Holla at yo Gout

As I mentioned in a previous post I hurt my toe somehow. Apparently, it was from years and years of eating meat and drinking beer. So I developed Gout.

The past few days I have been asked how you get gout. Well it’s from being a fat ass. As if the smell of my chafing thighs and over sized t-shirts weren’t a dead give away, I now have gout to illustrate that I don’t take care of myself.

I am particularly stoked with the gout in that I have to actually explain it. I mean with adult onset diabetes and a milk shake in hand people don’t usually ask the how’s and why’s. With gout its a brief description of my man tits followed by me pointing to my sore toe.

I always thought I would have a heart attack first, but no, I get a sore toe. I mean a heart attack is at least something people can have sympathy for. People visit you after a heart attack. People stare at you strangely with gout. Not quite the same.

Oh and I do need to explain that its not a sore toe in the sense that sore is the correct description. If there was a word that meant “felt like all the pain in the world was being placed inside a tiny joint while evil men beat up your mother and destroyed your Xbox in front of you and then called you saggy balls” then I would have used that word. As it is I will use sore. At one point I thought about boiling a pot of oil and submerging my nipple in it just to get my mind of of the whole thing. So if you see me on the street give me a hug. I may just be in pain.

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