tarheel91 on 15 December 2008
http://www.shroomery.org/forums/showflat.php/Cat/0/Number/9260048
It's a humongous read (about 30mins - 1 hour depending on how fast you read it), but amazing. Hilarious, clever, witty, genius, amazing use of metaphors, etc.
Here's a teaser:
Quote:
God wants me dead. I pissed him off. Pissed him off good. I don't know what sent him over the edge. Maybe it was my off-colour, sacreligious sense of humour. Maybe it was the bilby I drowned in a duffel bag. Whatever it was, one thing is clear - the great skyfairy wants hardcore vengeance, and he wants it now. Let's educate you on whats happened so far. If you don't want to read, I'll summarise it for you in the next two words.
Get lost.
-x-x-x---xx-x-xx---x-x-x-
Wednesday 4th.
I wake up at 4:30am feeling like my kidneys hijacked bulldozers and went apeshit on my abdomen. I assume I am either really fluffy hungry, or constipated to the max. I stumble to the kitchen, grab a peach, take a dump, and go back to bed. I feel slightly better.
I wake up again at 6:30. Something's definitely up. My kidneys; unsatisfied with the carnage caused by bulldozers; have commandeered tanks and started burning down the Reichstag that is my middle half. I am in serious pain. In my infinite wisdom, I decide to ignore it, still thinking I might just be hungry or constipated.
It's now 10:30. Screw university, I'm not going; not while my organs are having a civil war. I drive up to the medical centre and take a seat. "There'll be a two hour wait - the doctors running late," she says. I'm in severe pain by now.
It's 11:30. Sitting up is getting unbearable. I ask to lie down on a bed somewhere, and the receptionist lady obliges. Angry geriatrics envy my special treatment. I feel powerful.
It's 12:00 or sometime, when bang. Holy mother fluffy of shit. Raw, intense pain. Someone just Nagasaki'ed my bowel. A doctor comes in and watches me writhe in pain. He asks, "Are you ok?" I reply, "My stomach is on fire." He pushes on my abdomen, then my lower right abdomen. I nearly go catatonic and grip his hand. Wup-wow.
Maybe ten minutes later I'm in an ambulance with a morphine needle in my bum. Morphine is great. I remembered the old people's faces of disgust at my special treatment. It makes me smile. All is good in the world.
I rock up to hospital. A doctor comes and assesses me. He is not happy. He has a monobrow though, so I need not respect him. I get more drugs. I go to sleep.
I wake up and its night. Monobrow tells me they've called in the surgeon from dinner with her husband to do emergency surgery on my appendix which has ruptured and caused perotonitis. 10% mortality rate in healthy patients. Good, I like a challenge.
I am prepped for surgery. Nurses wheel me into the operating theatre late that night. Just before my bed enters the operating room, an attending stops me. She says they havn't done the pre-check on my details. She checks my wrist band. It says Mrs Finch, Jessica. "Mrs Finch, Jessica" has no allergies. Lucky her. I on the other hand, am deathly allergic to penicillin. Penicillin had been put on my treatment schedule. They take another ten minutes to correct things. My confidence is not great. My last words to the attending doctors is, "I'm glad someone knows what they're doing." I recognise a monobrow above one of the attending's masks. I smile. I don't even feel the anasthethic. I go to sleep.
