zenexistence

So, Scotty, why don't you go to your dermatologist, especially since you have a history of skin cancer and have already have two surgeries for it?
Well, truth be old, because I hate doctors offices.
But I thought you worked for a doctor?
I do.
So you shouldn't be anxious!
Dear Subconscious, I'm going to need you to go suck your own dick (paaaaaTAY!) and not tell me what I should or should not be doing with my life.

So, I went to the dermatologist (who was exceptionally pretty and exceptionally way too honest about cancer issues) last week, and am awaiting results on three biopsies.
1 - My right bicep (whaddup, mini-muscles?)
2 - My right collar bone (literally at the beginning of my right sparrow tattoo (nooooo, there's no Jack involved, pirate-fanboy)
3) - MY FUCKING NOSE
Really?
My nose.
It's possible I could bitch more but it takes me longer to type than it does to rant at the wall so I'm mostly going to rant and rave at the wall.
So on to fancy fucking chocks and choes:


Life has been rapid and exciting. Yes, I realize, and so has your enema:

Okay, I need to be honest here; every time I see the above picture I cry with laughter. It's probably equal parts immaturity and equal parts awe (not aww) but, either way you slice it, I feel like a better person for posting it.

Speaking of sloths:

It does; in Swahili.

Speaking (or writing) of inappropriate:


I know I'm not offering any depth or significance tonight, but, well, I'm quite a few beers in and I'm a little nervous about pending medical results, so I'm just typing/posting stupid. I'm pretty sure you'll all be okay with that.
Or used to that.
Either way, apropos picture for apropos moment:

Alright, I'm going to bed:


Eye<3ewe,
Scotty

PS -