Bob Wire Has a Point (It's Under His Cowboy Hat)
Hey, If It Worked For Hunter S. Thompson, It Works For Me
Why didn't this recliner come with a parachute?By Bob Wire, 8-25-08
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My recliner banks sharply as I push forward on the stick, dropping a couple thousand feet in altitude. I narrowly miss Houdini, who emerges from beneath the bed, barking and spitting blood. He runs down the hallway yapping furiously at some interloper in the back sector. It’s either a cat or (more likely) a sprinkler head.
Chuckling at the mutt’s simplicity, I push the stick forward as far as it will go, folding down the footrest and setting the recliner gently down in front of the bathroom; a perfect landing. I’m shivering and panting from my high-altitude journey. A few moments ago I’d been soaring about 15,000 feet over the Mojave Desert near Joshua Tree in Southern California. But a sharp cramp in my bowels and a bulging bladder had forced me to make an emergency landing near the toilet.
“Honey, are you okay?” asks Barb, sitting up in bed. She rubs her eyes with her fists and snaps on a bedside lamp in the pre-dawn darkness. “Can I get you anything?”
I proceed to take a four minute piss while I tell her about buzzing the huge granite outcroppings at Joshua Tree. “I love this recliner, babe. It handles great at speed. You should try it. Nothing for me now, though, I gotta get back to the airstrip.”
She turns off the lamp and pulls the covers up over her head. “I think what YOU should try is not drinking beer with those pain pills. It says right on the label you should avoid drinking alcohol.
“Whatever,” I mumble, climbing back into the cockpit. I pull the afghan tight over my body and pull back smoothly on the stick to raise the padded footrest and activate the turbojets. “I’m outta here!”
~~~X~~~~~X~~~~~X~~~
Psychotic furniture episodes aside, things are progressing pretty well after Wednesday’s shoulder surgery. I am definitely no hero when it comes to pain, and I’m using everything at my disposal to minimize any discomfort, from Percocet to freezer packs to huckleberry ice cream. Anything to take my mind off the ache.
But I’ll tell you right now, this one-handed typing is a bitch. The couple hundred words above took me more than a half hour to type. Granted, it was 4:30 a.m., it was too dark to see the keyboard, and my brain was crippled with painkillers. But I type like I live, man—real fast with lots of mistakes. So this is frustrating.
I know there’s some dictation software out there, and I know it won’t work for shit. Hell, I can’t even get Microsoft Word to quit arguing with me…
Word: Are you sure you want to delete that paragraph?
Me: Just delete it, bitch. You’re not the boss of me.
Word: Are you sure you want to use the phrase ‘bung hole’ three times in one sentence?
Me: Hey, who’s writing this goddamned story, me or you? Mind your business, bung hole.
~~~X~~~~~X~~~~~X~~~
Overall, the recovery is going pretty well. Soon I’ll be ready to turn my attention back to the issues and events that concern my fellow Missoulians. Things like tiny $5.00 glasses of wine at Downtown ToNight. Things like the played-out trend of capitalizing words in the middle. Things like, where can I find out how to make a recliner street legal?
[BookMark NewWest.net/BobWire and check back often. It’s all part of a nourishing BreakFast.]
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Comments
The only downer in all this is that the first guy to do it, down Los Angeles way a long time ago, committed HariKari about 5 years after his flight. Maybe just got tired of explaining it to dimwits...who knows? I still giggle when I read his story, and the airline pilots reporting to the LAX tower about this pile of weather balloons with a guy in a lawn chair they just flew by at 16,000 feet......no way to convince the public pilots don't drink and fly.....but what a fun, quiet way to spend the day sightseeing. A trip, as it were. A real trippy day....but, if the Percoset or whatever, does the same for you, think of all the money you save on balloons and beer....ok...balloons..
Beer Tabby reporting from nowhere near the scene
Missoula, Montana – Today is like yesterday was and like tomorrow just might be. That is unless your name happens to be Bob “High Wire” Wire. If it was, then you are likely to be suffering from the side affects of certain prescription medications which may include nausea, dry mouth, night sweats and genital warts. Some say this was caused by pain medications legitimately prescribed to help the struggling blogster cope with the after affects of a painful shoulder surgery. But my sources say that High Wire is on a full blown binge experimenting with a potentially lethal and gender altering back porch trailer park cocktail of Estrogen, Viagra, Just for Men Hair Color and Stool Softeners.
Why would the seemingly happy and somewhat gifted aging wood bat swinging former child star resort to such a drastic plea for help, attention and man boobs? That’s an answer that only High Wire really knows. In the meantime, experts recommend that you stock up on plenty of anti-bacterial soap and talk to your doctor or pharmacist about other rare but serious side affects.
This is Beer Tabby reporting, whether you like it or not.
Back to you Dick.
I totally dig your barbed wire. I'm stealing it.
First off, I want to congratulate you once again for the best name ever. I’m sure that your hair and skin are luxurious!
As an amateur scientist, I’m excited by the fact that Willie Nelson has made it to 75. I think that this proves once and for all that marijuana is not lethal. I bet if/when Willie does eventually die you would get high if you smoked him. Again, as an amateur scientist, I would like to participate in that experiment. I can’t think of many things cooler than smoking Willie Nelson – except maybe snorting Keith Richards, that’s pretty cool too. But I’ll admit that it sounds a little bit scary too.
In conclusion, I would not want to smoke Willie’s dick, not even for the sake of science. I’m pretty sure Keith’s fell off years ago.
By the way, Dick lives - It was Bukowski that died.
Bestest wishes,
Tabby