Wednesday, December 9, 2009
But in the game of life and survival, I contend that B-9 is the sweetest ball of all to drop out of the cage. Benign. Benign. Benign. As in not malignant. Not going to kill me. Just a slow-growing unwelcome claustrophobia-making relative sitting on the couch guzzling vittles and farting.
Next: The guys who do liver transplants - Will they break out the Ginsus and give me a scar to brag on like that scene in Jaws? Will they fondle my innards and yank this critter out? Will Medicare let them? Will they return anyone's calls? Stay tuned...