Not the Shingles Entry

One day, I'll do an assbuster of an entry on shingles and it'll blow some minds. Just like after Dylan went electric, the hordes will storm my comments and tell me how nothing I've done since has had any relevance. They'll scream, "What is all of this crap on eskimo pies? The shingles meant something!" Well, I'll do that entry one day, but not today. I'm just getting through a week of walking around the beach with a great, oozy, horrendously uncomfortable rash on the chest, and there's still enough calamine in my system to euthanize a polar bear. So, for my sake, let's save that little gem for a rainy day.

That's not to say that I didn't enjoy the ol' family vacation. Quite the contrary, we had a large time. Let it never be said I let my immune system get in the way of booze, the wild surf, a trip to Mexico, and breakfast burritos. I'll spork my spleen out for just two of those, so suffering a rash for all four is sort of like trading Manhattan for $24 worth of beads and other trinkets. (I should note here that I've never been to Manhattan so I can't really assess its worth. Also, I don't know what beads are. The simile above was entirely theoretical.)

Anywhozzle, so much rippin' and a-runnin' wears a man out. As such, there's no big finale for this entry. I know, you're used to the big Goulash ending, where I burst out of a birthday cake with my pants onfire, wrestling a giant squid. No such luck today. However, if it will cushion the blow, you should know I have something big planned for later this week. How big? So big that if I dropped it right now, it just make smash through the crust of the crush, then the core, then another layer of crust, before coming to rest on a kitchen table in Bangladesh. Alas, I've said too much. More on this tomorrow, perhaps.