Hey, baby, you wanna see my Bulky Jones?
Rory Harper
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
-Samuel Taylor Coleridge-
:
This is Rory, reporting in from the Opiate Underground.
I managed to work half-days on Wednesday and Thursday. Got a wheel-chair delivered to my office, which makes all the difference in the world. Crutches are painful, difficult to use, and prone to causing mishaps when their wielder’s bloodstream is soaked in narcotics. With the wheelchair I can actually get around, and, even better, will end up with Popeye arms at the end of my two-month incarceration.
The swelling in my lower right leg was not going down at all. It felt like a fermenting papaya, ripe to burst at any time, spewing fruity sweetness all over my couch. So I got an Ortho appointment Thursday morning, went in, and had the hard cast cut off with a chain-saw. Well, no, not a chainsaw. But it sounded like a chain-saw, so I liked it.
I was indeed, to use the Texas medical term, ‘all swoled up’. The skin looked taut, firm, and youthful. If only I had broken my face instead of my leg, I might have decided to keep it that way.
Instead of the hard cast, my leg is now cocooned in multiple layers of cotton batting with an overcoat of tightly-wrapped Ace bandages. This is much more flexible than the cast, which is a relief, and is meant to dynamically squeeze the edema out of the pools it’s been lurking in.
This is the rare and desirable ‘Bulky Jones’ wrapping. I figure that I can hit the AOL chat rooms now and pick up scads of hot babes, perhaps even some lesbian ones, with the promise of exposure to my large, firm-but-resilient Bulky Jones.
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