Best gay friend John called me on Tuesday night to let me know that he was having a stroke. Apparently, he had a very bad headache and he was sure that a stroke was imminent.
Like most normal people, he wanted to spend his last few moments on earth with me.
Unfortunately, his timing wasn’t a great time for me because Young Ladrinka was on step 15.9 of the 42 step night-time ritual, where he emerged from his room carrying a Star Wars light saber and wanted to hear my top five reasons why we couldn’t have a light saber fight right there and then and I had to go and yell and threaten, as needed.
Anyway. John and I talked for a few minutes, I provided some medical advice which included and was limited to his taking some Tylenol and then I told him that I needed to get off the phone. To get the kids to sleep.
“You still have those kids?” he asked.
“Shut up,” I said. “Can I call you later, or are you going to be stroking?”
“What?” Apparently his stroke had robbed him of his hearing.
“I want to call you later, if you’re not stroking.”
“That’s disgusting,” he said, actually sounding disgusted.
“What?”
“Don’t say things like that out loud. You think I’m sitting around masturbating, waiting for you to call?”
“Are you insane?” I asked rhetorically. “I was wondering if you were going to have a stroke. You know, stroking.”
“Oh. I thought you meant would I be busy sitting here stroking my penis, so I wouldn’t be able to talk.”
Ok, I’m not a sexologist, but who strokes his penis? Doesn’t that take approximately forever?
One year ago ...
- Get Over It - 2014