Chemo Charlie update. Its been a long journey with chemo Charlie
and bro has decided that he is having no more chemotherapy so this is our
farewell to chemo Charlie. We have had laughs along the way (mostly at bros
expense) but this is our good bye to Charlie.
What a day we have had with that not so fat fooker of a brother of mine.
This is the story about how my bros head as caved in and how we are trying to
get it back right for him. When we were all kids me, my sisters Babs and Sue ,
we all picked our noses, there was nothing we liked more than a bit of
Rhinotillexomania, (which is actually derived from the Greek words Rhino, ..nose, tillex...to pick, and Mania...compulsive
disorder) Our Sue is actually in Heywood folklore for being Rose Queen of St Johns
and walking 5 miles through Heywood on a Whit Sunday with a finger up each nostril.
However, Bro never enjoyed the challenge of digging away for gold , or as
we called them bogeys, or as others called them boogers. Why you might ask if it was a family trait and a worldwide
pastime did bro not do it?? SAUSAGE FINGERS!! Yes the fat fooker as he was even
at his younger years could not get his fat fingers which measured a circumference
of 63 millimetres into either nostril which had an inside circumference of 53
millimetres. Therefore as a youngster he developed an alternative habit to
satisfy his need for comfort, He started licking toilet seats, apparently this
fetish is somewhere in the same genealogical category as nose picking. He once
had to get the caretaker at Magdala st school (with the help of two boxes of Swan
Vesta matches) to remove his tongue from a frosty outside toilet seat, when he
was a mere six years old. Anyhow i digress a little. Last
week when he was playing in his new recliner riser chair and he tipped it too much and lunged forward and
in a quirk of fate his left hand index finger went right up his left nostril. Yes
he has become thin and his sausage fingers are no more. Since then he has gone
24/7 picking his fekin hooter, his fingers are never out of his conk......52
YEARS OF BOGEYS!!!! All ready for picking and man is he going to town. He has
discretely been placing them on the cushion of his sofa, because it is surplus
to requirements now he sits all the time on his recliner, the bloody macmillan
nurse sat on it Monday and left bros
with a faux leather cushion stuck to her arse. On Tuesday bro had developed the
pick, roll and flick method and was decorating his wall mirror with an array of
bogeys. Worse to come, on Wednesday he couldn’t
remove a particular sticky one from his hand and in desperation he picked it
off with his teeth and realised that it tasted nice. 52 YEARS OF BOOGERS TO
EAT!!. He then started putting them on muffins, Booger King springs to mind. Anyhow having 52 years of
boogers in his head, he is
systematically removing and eating them, his belly is getting fatter but his
head is looking like a plastic coke bottle on a bonfire. Mum was right when she
said if you carry on your head will cave in!!! Something has to be done to get
him back on his unharmful (apart from the occasions when he has to clean his
teeth with Immac) toilet seat licking. Anyhow i scoured the internet for help
and i found a place that could help Spring Hill Horse Piss, (Not to be confused
with the place for the chronically ill to receive palliative care in Rochdale) No
this is a stables just off Edenfield
road who specialize in the production of
Horse piss to help in the rehabilitation and support of people who suffer from
toilet seat licking and other strange and bizarre habits. We took bro there
today and we have him hooked up to a bag of urine from a dapple grey Dartmoor
pony and one from a shire stallion whos
dam used to pull a dray full of Bass
Charrington barrels of beer. We have
left him there tonight and hope that his need to eat his bogeys will disappear
and his full sized head will return when the horse piss kicks in and he reverts
back to toilet seat licking. Come on bro.You can do it pal. God Bless. XX
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