Fixed throat or fixed truck. LUCK pls.

It's winter here, though the only discontent I have is in my throat.

It rains quite a bit and is pushing this lawn's growth to the unmanageable stage.  The old mower won't start and I STILL can't get the lawndudes to ring me/message me back.  I suppose that's a certain level of discontent, but the neighbour cats think it's friggin' sweet playing in a jungle.  I happen to agree, even if wife and I like catching them and turning them loose in the outback.

My throat is full of gross things right now.  Though I'm not actually retarded, wifeage looks at me as if I am when I choke on just about everything.  EVERYTHING.  Yikes.

I choke on stuff.  I snore.  And I've got a gag reflex that would get me kicked out of Pr0nstar School faster'n you can say "Holy Galloping Crotchrot Ron Jeremy!"

I'm only recently learning that this may or may not have something to do with the GINORMIHUGE tonsils I have living in the back of my mouth.  I've always had them and they've always been an issue.  Anybody that's ever buckled my helmet for me at Grey Company knows that I can't have stuff touching my throat or I start making Bill The Cat noises.

It's only this week that my doctor-in-law finally looked in there, in a healthy and non-coldy mouth, and said, "Yeah, them suckers're huge, go see this guy."

I'm stoked that something might get fixed in my face that causes me such grief.

I mean really, I started writing this post 20 minutes ago, when I was first choking on leftover sausage roll and after a SKYPE convo with my BFF and a phone convo with my Sparkymate who wants to help me fix my burnt truck, I'm still clearing my throat like a pothead.

DISAPPOINT.

That said, BFF wants me and smallsprogs to go down to Waroona so our wives can be awesome friends and girls while he and I stand in the shed drinking beer and being awesome friends and girls too.  He wears my size cocktail dress, you see.

Totally kidding.  You know that though right?

Yeah, he's a size smaller.  Bitch.

Sparkymate is too efficient, he tells me, and has run out of jobs for the day, so he's ready to load up in his 4WD, drive down to South Jesus, and help me rewire my burnt truck.

How'd I burn the truck?  A story that will have to wait.

Smooches.

About JuddHole

This blog was the one that changed everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it continue to do so. I hope it starts with my underwear.