A few days back, I attended a funeral.  Not the first one I have been to…and being that I am still alive, certainly not the last one I will go to.  Every cloud and all that.

On the drive home, I did some reflecting (I was too busy listening to the music during the funeral to reflect then like I was supposed to).  And thought long and hard about something that was said during the service.  Thinking during the drive home made the most sense as my wife and child were in the car, it was pissing it down with rain, the car was aquaplaning all over the place, so it made sense to get lost in my thoughts and not pay any attention to the road while driving too fast.  Luckily we all made it home in one piece, although my underwear was a little on the stained side. 

Anyway.  What I was reflecting on during the drive was that in every funeral I have been to (not many…you know, I am not some serial funeral goer to..er or something weird) the same line was said.  And I wonder if it happens at every funeral.  The line was “…was loved by everyone”. 

OK, so I am not too sure if it is mentioned on death row or anything because I am quietly confident that the average serial killer is maybe not so loved by everybody.  But regardless…I had a thought about it and realised mine has to be different.  Maybe a few truths instead of the standard lines.  Not that the standard lines are lies…you know..before you think I am being horrible about the dearly departed amongst us. 

Instead of the “Sy was loved by everyone” line, I am thinking I could have:

Sy liked to wear socks when his feet were cold. 

He was also not overly loved all of the time. 

At times, his wife wanted to shove a mildly hot poker in a place that isn’t his mouth.  For those in the audience too stupid, we mean in his arse.  She found him annoying.  Selfish.  Arrogant.  A bit of a twat.  At times, he wished to flush one of his cats down the toilet when it cleaned it’s arse while sitting by his head…but never had an issue with using the cat to scratch his own arse.  He would eat his daughters yoghurt’s…but only the ones she really likes…because they are also the ones he really likes.  He would then tell his wife that she had eaten all 6 yoghurt’s that day.  Being a young child who couldn’t talk, she could not defend herself.  The world will be a better place without him.  Although cadburys may find that their profits go down because he ate so much chocolate. 

We wont miss the bitter idiot.

Fair?  I dunno.  If you don’t know me well…it’s all lies I tell you!  If you know me well…sod off.  You aren’t welcome around this post.

In unrelated news, I just had a large coffee.  Yeah I get that you didn’t need to know that.  I just like to share.  It is important in life.

Wow.  Almost a month since my last post.  In my defence, I have been busy.

Just last week for instance, I realised I needed to cut my toenails, so I did that.  And then shave my armpits, chest, legs, arms…actually, I should probably mention that I have had a sex change.  I am now a female goat called Hoshui.  I am very much looking forward to being milked!  Oh…hang on.

You see?  It isn’t that I am a slacker, I have been genuinely busy.

I have also continued to do that pesky running thing getting ready for the marathon.  That may be the real reason for my continued absence.  I am really not that good at it.  I am more of a bouncing bomb than a streamlined image of awesome.

Which leads me galloping along to this months weeks post.

I went for a short run last week and got me one of these:

Oh, I should probably mention that it isn’t pretty, so if you are scweemish, look away now.  If you aren’t scweemish…you are a hero.  Go get a gold star and a lollipop!

Huh.  I should have really put the disclaimer above the image eh?  Well, ya seen it now.  Stop moaning you big wuss.  You don’t have to have it attached to your foot do you!?  You haven’t been walking around like someone just jammed a lamp post up your arse have you?  Exactly.  And no, I haven’t had the lamp post treatment either.  But walking was an issue regardless.  Sitting down on the other hand…noooo problem at all.

Now I know what you are thinking.  You are thinking “Holy crap…with feet like that, he must have a face like a smacked arse!”.  Well, you could be right.  And if you spent some time stalking me on facebook, you would actually find out.  Or, you could save that 3 minutes of your life and go boil an egg.  Of course, if you underboil the egg, just like looking at the the photo of me on Facebook,  you will be violently ill.  You have been warned.

That is the thing about feet isn’t it.  Had I had not shown you my dirty sweaty ugly foot, and left you to imagining that people who write websites are all sexy and stuff, you would probably think that I currently look like this:

And then in a few years when I am older, I will look like this:

Yeah yeah, I know guys…but we spend so much time looking at the lovely girls of the interweb, I figured I should put something up for the ladies, so it was those two photos or a love poem.  And my poetry generally centres around the size of my little guy.  Not that romantic, and I don’t think they are interested anyway.

But instead of the two images above, after looking at the image of my blister soaked foot, you get the idea I look like this:

Hey, don’t knock it.  The guy never wore shoes, and you know what his name is don’t you!  What do you mean no?  It’s Gandhi for bloody hells sake.  And no, I don’t know why his man boobs look a little weird.  OR why he doesn’t have a laptop.  Actually, for someone that people think is awesome, the dude REALLY needs to sort his crap out.  I mean what is that?  A friggin crayon he is writing with?  And why does he have that sulky face going on?  Enlightened my left buttock.

But anyway.  I digress.  Back to my foot.

So yeah, a small blister.  But it doesn’t end there.  I got home and decided I would lance it.  So picking up my rustiest pin, I jammed that tetanus soaked metal in the side side of the blister.  Hooooooly crap!

Lets just say there was a little pressure in there.  I tried to take a photo of it, but you wouldn’t get the full effect.  The juice (is that the right word?  I mean it wasn’t puss.  Nor blood.  Nor a signed autograph of Madonna.) that came out squirted about 2ft high.  I am actually not lying here or embellishing (I embellish?  Ah come on…you lie!).  It was frankly disgusting.  But having just come back from a run, I was thirsty so spent the first few seconds trying to drink it like it was some weird sicky drinking fountain.

I recommend not doing that.  When you are there, drinking your own foot juice, and a family member walks in the room…well…YOU try explaining it.  It was bad enough that I got it in my eye so as my wife walked in, I was stood there half naked, licking my lips and winking ferociously.