type meetings, and real-time addresses from writers who had made it.  This woman was just Industrial Strength support and help to all she could reach.

Sadly, she had developed inoperable abdominal cancer behind her navel.  Many of her later posts told of radiation treatment and chemotherapy, which were provided by a mobile clinic, housed in a medium-sized jet airplane.  This aircraft flew from city to city, with a rotating schedule.  She got to know the doctor in charge, the nurses, and the flight crew.

She told of their care and concern, and how she had trouble working for two or three days after a treatment, because of weakness and disorientation.  She wrote of Doc Magic feeling that things were under control….but then of the ogre rearing its ugly head once more.

Because her blog had become about commercial writing and being published, I didn’t drop in as often as I had early on, but still stopped by occasionally, with a Like, a short comment and a word of support and hope.  Just about a year ago, on July 11, 2012, her posts suddenly stopped.  I dropped in every couple of days, then once a week, then twice a month – nothing.

I did a search, and found a mostly-English blog-site in France, and thought she’d moved, possibly for medical reasons.  When I paid a bit of attention, I realized that it was stagnant, with posts and comments a year and a half old.  Questions to some of her other regulars revealed that no-one had any information on where she had gone, or what had happened to her.

She was a fighter, and she treated me far better than I deserved.  I can only hope that she simply doesn’t have the time and strength to spare for blogging.  On March 20 of this year, I accessed her final post, and left the comment, “Goodbye sweet Angel.  You will be greatly missed!”  My daughter, LadyRyl, also got to know and like her very much.  She joins me to worry and wonder, to fear the worst, hope for the best, and miss this fine lady very much.  I checked her site again before publishing this tribute.  What may forever remain the final comment, is still, “Awaiting moderation.”