What lotion? What basket?
Wednesday, Apr. 19, 2006 at 8:32 a.m.
So, after nearly 600,000 mg of ibuprofen and a trip to my utterly daffy and innuendo-laden chiropractor, I feel, well, less in pain. Oh, not pain-free, not at all. But now I feel less like sticking ice picks into my spine.
I know a lot of people out there don�t consider chiropractors to be of any help, and I agree that you should be wary, in particular after the horrific injury to erianne1�s sister. I see an activation method chiropractor, who uses a tiny spring-loaded pogo stick to bop that errant vertebra back into place. Sometimes, when he�s working on my neck, I see pretty colors. Anyhoo, I hadn�t seen him in a year, so when I had to fill out the paperwork with diagrams of where the pain was, I circled the entire picture of the human body, and where they asked, �when did this pain start?� I wrote �BIRTH�. It turned out that I did have a lot of pelvic rotation due to lots of muscles being out of place due to, well, being sliced open and having a few people dig around in there. Imagine that. And my jaw was out of alignment, it�s always out of alignment, and is purely the Hubster�s fault . . . No! No! He doesn�t hit me for heaven�s sake! You figure it out.
The Hubster, speaking of that wily example of lurching manhood, is feeling a little better himself, except that he is currently horking up his lungs which have turned into the consistency of peanut butter. Thankfully, not the chunky kind as of yet.
Speaking of chunky:
This wouldn�t be funny except for the sign in the background, being a person with pants issues as well. Now not only do I have the bubble butt, I am also currently currently afflicted with swelly belly, or as it�s known in Latin, SwelliBellica. Along with being so short-waisted I have to wear waistlines right under my bra, I am an utter fashionista.
Talk about some mixed messages:
Or how about:
And, of course:
But I don�t consider this a mixed message. Surely the signmaker knew exactly what he was saying:
