Several years back Dan Aykroyd was in the movie Trading Places. He was as down on his luck as he could fall, dressed in a filthy dirty Santa outfit stumbling around in the rain, when a dog lifted his leg to end a near perfect failure of a day. He’s sick to the point of death and looks every bit the part of deranged.
I’m not felling so good today, for that matter it’s been a rough week trying to cough up one of my lungs and having to settle for some ugly dark green stuff. I sent an email off a while ago letting the folks at the temple know I’d be unavailable for service tomorrow; Lucy said I’m to see a doctor so I must be grossing her out as well.
Yesterday I took my truck in for an oil change and found the battery needed replacement as well. There was a leaking of fluid from the power steering unit so today that was replaced; they actually got it fixed, the second time I took it back to them, a puddle of red fluid to clean up from my driveway. Unlike Dan Aykroyd’s character, if that dog came near enough to lift a leg I’d hark up and spit a huge green chest clearing, throat coated wad squarely on its head and watch him die of suffocation right there on the street.