Stall Warning

In stunning medical news (for which I should have requested a generous government grant), it turns out that morons suffer significantly more from routine surgery than other folks do. I know, I know, I'm as shocked as you are - but based on my scientific sample of one patient, it's true.

My hip replacement surgery on Tuesday went fine and was relatively pain free until the spinal block wore off when I returned home (the same day!). Using this method, hospitals cleverly avoid scaring off potential patients who get nervous when hearing screams of agony.

Okay, "agony" is overstating the case, but "hurts like a sumbitch" hits it right on the nose. Of course, the hospital sent me home with lovely parting gifts, including a variety of narcotics. And they also sent me home with one really awful piece of advice; post-surgery I asked the discharge nurse if I needed to be on a liquid diet afterwards, and she assured me that I could eat whatever I wanted. And, like a moron, I did.

Interesting factoid: significant anesthesia tells your bowels to stop working, and follow-up narcotics remind them not to come back online. Which means after several days, you've got a rock hard loaf of pumpernickel where you really, really don't want it. But no problem - if you can't get things moving yourself, you can go to an emergency room (which I haven't!) where they can open things up with fire hoses and barbecue tongs and perhaps a ferret who has lost all self-respect.

So I'm definitely behind schedule but at least have modified my diet, hydrating, and doing other things to lighten my load, as it were. Plus, my physical therapist today gave me the ultimate solution: one half cup of prune juice, one half cup of sprite, microwave for 45 seconds, then squat atop a Harris/Walz campaign sign. Okay, I threw in that last part, but I'm definitely trying that cocktail as soon as my prune juice gets delivered. Although in keeping with the season, I suppose I should also add some pumpkin spice.

But wait! While impressive, that wasn't my biggest moron move! In reviewing my pain status a few hours ago (I scored a 7 while the goal is 5 or less) the therapist discovered that the list of my pain medications was not moron-proof. I had never taken any of my primary anti-inflammatory medication, which is why my stupid leg feels like it's filled with cobra venom. Oh, I was taking the narcotics to reduce pain and bathroom motility, but the main pain killer? Naaaah!

But assuming I haven't done anything else stupid (which I don't assume) the next few days should be better than those I've experienced to date. I'm able to get around with a walker, albeit not quickly, and spend a little time at the computer even though it's not an optimal position for me to be in. And daughter Jarlsberg is taking excellent care of me, including giving me looks of consternation for screwing up my meds. 

On the plus side, I'm getting a handicapped placard but for some reason they want me to keep it as close to my brain as possible.

CORRUPTION WITH ALL THE FIXIN'S

And this just in: Joe Biden has given his son, Hunter, a blanket pardon for any and all crimes he's committed in the past ten years. Including, we well know, being "The Big Guy's" drug-addicted, sex trafficking, international front man and pimp when collecting bribes for Joe to sell out our country's interests. 

Sickening? Yes. Surprising? Not in the least.

Trump's inauguration can't come soon enough.

Hip, Hip, Away!

Tomorrow (Tues 11/26) is the big day that I go to the hospital to have them rip my leg open, snap my hip out of its socket, chainsaw the bone, ream a new socket into my pelvis, then use a shiny hammer to pound a big titanium spike into the exposed marrow of my recently decapitated femur, wedge everything into place, and then say "Wait - we were supposed to do his left hip?!"

At the ripe old age of 72, this will be my first surgical experience though, sadly, not my first hospital experience. If you know, you know - but I'm still getting weekly PTSD treatments because of what my late wife, Kathy, went through. But I'm also sick of hobbling around like an old man and, even worse, starting to think of myself as an old man. So this will hopefully be a good thing and an opportunity to get more material for Johnny Optimism.

And what better time to be incapacitated than on the cusp of World War III? Seriously, could Biden's puppet masters be trying any harder to get Putin to lob a hypersonic nuke in our direction? As I've speculated before, the only logic I can see for it is to provoke a declaration of martial law under which there won't be a transfer of power to Trump. Sure, it sounds far-fetched - but not as far-fetched as the swampy power-mongers saying "well, we lost the election fair and square so we won't do anything about it."

Not that everything will magically be better under Trump (though I'm hopeful that big, positive changes are coming). Most recently, I'm pained to see Trumps nomination of Dr. Janette Nesheiwat to be Surgeon General. Dr. Nesheiwat believes the Covid (not quite) vaccine was "a gift from God." This is squarely at odds with my personal desire to see everyone involved with the virus and the "vaccine" lined up against a wall and getting a mandatory shot, if you take my drift. No boosters will be required.

But in positive medical news, Planned Parenthood is reporting a 1200% spike in vasectomy appointments, no doubt because Leftist ladies deprived of casual abortions have told the (ahem) "men" in their lives "No  Snip, No Snatch." Which would actually make a darn good bumper sticker. I wonder if Planned Parenthood is buying? And should Planned Parenthood release a Christmas song called "Sliver Balls?" I tell you, there's money to be had here.

As I fully expect to be on heavy narcotics for the rest of the week, let me take this opportunity to wish everyone a wonderful Thanksgiving. I am genuinely thankful for each and every one of you. Your friendship and kindness mean more to me than you can know.

A little heavy on the stuffing there, big fellow.

Violin Rhetoric

It's Mourning In America

Do you hear that shrill, high-pitched sound in the distance? It could be the world's saddest song being played on the world's smallest violin, but it's more likely the keening wail of Leftists who are distraught that Kamala Harris could not snatch victory, so to speak, based solely on her race(s), genitalia, and an odd conviction that people are fascinated and inspired by long-winded stories of being raised in a middle-class family.

The pain these people are experiencing is very real, and you should definitely not be laughing over it here and here. If you must laugh, you have permission to laugh at this...

All (well, most) kidding aside, I hate the fact that many people I know - good and intelligent people - are suffering because they've been media-trained to believe that Trump is Hitler, Democracy is over, and that MAGA stormtroopers will soon start the pogroms on Leftists, women, and minorities. All while laughing evilly. "Bwaa-ha-ha!" will ring throughout the land.

And in complete disregard of the Paris Climate Accord, the Trump administration will be polluting our dwindling supply of clean air with the black smoke cascading from the high-capacity ovens the Orange Man will be building using stolen Social Security funds.

This is pain that need not exist which is being intentionally inflicted on well-intended Americans by the media and their string-pullers. And that's not right. It's cruel and makes a mockery of "fair" elections. And I'm hoping that somehow, something can be done about it under the new administration. 

Unlike those on the left, I am against any limits on Free Speech and know that "misinformation" can't be pinned down or controlled. But what we've been seeing for a long time goes beyond that, with multiple news outlets phrasing their lies and insinuations with precisely the same language. That coordinated effort is not so much a Free Speech issue as a potential RICO violation.

How to handle it? I don't know. But even Leftists don't deserve the psychological tortures being inflicted on them from what they believe to be their own side.