A Story

September 13th, 2007 1 Comment

Way, way, back in late 1988/early 1989, I saw Stripes. In March 1989 I decided that I needed a haircut, so I joined the Army Reserve. Having just seen Stripes, I figured I’d get a free haircut during entry into Basic Training. It actually cost me $4.25. Anyway I went to Basic Training and got buffed. As a side note, from the time I was in 6th grade to the time I entered Basic Training, I was within 5 pounds of 150 pounds. I came out super muscled out at 175.

Anyway, I journeyed off to Fort Gordon the next summer to learn to be a telephone lineman. First set of training is learning to climb a telephone pole. I got the “climb up” part perfected, but the “climb down” I had a little trouble with. I fell off the pole, from the top. The medical guys in the little M*A*S*H* jeep were laughing as I hobbled over to them for removal of an inch long splinter. They were digging and pulling and digging and pulling, and finally managed to extricate the timber from my leg. There was another plank embedded in my shin right next to that one, and when they asked if there was anything else they could do, I declined. The hunk of wood finally came out of my leg when we were at the Augusta Mall after having seen Die Hard 2, but I digress. Actually this whole story is a digression, but again, I digress.

Anyway, after the medical procedure, which by the way was without the benefit of anesthesia, the sergeant, who had more stripes on his arm than I did, and he said, “Get up there and do it again.” So I did. This time, the fall was a bit more serious. The hospital diagnosed it as “a bad sprain.” I guess that it’s opposed to a “good sprain.” Anyway, the next day my ankle swelled up and it looked like James Caan’s legs in Misery, so I went back to the Hospital.

The Army logic was “If we had the X-Ray moved over just a little bit, we would have seen the fracture.” My talus was broken. By that time, my ankle had swelled up so much, that they couldn’t put a cast on it, because my ankle, in theory, would shrink and the cast would fall off, and my ankle wouldn’t set correctly. Wouldn’t you know it, even with the physical therapy, my ankle never made it back to 100%. It aches when the weather changes, and aches when I have a lot of walking to do.

Why am I telling this story? The clutch went out on the car. It’s gone. Non existent. Kaput. I’ve been taking the train to work each day. It’s a 17 minute walk to the train, and an 18 minute walk to the grind. My ankle is killing me, I we can’t afford a new clutch. Can’t afford a new car, either.

In related news, I have signed up for a bunch of affilliate links, so stay tuned for the new Pie Hole Shopping Mall and Referral Center, coming soon! Maybe I can do something with all these domains that I have just lying around, with plans and plans that I don’t seem to have time for. Arrgh, it’s tough in the life of blowing it out your pie hole.

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So first, this ear infection is still kicking my ass. I think it’s getting better, but maybe I’m just getting used to the intense pain and pressure.

Oh, get this. My prescription is 4 drops every 8 hours, which means wakeup, sleep, and in the middle of the day. So on Monday, I’m walking out to my car with the medicine. It’s in a glass vial. It slips, and I hear the distinctive clink of a glass vial striking the ground and breaking. It didn’t shatter into a gazillion pieces, it just broke, so I call the doctor to get a represcription, but the “health plan” doesn’t cover breakage or “loss.” I wonder if they’d cover it if I put shards of glass in my ear because the medicine is now mixed up with the shards. So I end up paying for a complete bottle anyway. Now we can’t eat for a week because I need my meds.

You can help purchase my meds!


So I didn’t come here today to tell you that. On Saturday, against my better judgment, we went to the Alameda County Fair. The good news is that the Advil guys were there handing out free samples. It was a hot day. Very hot. Hot enough for me to say “Thank God it’s Summer!” Unfortunately, it’s also the time that the people who shouldn’t go topless try to. Or they expose more than they should.

I have to tell you, girl. You ain’t all that, nor are you a bag of chips. What you’ve got out should be in far. Now, it’s one thing for a couple extra pounds to be sneaking out the bottom of your shirt, it’s another thing to be releasing a blob the size of a four-year old though your arm holes.

And guys, too! What is up with all the scanky 35-year old stoners riding around on the 20-inch bike that they’ve had since they were eight, with their shirts off? You know them. They ride around without a shirt, with their nasty boxers hanging out over their shorts, turning left from the car left-turn lane, whizzing through stop signs. Please, if I wanted to see a guy who shouldn’t be wearing a shirt not wearing a shirt, I’d take a shower with the lights on.

In the meantime, make sure that when you look in the mirror you’re seeing what other people see. I could go on about the ugly people who think they look good, but that’s for another time. Please, cover up. It’s called “FLAB,” not “FAB.” Then, when you get home, BLOW IT OUT YOUR PIE HOLE!

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The Ear

July 6th, 2007 No Comments

Before I begin, we have a change of policy here at blowitoutyourpiehole.com. We have had a policy of not giving free advertising or links to companies, places or things that piss me off. We want to link to companies who excel. But then, I reasoned, how are you going to know where not to go? Websearching won’t bring up the thing that chapped my hide. So here it goes, the people, companies, events and what not who need to BLOW IT OUT THEIR FARGIN BASTAGE PIE HOLES will be named.


Once again, I have a severe case of otitis externa, also known as swimmer’s ear. My ear is hurting like a son of a bitch right now, and couple that with the little sleep I’ve had over the past couple days, I’m really on my last nerve.So last Saturday, I call upon this new technology to make an appointment with my “health care provider.” I clicked the link that said “make or cancel an appointment,” set up a profile, filled out my health care history, and sat back and waited until the office opened on Monday when someone would fill me in. Actually, if I had created the system, it would already know which appointments were available and put me in there right away.

So I go in Thursday, take half a day to go see the doctor. The office is in a building next to St. Rose Hospital. There aren’t enough signs, so I’m walking all around the complex looking for the building. I find it. I go to the second floor, and there are no suite numbers in the damn building. Mind you, it’s about 500° outside, and I’m walking in a giant circle for 30 minutes trying to find a building with little numbers on the side.So I get to my appointment, and they have misspelled my name, to make it sound like some little tart who spent a couple days in the Los Angeles County Prison lately. Doctor looks at my ear, and agrees with my diagnosis of otitis externa, and prescribes some Cipro HC Otic HC Otic. It sounded familiar, and I’m sure that I had been prescribed it before. They electronically faxed it over to the drug store right down the street from my home.

I wait a couple hours, since it’s the middle of the day, and all the assisted living facilities in the area need their prescriptions filled. So I run over there, and they say that they were calling me to tell me that they didn’t have any Cipro HC Otic HC Otic. Dumbasses were calling my work number. They call the other store down the street. They don’t have any either. So they call another other store, and they have the medication. I drive down there to see how long it will take, and they give the standard, “10 to 15 minutes” response. It’s the same you get when you go to a restaurant. “10 to 15 minutes.” Even if they’re empty, it’s still “10 to 15 minutes.”Since I figure I have about a half hour, I walk over to Me-n-Ed’s for a calzone. The dude takes my order, and tells me it will be “10 to 15 minutes.” According to my receipt, this is “18:42.” Twenty five minutes past seven, a guy walks over to me with a cold box.”Are you a combo calzone?”

“No, but I ordered one about an hour ago. 10 to 15 minutes, my ass.” I grabbed it and went back to the pharmacy.

The pharmacy girl takes my insurance information, punches it up on the computer. Also, at this time, I was really feeling the effects of the wearing off of the four Extra Strength Excedrin I had taken a couple hours ago.”Ok, sir,” she starts with her little girl voice. “Your Cipro HC Otic HC Otic suspension ear drops art not covered by Blue Shield, so that’s going to be $136.47.” She showed me the screen that said, “Not Covered.” After expressing my disbelief that a common antibiotic would not be covered, she said that she would call my provider in the morning to find something that is covered.

So here I am, a week later with an ear infection, running out of the excedrin, and not able to hear anything. I couldn’t go to hear Patrice Pike (as seen on TV’s Supernova) with my ache, and couldn’t go to the New Dimension Chorus rehearsal last night.

You can help purchase my meds!


In the mean time, Blue Cross Blue Shield, BLOW IT OUT YOUR PIE HOLE! We need more competition in health care.

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