Slap gets a dose of the clap, self medicates with Thai Whiskey
I was in the process of putting my brain into hibernation a couple of days ago by watching some 10 non-stop hours of television. Not a particularly prolonged spell in comparison to my record of 8 films back to back, but all the same it served its purpose and I could actually feel myself go numb as my eyes glazed over and a gentle stream of dribble sourced from the corner of my gawping mouth. I was, essentially, a fucking spastic.
But during this pleasant but relatively fleeting moment of spastication, I felt a small prick somewhere about my midriff, and I have to say that this was one of the more unwelcomed pricks I'd ever had the misfortune to be on the end of - certainly not on par with Sombat Thundersack who hangs around the bins.
It appeared that a nondescript insect had given me a dose of the clap. No sooner had it triumphantly whirled around the room a few times before departing my residence like a fucking rapist, than the palms of my hands became incessantly itchy, instantly snapping me out of my televisual trance.
How incredibly fucking rude!
The itching then began to relocate itself, almost methodically and with just as much persistence, to different parts of my body; from my hands to my feet to my head to my nuts to my fucking eye brows (!?) to my elbows to my kness, and the cycle would then restart.
Now after an hour of this I was starting to get a little panicky, so I decided to do the responsible thing and go to the local shop to drink myself itchless, shitless and quite possibly bitchless. And do you know what? It fucking well worked, you know!
A few beers and chemical laced shots later and I was rash-free.
But it turned out that pummeling the shat out of myself with alcohol was but a short term solution to this irritating ailment. Come 3 am the following morning, the itching returned like a spurned slut demanding a bonus, and sent me into a frenzy of animated, semi drunken scratching until dawn broke - and continued to vex me throughout the course of the day.
But as dusk grew nearer, so did the local shop, and once again I found myself using Ya-Dong as a thoroughly effective form of temporary alleviation...only this time, the itching didn't come back to haunt me as I slept. It stayed the fuck out of it.
Ancient Issanic Proverb: "A Ya-Dong a day keeps one's sanity at bay. And also gets you thoroughly fucking drunk in the process whilst allaying intrusive allergies".
I itch, no longer..
