As many of you will know from my previous blogs, I have a giant slug living in my abdomen that needs releasing via surgery. Not one to put my own personal circumstances into perspective or indeed react to anything no matter how little it's level of severity without a total lack of rationality, I've been taking my upcoming operation with as little courage and dignity as is humanly possible.
It's a mere two days until I'm laid down on a slab and butchered, by cowards so utterly pompous they won't even allow me to breath for myself and my arsehole is getting twitchy to say the least.
I'm not even going to apologise for being self-absorbed, I've spent the last two weeks developing hives, stress rashes, indigestion, ulcers, and of course an unrivaled ability fidget like a toddler on crack.
Google has been a source of unending anxiety, but of course, like a freshly plucked tooth, I've been unable to stop prodding it to see what happens.
If you were ever struggling with inspiration for a new horror script, I recommend visiting a health forum
"I went in to have my wisdom tooth out and woke up with no face"
"What was meant to be an appendectomy turned into six years in intensive care. When I woke up, I had no family"
"When I was 12 I had my tonsils out and Jimmy Savile came round to visit us on the ward"
You get the picture.
I haven't helped myself of course, I am an incessant worrier, I was diagnosed with GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder) ten years ago. Unfortunately, I've never worried about anything useful, like exam results or creating a viable economic future for myself . I just tend to worry about hypothetical shite. You might have a panic attack because your mortgage is due or there's a brake light out on your car. Me? I start getting breathless and doom fills my stomach because one day I might be sat at a cafe next to the Eiffel Tower and choke on a Jambon Beurre or I might not get sleep for four days because I've just realised the potential danger in walking over manholes .As a whole, I don't let it stop me from doing anything, there is still a small section of my brain left that functions enough to tell me I'm being a bellend and to just get on with it but with the looming prospect of facing my lifelong worst fear (being put to sleep) that horrible heavy feeling of dread you feel when you slip a step on the stairs is pretty much a constant sensation for me right now. Somebody with my completely ridiculous mindset can think of a whole circus of catastrophic outcomes in a situation like this, I'm sure even the more mind-normal of you will understand this. Sat around for two weeks, contemplating your own mortality can become ever so tiresome though, so I decided to try and do something a little more pro-active. At first I thought I might make a mini-bucket list. Sadly it became almost immediately apparent that my current government wages of 70 quid a week wasn't going to cover a trip to Norway or a night in Caesar's Palace. Fucking Tories, they just don't give a shit do they?
So what could I do as a means of insurance? Surely I can't spend my potential last days on this slowly spinning orb, sat in my bedroom watching old episodes of QI and wondering where it all went so wrong?
I could write a whole bunch of letters to people I care about, I could resolve past conflicts and make peace with my enemies? I could peruse all my happy memories, like an internal slide show and walk smiling to the OR safe in the knowledge that I'd live a fulfilling life surrounded by love and privilege? Well I thought of something better, more poignant and ultimately more important...a full and comprehensive guide to crisps.
It might never have been done before, I could finally, posthumously receive the respect I'm due as a global commentator on the snack industry.
All views are my own...which equates to fact.
Pringles: The king of crisps. Synthesized from a mixture of potato starch and the healing tears of Jesus, these little sanitary towel shaped mouth-climaxers simply tower above all their closest rivals.
Kettle Chips: The black pepper flavour ones taste like how you would feel if your body was made out of clitoris's.
Hula Hoops: Gorgeous potato anus's that bring me eternal joy. Avoid the beef ones if you don't want to smell like a dog farted in your mouth.
Discos: Were only really good when they had them little extra sachets of flavour. The salt and vinegar ones used to make you cry. That's what I expect from a snack.
NikNaks: The cheesy ones were the best. The scampi ones taste like thrush.
Cheese Footballs: Sneaky little bastards mainly left around on tables at Christmas's in the early 90's. If you come across one of these AVOID unless you want to know what your boyfriend's gym socks taste like.
Salt N Shake: The most fucking pointless product ever invented.
'Root Vegetable Crisps': They're not crisps, they are little tiny middle-class medals awarded to people who've lost touch with reality.
Walkers: Shite.
Quavers: For people who have never experienced hunger
Wotsits: Taste great. Make you look like you've fingered an Oompa Loompah.
Ringo's (Onion Rings): The sign of somebody not to be trusted. The only person I knew who ate these at school, sat on his own and is probably now involved in a pedophile ring.
Twiglets: Great gift for a masochist. Can be stored in case of nuclear holocaust...still though, would you?
Space Raiders: Perfect choice for those bare chronic smokers out there. Current retail price-EXTORTIONATE.
Next week; French Fries VS Chipsticks. Which was the least satisfying break time munch?
xxxx
