Friday, June 20, 2008


I’m sick. Mr. Lawrence’s newly replaced ignition broke. I’m working the late shift. I can’t get a hold of Doc. My phone is nearly dead. The pop machine wouldn’t take my dollar.

So, this is what I’m going to say if anyone asks me how I’m doing:

Be advised. I'm mean, nasty and tired. I eat concertina wire and piss napalm and I can put a round in a flea's ass at 200 meters. So why don't you go hump somebody else's leg, mutt face, before I push yours in.

I won’t say that to any of you, of course. I probably won’t say it to anyone. But it feels better to have Clint Eastwood’s voice in my head when I’m feeling puny. At least then I feel a little tougher.
Update: I'm feeling much better after some medication and the pop machine took my dollar the first time this afternoon. I'm sure I'll go home and fall apart, but at least I won't be cranky. For Doc's sake, cross your fingers.


  1. Back in the days of answering machines, I bought a Clint Eastwood tape for my outgoing message.

    (speaking as Dirty Harry)

    Nobody's answering your call punk, but seeing how this is a Panasonic model 44, the most powerful answering machine in the world, you gotta ask yourself a question. Do I feel lucky? Well do you?"


  2. Sky Dad: Do they still MAKE Panasonic 44's??

    There's a great line from Mark Twain from one of his high-falootin' characters about how he drinks a gallon of whiskey a day when he's feeling healthy and eats a dead body when he's ailing. I think it's read on audio by Roy Blount Jr. and Garrison Keillor. It's worth looking up for just such occasions.

  3. well tell us how you really feel, Flann.

    But you know if you did say that to me I'd only love you more....