Hydroxychloroquine Might Be My Jam

NOT REALLY QUARANTINED DAY ____.

NOTE: This post has been updated at the request of Soiled Chamois, Inc.’s legal department. See footnote 2.

After two solid days of pandemic inspired “meh,” I fully expected to wake up dick whipped in the face with another dose. Thankfully that didn’t happen.

I’d like to say that I did some sort of inspirational, Gwyneth Paltrow’s finger up my bum (or vice versa), Tantric sex-like, brain massage meditation. OR, drank, smoked, snorted or shot up some kind of magic elixir. Sadly, that was not the case. I just woke up and didn’t feel like a pile of shit. Sometimes it just be like that.

I think it may have been all the Hydroxychloroquine I’ve been taking. Ever since Supreme Leader Fuck Face endorsed its completely unproven effects at combating the COVID-19 virus, I’ve been taking a black market version, imported on the down-low, from Turkmenistan for EVERYTHING!: Depression, acne, baldness, premature ejaculation, elongated ejaculation, ejaculate deficiency, excess ejaculate disorder (what a Bukkake-of-a-mess that is!), immune issues, constipation, colds, coughs, and minor aches and pains¹. It works for everything. I mean, I’m no doctor or scientist, but clearly, your President isn’t either. Hmmm, maybe I AM taking a magic elixir, sold by the ultimate snake oil salesman of our lifetime.²

I’m sorry. I know you didn’t come here for my half-baked up on Sherbnado opinions, but then again, I have NO idea why the fuck you came here. If you enjoy a healthy dose of uneducated, poorly written, increasingly un-cycling related brain jizz that is very loosely inspired by actually talented people/legends the likes of Henry Miller, Hunter S. Thomson, David Foster Wallace, Gore Vidal, Anthony Bourdain, Irvine Welsh, George Best, Mickey Mantle, Larry David, Noel Gallagher, and pre-For Britain Morrissey, then you probably don’t mind. If you do mind, move along. It’s not like I’m charging you for this shit.

I digress, and will just say that I was happy to not wake up feeling the way I had the previous two days.

I had a 10 AM video office visit with Mindbender II that went well. We got some shit sorted, and I was off the computer in plenty of time to get in a quick hike at the Audubon Woods Preserve with my camera.

I hiked, I thought about laying down in the wet leaves for a LONG nap, decided to take some pictures instead, and then went home to make myself an amazeballs White Pita Pizza. Wait, are you seriously not making yourself pita-pizzas yet?? Seriously?? We can’t be friends. It’s impossible now. 

***

Then it was errands, house stuff, braving the mask-wearing hoards and the spent rubber gloves they leave strewn about the parking lot at Meijer, and then finally home to work on these shit photos I took and write this digital shit show whilst numbing my mind from the real world enough to sleep. Pretty darn, not bad.

I gotta split, I’m due for my evening dose of pointless Hydroxychloroquine. Put it on Donnie’s tab that he won’t pay. That prick.

Later.

1. Do NOT use as directed, unless you are directed by a dumb as a box of dicks, orange fuck face in a suit claiming to be your President. Or me.
2. MORNING UPDATE: Now hold on a good goddamn minute! Before I have the FBI, CIA, NFL, FDA, NCAA, YMCA, and RCMs at my door, I have taken no Hydroxychloroquine. Nor have I bought anything on the black market in Turkmenistan. I didn’t even know Turkmenistan was a country until I started reading Sovietistan by Erika Fatland. All this is just a bit of satire to fan the flames of insanity surrounding the shit show that comes out of the Supreme Leader’s sagging face hole. And dude, it’s getting IN-FUCKING-SANE!
   Also, I may have implied written above that Gwyneth Paltrow would endorse a cure for “meh” that involved her finger up my bum (or vice versa), and a Tantric sex-like, brain massage meditation. I will go on record and say that I have no evidence that she would endorse it, but I do think she would be into it. Who wouldn’t be?