Within the next five to ten years I will suffer an embolism. I will be confined to a Bath chair and only the philanthropy of the Royal Society will keep me from the poorhouse.
Worse, I will be provided with the services of the most beautiful and magnificent woman to care for me. I shall be unable to move, react or speak. I will write notes in a small crabbed hand to her which she will ignore.
Worse, in the course of taking me to the bar and putting a straw in my mouth her magnificent body will brush past me at every opportunity and there will be no way for me to react or cop a feel.
Worse, all this will be plain to her and she will take advantage of me, pretending to listen as I try and whisper in her perfumed ear whereupon she will take the complete opposite meaning quite wilfully.
Worse, she will answer enquiries on my behalf taking care that the answers she gives cause the most consternation.
Worse, she will be punishing me for a lifetime’s slacking and wasting and dissolution. I will deserve it and know in my heart that I deserve it.
25 comments:
What nonesense. Of course I won't. I shall be a comforting admixture of Miriam Stoppard, Delia Smith and Barbara Woodhouse.
I can't imagine what puts these ideas into your head, truly I can't.
Won't she give you a bath? I see you as the character played by Christopher Walken in Things to do in Denver when you're dead. "Put it in the wind!" you'll say.
Your fantasies are more depraved than I'd imagined. However, I think you've just solved the answer of what to put in the final chapter of your book.
Don't count on the RS, Maroon; the President knows about you. And that fine young woman will never get in; how many citations has she got?
Doc, it's never too late to return to the boosom of the Lord. Looks like you're already half way to the confessional.
Worse . . . she'll bend over a lot to tie the shoe laces of her sturdy shoes and invite her boyfriend to stay the night . . . and you will sit in the room below listening as the floorboards creak . . .
Well it's either that or the Stoppard/Smith/Woodhouse creation that Mrs P lovingly describes.
Sx
lookitheah, sugar! is it raining over there? y'all suffering from an immense hangover? i swear, some southern air and gentility is desperately needed to revive y'all's spirits! either that or perhaps y'all need mr. jim beam instead of drambuie! ;) xoxo
(here's a worse nightmare: perhaps your caretaker might be some huge fellow with a penchant for pinching, instead of some comely lass!)
Darling Clarissa,
you have described my ideal woman.
Mr Gorilla Bananas, bathtime will bring me no joy or release. She will splash me and poke my eye with the loofah. I'll feel as if I am drowniing and half the time I will be.
What fanrasies Kim? The syrup one? That really happened! Scotland were still in the world cup at the time. It took us ages to kick them all out at lunchtime so we could lie down for a nap.
Of course he knows about me Inkspot. He is a learned man. If she's with me, she gets in.
Conan! Return to the bosom of the Lord? I never left.
Scarlet! How couldd you suggest such a thing? You have increased my torment six fold. I shall buy a taser gun and taser the bastard in his crown jewels. That'll make the floorboards squeek.
Ax
Savannah, Southern Gentility, it's way too late for that.
You must never say the words Jim Beam and Drambuie in the same sentence. It is like saying nitro and glycerine. Asking for trouble, just asking for it.
then, sugar, i'll just leave ya'll to it! bless your heart!
szaw
worse.. she will be named Helga and be a 450 pound German woman with a mountainous appetite for liver and onions, a case of halitosis and a huge amount of facial hair.
or would that be better? I'd bet Helga would have a hell of a personality.
Still, not so bad. You do get to go to a bar after all.
Have fun while you can Doc.
Well, I want to know why Kim is imagining your depraved fantasies.
Sarah, Germany haunts my dreams.
SR! Jesus. Where the flippin' heck have you been hiding? The bar would be Purgatory. She'd never get ice or put in too much soda, you know the drill. Torture.
Get it while you can Eryl, cos it ain't gonna be here inthe morning.
Sam, because I tell him them, that's why, and I've started a tastefully erotic blog called Syrup Sex.
Oooo.. Syrup Sex blog. (googling that now)
such a liar, you must give me the name of this blog you speak of.
i googled syrup sex and i do not want to talk about the things i've now seen. and for me, of all people, to say that..
i feel kinda dirty and i'm not sure i even like it.
I've been trapsing about in the jungles of S.E. Asia mostly.
Back to civilisation* for a spell to hopefully rid myself of this nasty nematode infestation I picked up in Cambodia.
*If you call Pembroke, Ontario, Canada civilisation that is.
Glad to be online again.
It'll be worse than that as nurses don't wear outfits like that anymore, its all trousers and pants,its enough to stop anyone being ill, and while I'm at it, who are all these obviously misguided ladies fawning all over you ?
Sarah, seek and you shall find. There is a link on the main page if you think about it.
SR nematodes. Are they the ones you get up your... Yeah, I know the ones.
God that must be hell.
Ronnie if she was butch it wouldn'rt bother me, the fact is she will be beautiful and have all the right bits to torment me. I know this because the arrangements have already been made with the lady in question and she is more than equal to the task.
If you really think its going to get too bad you can make a further arrangement where she sits on your face and smothers you like the Indian did to Mac at the end of " Cuckoos Nest",only he did it with a pillow.
Die happy, for once in your life.
So it IS one of your plans?, great, can I watch ? Everyone needs a suicide buddy, I certainly have one, as I think I may have written about somewhere, If not, I might do it if I can be bothered, or someone else can.
have you been channelling the gimcrack?
Ronnie, you have a suicide buddy? Surely not. What does one do? Bear witness? Help? Push you over the edge?
Can I be yours?
Nursie, I've channeled it all my life, so help me.
Of course I do, doesn't everyone ?
At the first hint of Alzheimer's, Parkinson's or the big C., I'm outski.My friend organizes a cocktail of Heroin,Cocaine and Tranquilizers and vice versa, cue theme from " The Last Waltz".Oh be jappers no, you couldn't leave a thing like that to chance.
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