The other day I had run out of SUPERMEDS!™. I lay swollen with gas in the end room barely able to think from the pain and discomfort let alone sleep. At 3 am, partially I think to do something active to perhaps walk it off after ten minutes of stomach jiggling did fuck-all (1) I went out to the shed. Why? Because once I'd spilled a bunch of SUPERMEDS!™ in there and even though I'd combed over the shed with all the intensity of a non-white nineteenth century gold fields' worker fossicking intelligently through a tailings pile I thought one may have eluded me.
As I strode out, with just my cock hole-less ladies' PJ pants on for clothing company, I kept chastising myself for going on a fool's errand.
'You know there's nothing there, you fuckwit,' I hissed at myself, my guts roiling with poo gas. 'This is an errand ... an errand for fools!' (2)
And as I muttered and farted, traversing across the dew-slicked lawn in dark of night, I also foolishly woke up theWife, my combined miasma of Mikey-noises and door clanging lethally combining to stir her from her slumber.
Anyhoo I went into the shed and I looked around, the cold air soothing given my being sweaty and hot from bloated tummy writhing.
Then I found one. A SUPERMED!™. It was enough to take the pain from nine to a five within just a short while. And the fact I'd worked myself into a state of pessimism only heightened the joy at its use.
Go the fool's errand. Sometimes ... not so foolish. After-all, did not a wise person once say a broken clock is still right twice a day? (3)
(1) You can imagine how someone like me with an appalling sense of body image and shame for being so big felt having to have to jiggle my stomach up and down at all let alone for ten minutes.
(2) Okay, I probably didn't say it exactly like that. It was probably more like Foul Ole' Ron—Bugrit, Millennium Hand and Shrimp—only mine was 'Stupid fucking guts fucking c__ fuck, fuck c___ (2a), fool's fucking errand, fuck etc.'(2a) Obviously I mean cunt when I say c___. I am underscoring for those sensitive types that can't hack it in print. Though really why do papers bother with the underscores when people will obviously read c___ as cunt? Why am I doing it?
(3) Though really it should be a stopped clock. A broken clock where the time is simply not ticking over correctly would remain wrong save for the occasional brief moment once a full day has passed forwards or back with its errant ticking, would it not?