You are what you is.

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Rum, Cigars and Coffee

Is where I am sitting, sitting among sober people despite the name and yes, drinking coffee. In an hour I will go and see Dr. Han, my newly found Chinese Doctor from Heilongjiang, who is convinced that my gout can be cured through hideous amounts of noni fruit juice (to which I nearly lost a wife a lifetime ago in a town called Hopkins, losing her eventually anyway sans juice in Taiwan).

Locally they call it stinky foot juice, and I am not a fan. But if it cures my gout I will mainline the shit. A friend of mine referred to gout as "an inconvenience," to which I replied herpes is an inconvenience.  Gout is fucking murder.  Here is a story that emerged from my last gout attack, which was also the last time I lived in Beijing.   

It is much nicer here. It's good to be me.  Still, my foot hurts.


And here is what Ben Franklin had to say about gout,  or had to write about it, in part, anyway.

FRANKLIN.  Eh! Oh! eh! What have I done to merit these cruel sufferings?   1
  GOUT.  Many things; you have ate and drank too freely, and too much indulged those legs of yours in their indolence.   2
  FRANKLIN.  Who is it that accuses me?   3
  GOUT.  It is I, even I, the Gout.   4
  FRANKLIN.  What! my enemy in person?   5
  GOUT.  No, not your enemy.   6
  FRANKLIN.  I repeat it, my enemy; for you would not only torment my body to death, but ruin my good name; you reproach me as a glutton and a tippler; now all the world, that knows me, will allow that I am neither the one nor the other.



I'd imagine in his private moments he was less eloquent. As in, Fuck you, you motherfucking fuck gout. I'm Ben fucking Franklin! Fuck you!

Or something like that.


Anyway, as if Franklin weren't enough, to you my dear literary minded reader still hanging around in the waning days of this blog and my career as a travel writer, Here's a short snippet of a short story I wrote in five minutes as part of a project called

"American Dreamers: Wordstock Edition"


In the year 2030, Jehovah—sole deity of Terra's three major
monotheistic faiths—returns to the planet after a multicentury
interstellar voyage, “to get his head together.” He
returns to Earth, both wizened and chastened, convinced that
his youthful proclamations to early desert tribes, were, in the
end, poorly thought out. Jehovah is aghast to learn that a good
chunk of the planet's population is still taking him seriously.
He appeals to leaders of the major monotheistic religions of
the world but is again misconstrued. Finally, in a desperate bid
to save the planet from his own zealots, Jehovah launches a
scheme to get his followers to leave Earth, once and for all.



Anyway, time to drink Noni Juice. And on that note,

Herpes Sufferers: Will trade: My Gout for your Herpes: No Questions Asked.




4 comments:

Share it