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Thread: Chas Kikenhammer, sick & dying jewboy Spawn of Satan, is about to croak

  1. #1
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    Default Chas Kikenhammer, sick & dying jewboy Spawn of Satan, is about to croak

    Chas Kikenhammer, sick & dying jewboy Spawn of Satan, is about to croak

    No Great Loss, cum-cum, cum-cum!!!

    by Charles Kikenheimer, Neo-kahn jewboy
    June 8, 2018


    https://www.washingtonpost.com/opini...=.8d5a43b1c201
    http://christian-identity.net/forum/...8102#post18102
    http://whitenationalist.org/forum/sh...8102#post18102



    I have been uncharacteristically silent these past ten months. I had thought that silence would soon be coming to an end and I could deceive you gullible goyim again, but I’m afraid I must tell you now that fate has decided on a different course for me. I'm a dying sick jewboy and D-g is going to call me home to Hell where ny Father Satan the Devil, will stick a pitchfork up muh dirty kike ass like a fork until I'm done in 666,666,666.66 years or so.

    In August of last year, I underwent surgery to remove a cancerous tumor in my abdomen. It was a baby impling derived when I ate my fraternal twin niglet brother nourished from both the Purin and Passover matzo made from Aryan blood, but what of it? That operation was thought to have been a success, but it caused a cascade of secondary complications — which I have been fighting in hospital ever since. It was a long and hard fight with many setbacks, but I was steadily, if slowly, overcoming each obstacle along the way and gradually making my way back to health thanks to steady infusions of Aryan goy blood.

    However, recent tests have revealed that the cancer has returned. There was no sign of it as recently as a month ago, which means it is aggressive and spreading rapidly. My doctors tell me their best estimate is that I have only a few weeks left to live. This is the final verdict. My fight is over. My ticket is punched and I'm soon bound for where my Father, Satan the Devil, shall be grtilling me over a slow fire like a pig on a spit while I scream for Eternity.

    I wish to thank my doctors and caregivers, whose efforts have been magnificent. My dear friends, who have given me a lifetime of memories and whose support has sustained me through these difficult months. And all of my partners at The Washington Post, Fox News, and Crown Publishing who have enabled me to lie to the goyim for decades.

    Lastly, I thank my colleagues, my readers, and my viewers, who have made my career possible and given consequence to my life’s work. I believe that the pursuit of truth and right ideas through honest debate and rigorous argument is a noble undertaking. I am grateful to have played a small, albeit Satannic, role in the conversations that have helped guide this extraordinary nation’s destiny.

    I leave this life with no regrets. It was a wonderful life — full and complete with the great loves and great endeavors that make it worth living. I am sad to leave, but I leave with the knowledge that I lived the life that I intended as a duplicitious Spawn of Satan dirty jew.



    jewboy -- Misbegotten Spawn of Satan
    2d in Evil only behind yenta jew-grrrrrl


  2. #2
    Jack is offline Formerly TrashCanMan72 Veteran Member Jack is a jewel in the rough Jack is a jewel in the rough Jack is a jewel in the rough Jack is a jewel in the rough
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    Default The Final Curtain

    The Final Curtain


    http://whitenationalist.org/forum/sh...8230#post18230
    http://whitenationalist.org/forum/sh...8230#post18230
    http://whitenationalist.org/forum/sh...8230#post18230


    Everybody on Fux Jooz Channel keeps yapping about the impending demise of old Charles "Kikeula" Krauthammer, who, after months of lying to everybody about his condition, finally admitted he was dying of cancer, and only had a few weeks left to live. Hope I live long enough to see the old kike croak. I'll sing "Another One Bites The Dust" and "Ding, Dong, The Kike Is Dead!" and laugh my hairy ass off. But, if I don't make it, I at least hope the reason I'm dead is because the race war has started, and some nigger shot me in the back at a Walmart parking lot or somewhere like that.

    I must admit, though, whenever you hear about someone's impending death, however vile that individual may be, it gets you to thinking about your own mortality. Personally, I had been thinking about it before that, anyway, ever since I started noticing some rather strange sores on my body, and doing a little research on the symptoms of a few mouse-borne diseases, like hantavirus, leptospirosis, and the three strains of plague. I can't really say that I've gotten any worse or any better since then. (June 1st.) I just sorta seem to wax and wane, dwindle, peak, and pine. Sometimes I have trouble breathing and sometimes I don't. Sometimes I feel like I'm running a temperature and sometimes I don't. My throat feels scratchy and swollen from time to time. The itchy and somewhat painful sores keep appearing, sporadically, all over my body, and I feel intermittent pain and weakness in all my limbs. The main thing that's gone consistently downhill, though, is that my lower back just flat hurts like hell every time I get out of bed, or sit down in or get up from a chair or on or off the toilet. This last symptom, I attribute not to anything mouse-related, but, rather, most likely, to some sort of hereditary stomach or intestinal cancer. So I'm afraid it's not necessarily an either/or, but, more likely, a both/and. At any rate, hopefully, next week I'll be able to get a blood test done, and I'll be one step closer to knowing what's going on.

    My Mom died of cancer this past January, four years to the day that her father had died of Alzheimer's. It came right out of the blue. She had started complaining of pain in her hip in mid-August, and going in for cortizone shots to kill the pain, but they ran a bunch of tests and couldn't (or, just as likely, wouldn't, these Oak Ridge bastards being the good company men they are ) say for sure what was wrong with her. It wasn't until she fell and actually broke the hip, in October, that things really started going downhill, although she was still able to get around a little, using her walker, and kept cleaning my trailer, once a week, until mid-November. By Christmas, it was clear she didn't have long to go, although she was still coherent, and enjoyed watching the several DVDs that we watched together. The way she smiled at me that evening, before I left, I knew she was kinda saying goodbye to me, because we both knew that was gonna be her last Christmas. I prefer to think of that as our goodbye. I honestly wish that had been the last time I saw her. She cleaned my teeth one last time, and she was still there when I went up there New Year's night, to get my head shaved, but Dad had to do it, because she wasn't feeling up to it, and my teeth didn't get cleaned that week, and haven't been since. (Like I could give a shit. ) But those last two times I saw her, it was downright scary. On Christmas Day, she had looked very frail and weak, which she was, of course, but she had at least looked ALIVE. Now she just looked like a waxen corpse, laying in a coffin. It was like she had already died, and everybody knew it but her. It hurt me to see her like that, but, honestly, it SCARED me, too. Not that death was ever fair, mind you, but it was something that was SUPPOSED to only happen to old people, drunks, and drug addicts, not to my Mom. Hell, she was only 67. Her mother had lived to 83, and her father had lived to 88. Her grandmother had lived to be 104, and I always assumed she would do the same. She took better care of herself than anyone I knew. She took better care of us than anyone else, too. Things have gone WAY downhill without her. I'm really surprised that we've made it this long. But it's not gonna end well. I can tell you that for a fact. ;-(

    Uncle Sonny died of a heart attack the first Monday of May, two days after Mom's ashes were scattered. He was 71. My Dad will be 72 tomorrow.

    I'm hoping and praying not to be Number Three, but now there's a new threat to worry about: My sister's health. She has a fissure in her colon, and will have to have surgery for that, and there may be other things wrong with her, as well. At any rate, she had a worse week than I did, and Dad's really worried about her. She still smokes and is as overweight for her height as I am for mine, or pretty damn near. She had to quit her job over her current health situation, and won't likely be able to get another one until late July, assuming her surgery goes alright, and she gets back to normal.

    And she was the only one in the family that was working. My Dad gets a disability check, the same as I do. Mom had been retired since 2013. She got a pension and a Social Security check as well. When she was alive, I always had plenty of money, whenever I needed it. I could just pay her back out of my next month's check when it came in. But, since her death, needless to say, Dad's been real dickish about things, pissing and moaning about how, since he pays all of my bills, I ought to be able to pay for everything else myself. Well, it's like this: He manages both my check and his, and I have ABSOLUTELY NO FUCKING IDEA how much I get per month from the government. He knows. I don't. When I first started getting my crazy check, back in 1993, it was only $300+ a month. Around $375, I think. Back then, he only got $900 a month himself. But I know they raise it every five years or so, so both of our monthly amounts have, undoubtedly, gone WAY up since then. At any rate, when Mom was alive, she was giving me $420 a month for general expenditures, with which I ate out twice a week, got groceries, got gas twice a month, and, anything I had left over, used for CDs, DVDs, and, occasionally, to catch a movie at the theater. But, I'll admit, I wasn't managing the money very well, and, when it ran out, it ran out, and I would need more. It got to the point that I had to ask for an extra $100 just so I could pay back what I was borrowing against the next month, when my check came in. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to pay them back at all. No way I was gonna go without anything myself just to pay them back. I guess prices must be going up, is all that I can figure. I'm not buying anymore stuff than I used to, but it's costing me more and more to buy it. At any rate, I'll admit that part of the fault is mine, for not keeping better track of things. Like a nigger, I guess, I tend to suffer from "first-of-the-month" syndrome. Once that check comes in, I just want to buy, buy, buy, and worry about the consequences afterwards. I need to start specifically budgeting out $100 a week for food, that is to say, $40 for eating out and $60 for groceries. That would leave me $120 a month to spend on entertainment, the months that I don't get groceries at Trader Joe's or Aldi, which is three months out of the year. I'll admit that's a bit excessive, and, since my sister is now the one making up the difference, I'll take a slight cut those months, and only ask for $480, but, the six months when I go to Trader Joe's, I'll still need an extra $20, and the three months when I go to Aldi, I'll need the full $520.

    But my Dad wants me to cut down even more than that, all the way back down to $420, and, damnit, I AM JUST NOT GONNA DO THAT!!! I would be screwing myself royally. I would have to scale my eating out down to once a week, instead of twice, which, on the surface, wouldn't seem that bad, but, though it might save me a little in gas money, not going out that night, I would still have to eat something those nights, so, money-wise, it would still come out about the same. Costs just as much to make my own meal as to buy one at most restaurants. It's not like I'm eating at Red Lobster every night. The average cost of most my meals is about $17 or so. Well, if I stay home and make myself some sandwiches instead, you've got the cost of the meat, the mayonaisse, and the bread. It adds up. Or, if I choose to make some ravioli with melted pepperjack cheese on top, there's the cost of the ravioli and the cost of the cheese. Same thing with a frozen pizza. But, see, the fucking prick KNOWS this, and he WANTS it that way. He's told me so, on numerous occasions. He wants me dependent on him, literally living off the crumbs of his table. The fucking cocksucker never forgave me for going up and eating with my grandparents as a kid, whenever they had something better than we had at our house. Being the scummy, worthless, piece of anglo-mestizo trash that he is, he always envied my maternal grandparents their intelligence and the material success that came from it. He knew I loved them and hated him, and it drove him near to distraction. Now my maternal grandfather grew up just as poor as my father did. Probably poorer. But he worked his butt off at two jobs for God knows how many years, scrimped and saved, and, although his family never went without and always had the best of everything, he never spent one dime more than he HAD to spend, unlike my paternal grandfather, a worthless drunken lifer in the Army, who spent every spare penny on beer and fishing gear. Also, unlike that horny Mick, my maternal grandfather kept his pecker in his pants for the most part, resulting in only the respectable, and typically American TWO children to provide for, rather than the trashy, nigger-like brood of six that my paternal grandfather sired. In short, my maternal grandfather believed in the American dream, worked hard for it, and achieved it. My paternal grandfather, on the other hand, just like some trashy nigger, pissed all his money away on beer and the fruits of his insatiable loins, and then had the gall to wonder why he was poor and miserable. But, anyhow, the prick never forgave me for that, and his wet dream is to have me eating his shitty food from his shitty table, and being just as miserable as he is. That ain't gonna happen. ;-(

    At any rate, when I go, I hope I'm able to see it coming, at least enough ahead of time that I can throw on a shirt and a pair of shorts and some tennis shoes and walk down to the end of Wright Road, flip the finger at the nigger's house on the other side of it, and, for that matter, the whole rest of the physical universe, --save for Pine Creek, Virginia, my grandparents' ancestral home,---and sing "Last Rebellion" and then, (to the tune of "The Star-Spangled Banner", intended as an act of pure defiance against ZOG, as it was sung originally), if I still have the lung-power to pull it off, sing, or otherwise, simply recite "The Cross Of The South" and scream: "God save Dixie and God damn the Jewnited Snakes Of Whoremerica!" with my last breath. Then I can die happy, or as happy as an Anglo-Celtic Son Of God and Grandson Of Old Virginia CAN be, dying in the scalawag shithole of East Tennessee. At least I'll die standing on a road named after a good, loyal Confederate family. I believe old Black Jack Wright will be there with me in spirit. :-D

    I've got a cousin with blonde hair and blue eyes, who was the grandson of my favorite aunt. Like me, he is the great-great-great grandson of Alfred J. Dye, of the 22nd Virginia Cavalry, and great-great-great-great grandson of Col. George Frazier, CSA, who fought at Gettysburg, and a number of other battles, and lost his leg in one of them. I want him (and my sister, if she's still alive) to take my ashes up to Pine Creek and scatter them. They are to be divided into five parts. Two parts are to be scattered on either side of the footbridge on the house side of the creek. Two parts are to be scattered on either side of the cow-path, leading up the hill, on the hill side of the creek. Then they are to climb to the very top of the hill and scatter the rest on the little knoll up there. There are certain songs that I want played for this ceremony, the videos of which will be posted here, eventually, by hook or by crook. And, of course, I want them to film the whole thing and put it up on JewTube.


    Last edited by Jack; 06-24-2018 at 09:39 AM. Reason: Aesthetic inelegance & a slight grammatical error. ;-)
    IF YOU STILL LOVE AMERIKA, YOU'RE A NIGGER-LOVER!!! ---CGO. 1/20/'09.



    "Lay down your silver and your gold
    I am a man who won't be sold
    And even when my heart grows cold
    I'll curse your evil stranglehold."---Horslips, from "Trouble With A Capital 'T'", 1977.

  3. #3
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    Default Fox News Pundit Charles Krauthammer Dead At 68

    Fox News Pundit Charles Krauthammer Dead At 68

    Lydia O'Connor, HuffPost
    June 21, 2018



    https://www.yahoo.com/news/fox-news-...221040604.html
    https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry...b0adfb8268c766
    http://christian-identity.net/forum/...276#post182756
    http://whitenationalist.org/forum/sh...276#post182756


    Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist Charles Krauthammer has died, The Washington Post confirmed Thursday. He was 68.

    The announcement came nearly two weeks after the columnist and Fox News personality revealed in a Washington Post column that he only had weeks left to live. For most of the last year, he wrote, he’d been recovering from surgery to remove a cancerous tumor in his abdomen. Though the procedure was initially thought to be successful, the cancer returned and began spreading rapidly.

    “This is the final verdict,” he wrote. “My fight is over.”

    Krauthammer, a psychiatrist turned media personality, used his final column to reflect on the opportunity his career gave him in playing a “small role in the conversations that have helped guide this extraordinary nation’s destiny.”

    “I leave this life with no regrets. It was a wonderful life — full and complete with the great loves and great endeavors that make it worth living,” he continued. “I am sad to leave, but I leave with the knowledge that I lived the life that I intended.”

    He is survived by his wife, Robyn, and a son, Daniel.

    “We are deeply saddened by the loss of our colleague and friend, Charles Krauthammer,” Fox News CEO Suzanne Scott wrote in a statement. “A gifted doctor and brilliant political commentator, Charles was a guiding voice throughout his time with FOX News and we were incredibly fortunate to showcase his extraordinary talent on our programs.”

    Although the conservative commentator spent the end of his career as a pundit on Fox News, the preferred news outlet of President Donald Trump, Krauthammer didn’t shy away from criticizing the president. He refused to vote for him and didn’t sugarcoat his belief that the Trump campaign colluded with Russia to sway the 2016 presidential election.

    He was also a harsh critic of President Barack Obama and took controversial stances doubting climate change and denouncing gun control efforts.

    Krauthammer expressed those views in his weekly Washington Post political column, which he’d written since 1985 and had syndicated in hundreds of other publications. In 1987, the gig earned him a Pulitzer Prize honoring him for his “witty and insightful columns on national issues.” He stopped regularly writing it last summer after his diagnosis.

    Before transitioning into media, he graduated from Harvard Medical School and completed a residency in psychiatry. In his first year at Harvard, Krauthammer was injured in a diving board accident that left him paralyzed from the waist down and required him to use a wheelchair for the rest of his life.

    “I don’t like when they make a big thing about it,” he said of his disability in a 1984 interview. “And the worst thing is when they tell me how courageous I am. That drives me to distraction.”

    Krauthammer excelled in psychiatry, earning top honors at Harvard and later publishing award-winning psychiatric research on the origins of mania. Despite his successes in the field, he said he didn’t enjoy the work and began transitioning into the media world just a few years after earning his medical degree.

    “I’ve had a very checkered, irregular career. ... I just had a tug, a feeling that there was a wider world out there I wanted to get involved in,” he reflected in a 2005 C-SPAN interview.

    In addition to his contributions to The Washington Post and Fox News, Krauthammer helped plan psychiatric research under President Jimmy Carter’s administration, worked as an editor and writer at The New Republic, and gained national recognition as a columnist for Time magazine.

    CORRECTION: A previous version of this story indicated Krauthammer graduated from Harvard Medical School with a degree in psychiatry. He received an M.D. from Harvard, while his residency after Harvard was in psychiatry.

    This article originally appeared on HuffPost.


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  4. #4
    Jack is offline Formerly TrashCanMan72 Veteran Member Jack is a jewel in the rough Jack is a jewel in the rough Jack is a jewel in the rough Jack is a jewel in the rough
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    Cool Glad I Lived To See It.

    Well, at least I managed to outlive the dirty Jewboy, and, as I promised. I rejoiced when I heard the news. Fux Jooz Channel became downright intolerable that night, though. Tucker Carlson and Shit Headity at least only devoted a small amount of time to sucking his rotten old kosher ass, and then went on with their regular shows, but all the twats on the network bled continuously for the kike, to the point that I had to turn away from THE STORY and THE INGRAHAM ANGLE and watch old episodes of SANFORD & SON and ALL IN THE FAMILY instead, just to save my sanity. Pretty fucking sickening.



    Right now, I'm just rolling with the punches and taking it day by day. As time goes on, it seems less and less likely that I actually have any mouse-born diseases, which is the good news. The bad news is that the lower back pain just seems to get worse and worse every day. I went to the doctor Wednesday and had a blood test and a sort of CYA x-ray done, and they should have the results for me by tomorrow. I'm about 100% convinced, at this point, though, that I do have some sort of stomach or intestinal cancer. Between the lower back pain, the almost-constant itching in between my stomach and my crotch, the dry, itchy skin on the most painful areas of my back, but, more than anything, due to the fact that, gradually, over the past month or so, I find myself eating less and less, and yet filling fuller and fuller. That worries the living shit out of me, because I *KNOW* that symptom. Mom suffered from it, the last few weeks of her life. Couldn't hold down any food whatsoever, most of the time. She ate a couple of bites on Christmas Day, but, after that, I don't think she ever did. And, believe me, for a fat dude like myself who LOVES food as much as I do, it ain't easy to go without it. And it's not like I don't WANT to eat it, either. My brain and my tastebuds crave the comfort of food. It's just that my stomach screams "No mas!", and, because I don't exactly relish physical torment, I have no choice but to listen to my stomach. Also, the other recurring symptom I've had off and on for the past three or four years, but which has become much more frequent over the past four to five months, is the feeling that my guts have just been NUKED, not just in my left lower back, but the left side of my stomach and the area between my stomach and nutsack as well. (Not sure what, if anything, is supposed to be under the skin in that area. Maybe just muscles.) The only way I can describe it is to say that it feels like an internal sunburn, and since it's internal, rather than external, I can't rub anything on it, to give myself any relief. It just flat out feels like it's on fire. And I seem to have some circulatory issues, too. Sometimes I'll get a sharp, stinging pain in an arm or a leg, just like I was being stung by some insect, but, when I look at the area, there's no mark, and, of course, no insect. All this just leads me to think MERCURY POISONING, due to residual nuclear waste in the water around here, which, most likely, would've caused the cancer, in the first place.



    Aside from all this, I'm also aware of the fact that I'm literally being eaten alive by parasites. I can actually feel them chewing on my internal organs, and, moreover, I actually saw one of the bastards, when I shat it out into the toilet at Andi's apartment, back during our little ordeal of December 2014-April 2015. It happened on my Mom's birthday of 2015. She had brought me back here to pick up my Christmas stuff, get my head shaved, and talk to my parents awhile, we had come back to her apartment, and I had just eaten a big old frozen barbecued chicken pizza that I'd warmed up in her oven. This was the most I had eaten in several days, as we were splitting all our meals between us and trying to make the groceries we had last as long as possible. Honestly, this austerity was rather good for my body, as I felt a lot less bloated, hyper, etc., but I guess this whole pizza, right out of the blue, was just so much of a shock to my system that it literally forced the evil little critter out of my ass. :-0 :-/ I sat down on the toilet and strained for a couple of minutes, feeling really weak and dizzy, with a dry, prickly, stabbing sort of sensation in my lower back. Then, finally, I heard the splash of what I naturally assumed was a turd, so I got up off the toilet to look. You see, I've shat some really bizarre-looking turds in my day, and, usually, it happens when I'm all constipated and straining and hurting like hell. Once I shat a sand-colored turd in the shape of half of the Omega symbol. No wonder it hurt so bad coming out. :-( But, when I looked down, I couldn't believe my eyes. While, as I suspected, I did see a big glob of blood in the toilet, the thing laying beside it was NOT a turd, but, rather, this long, wormy critter that looked like a cross between a thousand-legger and one of those algae-eaters they put in aquariums. It was this pale, sickly yellowish-white color and had about a dozen different sets of legs, like a millipede. His front legs had blood on them---MY blood, from MY intestines. :-/ :-( And he was still alive!!! :-O :-/ His front legs were still kicking around in the water, like he was trying to swim. I knew what he was trying to do. THE EVIL LITTLE FUCKER WAS TRYING TO CLIMB BACK INTO MY ASS AGAIN!!! I wish to God that, instead of just reflexively flushing the evil little bastard, I'd gone to tell Andi about it first. She could've taken a picture of it on her cell phone and sent it to me, and then I'd have proof. Nobody wants to believe me when I tell them about it. Hell, it's so bizarre I wouldn't have believed it myself, if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes. :-/ But, at the time, I didn't really think she would've been all that impressed by it, since she was the one who had told me all about the "feeders", as she called them. She said she had crapped them out herself, so I didn't really think she'd be impressed by the sight of mine, and she was such an anal (pardon the pun) little CUNT about me even getting the slightest little drop of pee on the toilet or the floor, I figured she'd just notice some pee I had missed and chew me out if I did get her in there, so I didn't bother. But, when I told her, her eyes about popped out of her head. "You mean you actually crapped a LIVE one?" she asked. All the ones she had passed were dead by the time they hit the toilet. She said she wished I'd shown her, so she could take a picture.



    So, with things the way they are, I guess it's kinda iffy as to whether I'll make it to see my 25th anniversary down here begin or end, but I'm gonna try my level damnedest to hang in there, at least until midnight tomorrow night, so I can say that I made it a full 25 years down here. As for updating the 17 YEARS AGO thread, however, that will have to wait until a later date, assuming I make it that long, because, if I'm still alive this time tomorrow, I intend to post some things of a much more profound and spiritual nature, which is how I would, frankly, like to be remembered, rather than just for some silly autobiographical ego bullshit.



    Cross your fingers and stay tuned. ;-)
    IF YOU STILL LOVE AMERIKA, YOU'RE A NIGGER-LOVER!!! ---CGO. 1/20/'09.



    "Lay down your silver and your gold
    I am a man who won't be sold
    And even when my heart grows cold
    I'll curse your evil stranglehold."---Horslips, from "Trouble With A Capital 'T'", 1977.

  5. #5
    Jack is offline Formerly TrashCanMan72 Veteran Member Jack is a jewel in the rough Jack is a jewel in the rough Jack is a jewel in the rough Jack is a jewel in the rough
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    Unhappy Update

    Well, the results from my blood test and x-rays came in Monday. They said my bloodwork detected an unusual amount of inflammation (Hell, I could've told them that. What I want to know is what's causing it. ) for which he prescribed an antibiotic, which I'm supposed to pick up at the pharmacist today. The x-rays showed signs of "mild" scoliosis and arthritis in my lower back. In reading up on the scoliosis, I found out that it can be caused by disease sometimes, but, if I had anything contagious, I'm sure it would've showed up in the bloodwork, so I'm thinking I'm probably out of the woods as far as the mice-born diseases are concerned. Still a strong possibility of cancer, though.



    Hopefully, the antibiotics will make the inflammation go away. It's QUITE annoying. Basically, I just feel like a car when its radiator is running hot, except, with a car, once you pour some water on it, it usually solves the problem, but, with this shit, I have to keep getting up for another healthy swig of cold water practically every 45 minutes or so, just to not feel like I'm burning up with fever, and feeling this nasty, prickly feeling all over my body. Needless to say, it's messing up my sleep quite a bit, and the scoliosis interferes with my ability to breathe lying down, which makes normal sleep almost impossible. Last night, I had to leave the TV on. I drifted off for a few hours, after some effort, (mainly due to the inflammation) but, with the breathing problems I've been having, I just couldn't deal with the silence, on a psychological level, even with the AC set to "Auto". I was scared shitless I would stop breathing in my sleep, and wake up coughing, wheezing, and gasping for breath. It's happened before, and it ain't no fun. ;-( So, under the circumstances, I just needed that psychological crutch in order to relax enough to drift off for awhile.



    I just hope the antibiotics are easy to swallow, because my throat is kinda narrow, and big pills,--whether they're unusually long or unusually wide---, always seem to go down crooked and kinda stick in my throat, which, needless to say, scares the hell out of me, with my fear of choking and all.



    As for the scoliosis, though, things look a lot grimmer, I'm afraid. The only treatments there seem to be are either, A. Spinal surgery, B. A back brace, or, C. Physical therapy/chiropractic care, which involves the use of what looks like a bunch of medieval torture devices. The third one's out altogether, but I guess the next step is to get a back brace and see if that works, because there ain't no way in hell this lower back pain is going away on its own, and just taking a Tylenol every few hours ain't gonna get it. ;-( My broke-ass could never afford THAT much Tylenol. It's all well and good for my good-for-nothing Yankee-ass doctor to call my scoliosis "mild", but HE AIN'T THE ONE THAT HAS TO LIVE WITH IT!!!! All I can say is that, if what I've got is "mild", and what Kurt Cobain had was "severe", I don't much blame him for becoming a heroin addict. He used to say that, when his scoliosis got bad, the heroin was the only thing that could ease the pain. Mine's bad enough day-to-day, but, when I eat a little too much, and I end up having the muscle spasms and IBS with constipation to go with it, it is a living Hell.



    But, anyway, that's all I know for now. Stay tuned.
    IF YOU STILL LOVE AMERIKA, YOU'RE A NIGGER-LOVER!!! ---CGO. 1/20/'09.



    "Lay down your silver and your gold
    I am a man who won't be sold
    And even when my heart grows cold
    I'll curse your evil stranglehold."---Horslips, from "Trouble With A Capital 'T'", 1977.

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