Dear My Left Ear,
Cut the shit, My Left Ear. You are far too old to be getting infected. Babies get ear infections, not grown-ass men and their grown-ass ears. I have not recently suffered colic, My Left Ear, nor have I died from Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. I am not teething. My knees are not scabby from falling over as I learn to walk. And yet: you and your bullshit.
Have I not been good to you, My Left Ear? You are fed fine music quite regularly, washed often, and were only pierced moderately. My Q-tipping is shallow and smooth; there is no Rocco Siffredi-style thrusting with the swab, which you had better believe is the only object that goes near the area. And yet: you and your bullshit.
So you will be scoured, My Left Ear. You will be antibiotic’ed from within and without: I got pills and drops, you doomed creep, and we will now play a fun game I like to call Warsaw Ghetto. And I don’t want to hear one tiny little whinge about, “You got a vicodin scrip out of it,” because the whole point of vicodin is taking it when you’re not in pain. Otherwise, it just does its job.
I hope we don’t need to have this conversation again, because if we do: I’m gonna Van Gogh you. I’m through with you and your bullshit, My Left Ear. Get it together, man.
Sincerely,
TotD
PS If you speak to My Back anytime soon, tell him I know he’s planning something.
The great Mike Royko once wrote a column about how much he hated his feet. I was reminded of that when I read this. Here’s the best link I could find.
Also, hope you & all your assorted parts are feelin’ better & gettin’ along OK soon!
Get well. Please.