Presto Pesto!

A comment lately posted on MichelleOnLongIsland's cancer blog:

The Astonishing FartMan said...

What a tough time you're going through. In my mind, my hand is smoothing your brow. Is it working? How I hope so!

And how sad it seems that sometimes we fragile and puny humans must resort to hopes and prayers. Well, I say hopes and prayers and love and good will are still the most powerful things. So I'm saying a prayer of thanksgiving that you have such a good husband.

I know what you mean about the knife fantasy--your fantasy that some mugger would do you the unintentional favor of stabbing you to cut out the tumor on your spine. I sometimes have a fantasy that I could take a hollow stick and poke it into my "hepatic subcapsular fluid collection" (AKA Cappy) and drain it away. When I poke in the stick, bilious green sauce squirts everywhere, and it totally blows everybody's mind, so they all think I'm possessed, and they want to call in a priest to do an exorcism. The priest comes, and he's Italian, so he says, "He's not possessed, but this green biloma sauce makes a very nice pesto."

I hope that makes you laugh!

I also know what you mean about doing "normal" stuff. I take great pleasure in my Wednesday evening routine of gathering up the trash from all the household cans and putting them out for collection in the morning. It's one of my silly "manly" chores, and I wonder who will do them when I'm gone. Of course, my wife can take out the trash, but can she change the A/C filters, negotiate with the auto mechanic, fix the the computer or TV when something gets out of whack? I suppose life will take care of itself just fine when I'm gone. But I do worry about my dear sweet wife. And I hope that when I'm gone she finds a good, gentle (and preferably, younger!) man to help her with the "manly" chores, but mostly to keep her company when she's an old lady.

(Yes, I know I'm not suposed to think about such things, but am supposed to accept the assurance, so often pressed upon me, that I'm cured. And, of course, that would be nice. But just in case I'm not cured, on the off chance, the very small chance, the infinitesimal possibility, that all the weird stuff going on inside my guts lately--and the undeniably high 5.4 of my last CEA--is the recurrence that everyone tells me will not happen, well I just don't want the shock of a surprise, so I gotta think about it now.)

How beautiful that you're so weak and so strong at the same time!

The Seven-Thousand-Six-Hundred-and-Forty-Second Woman.

From: W_____
Sent: Nov. 2, 2011 10:00 AM
To: T. A. FartMan <astonishing@att.net>
Subject: All the News That's Fit to Spit

Hey T.A.,

Didja see this one?

September 5, 2017, WASHINGTON -- A seven-thousand-six-hundred-and-forty-second woman has now alleged that President Herman Cain made her "feel uncomfortable" when he was president of the National Restaurant Association in the mid-1990s. Although the woman, who wishes to remain anonymous, concedes that her allegations are "not exactly of a sexual or sexual harassment nature," she said she believes she "has a duty as a citizen and as a federal employee" to speak up so the American people will know that Herman Cain is not as nice in person as he seems to be on TV.

In a written statement her lawyer read to reporters, the woman said, "It's just not right that Herman Cain has made me and seven-thousand-six-hundred-and-forty-one other women feel uncomfortable, yet everybody still seems to think he's such a good guy. Well, I'm here to set the record straight." The woman's lawyer, who also wishes to remain anonymous, suggested that Cain's discomfiting behavior might have involved hand-gestures, insensitive remarks about female height and weight, hotel rooms, and "lots of other kinds of things you'd expect to hear about Herman Cain."

The lawyer for the seven-thousand-six-hundred-and-forty-second woman said his client had made a good faith effort to resolve the dispute privately to avoid publicity, but had not received a reply to any of the dozens of anonymous emails she had sent to President Cain. Many experts with experience investigating such claims say it is not unusual for a person guilty of sexual harassment to refuse to respond to an accuser's emails. According to Emily Knickerwad, an independent workplace claims investigator for the Women Victims Action Network, "It's all part of the abuser's sick power trip, to ignore his victims' pleas for help after he's emotionally injured them." 

When asked if his client's allegations would feature canned soda pop or curly unattached body hair, the lawyer for the seven-thousand-six-hundred-and-forty-second woman said, "The answer to that question will have to wait until the facts we intend to allege have a chance to come out in dribs and drabs. Herman Cain's victims should not be expected to give away the details of their claims all at once, when he won't even answer their emails."

I figured you'd enjoy reading my little spoof, seeing as how you, and me, and Herman Cain share so much in common, the three of us having been through Stage IV Colon Cancer with Liver Mets, and the three of us having made several women feel uncomfortable at some point during the last fifty years. (But please don't tell anyone I wrote this "story" 'cause I'd like to hang on to my day job. People will forgive me a certain quantity of political incorrectness, me with the semi-terminal CC and all, but there is a limit.)

BTW: When I was chatting with Mr. Cain at the Clear Lake TEA Party rally last week , he asked me to tell you how disappointed everyone was that you weren't able to make it back to Houston in time to perform a ceremonial flyover for the opening festivities. Don't worry. I covered for ya and told him you were busy handling crowd control ops for CIA in Libya. (That is where you've been, right?)

Sorry to have been so incommunicado lately. Been going through a kinda rough patch--the daily battle with Cappy (who just won't stay dead) and a year of CIPN have worn me down. Meanwhile my CEA has been creeping up, to just barely above normal. But I'm still here, dammit. After having been onc-less since Dr. Brain-Must fired me at the end of June, I finally got an appointment with a new onc in a couple of weeks. Prolly not great to have been onc-less for four months right after finishing chemo. On the other hand if I'm gonna have a quick recurrence, it might as well be real quick and be done with it. Hey, it could be worse--we could be sleeping on a cardboard sign in Zuccotti Park.

In case you're wondering, all is forgiven. It always is.

And I remain . . . .

Your Loyal Alter Ego,

W_____