Not AGAIN! I just knocked over a bottle of Diet Coke, and it's run all over my desk, meaning 4-7" of paperwork that should have been taken care of long since but never was. This is two days after I dropped two separate bottles of Diet Coke on the kitchen table, which was also gaily festooned with Stuff That Any Normal Person Would Have Put Away Three Days Ago. I must hang my head in wretched misery.
No...wait...I can't hang my head, either. There's been various slimes dripping out of my nose for a few weeks now, and I don't want any of it glueing up my keyboard. I've sprayed lots of stuff up my nostrils and then flung my head back proudly to acquaint my sinister sinuses with the deliverer of their retribution ("Take THIS, you plugged-up little bastard chambers!): NeoSynephrine (didn't work), 4-Way (didn't work), Sinex (didn't work), Saline Spray (didn't work), Flonase (didn't work), SinuKick (didn't work), Muco-Rooter (didn't work), SneezeRite (didn't work), Flapper-Zapper (didn't work), Catarrgh-Not (not worked), Son-of-a-Sinus (didn't work), Kill-Goo (didn't work), and Booger-B-Gone (didn't work).
The only thing that gives me even sporadic relief is crying. So I pop in a real sad movie a couple of times a day. Suggested titles for nasal disgorgement (temporary):
Jersey Girl (hokey, yes, but effective at times)
Million Dollar Baby (Mr. Pseudonym almost had to take me to the ER over this one)
Mystic River (it is beyond my comprehension how as fine an actor as Sean Penn could have at one time married that shallow, self-possessed, pointy-titted, bleached-out, first-generation trailer trash removed, licentious, vulgar, rattle-voiced, fabricated, hyped-up, ugly, rotten piece of fly-blown dead cow meat.) (but that's just my opinion.)
Dead Man Walking (shall I repeat myself? or do you get my drift?)
The Deer Hunter (it ain't about Bambi's momma!)
Bambi (they shot Bambi's MOMMA, for God's sake!)
Philadelphia (watch this while folding laundry; you're gonna need more material to blow your nose on than a lil ol' box of Kleenex!)
I could go on, but I don't even watch these movies in reality! Cause I don't like to cry unless I absolutely have to, and life hands us too many absolutely-have-to occasions for tears, if you ask me. Laughing hysterically will also temporarily clean out the nasal passages (and put a scare into the more tenacious rubber cement sinusial encampment), and for this there is only one penultimate movie scene: Apopka the Snake Man from Ernest Saves Christmas. Do the research; you'll thank me next time your nose is ambushed.
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2 comments:
When Apopka is unavailable, I settle for your impression of him. And those bottles come with, you know, CAPS! They've proven as effective at preventing spills as Trojan, but with even less breakage, when both are applied correctly (pinch and roll, grasp and twist, you figure out what to do with which). Apologize to Dad ahead of time for me.
Thanks for the advice, young one, but I didn't spill the Diet Coke by knocking over an uncapped bottle or two. I spilled the soda by dropping the whole bottle after taking a swig. Arthritis, wot, wot? My fingers hate me.
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