Hosing Out

So, I’m on a Detox diet.

Basically, this means that I have paid $50 for the privilege to swallow awful tasting tablets whilst depriving myself of the very foods and drinks that stand a chance of taking the awful aftertaste away.

And I must keep this up for five more days.

Well, I’m only doing this because my diet has been obscenely poor over the past few months, and it’s about time I started looking after myself.

How poor was it?

It was so poor, I once saw it sitting on the corner of George and Pitt Street, holding a ragged cardboard sign, begging for food money, whilst trying to sell off its Telstra 2 shares.

Anyway, the first thing anyone must do when they’re planning on restoring something to its former glory, they must do the initial nasty job.

Which in my case is: tear the bastard down, gut it and start from a fresh foundation.

So, I started this Detox diet in an effort get all these toxins out of my system. Naturally, being the coffee junkie and struggling-to-quit smoker that I am, the past few days have been akin to hell… except without the coffee and cigarettes, which I’m sure would be in plentiful supply in said plane of existence.

C’mon, I can’t imagine two of the world’s most evil items not being in hell. I’m sure the vending machines with these items are right there next to the pokies, beer vats and the pile of Tickle-Me-Elmo’s.

I feel like I’m shaking like one of those Sesame Street hellspawn toys, too. My hand kkepps jumpingg alll over the kkeyboard. I’mm sure I’mm talkingg with a sslight stutter tooo. My laugh is nowhere near as cute, though.

It’s cold. So very, very cold… maybe a nice warm coffee will snap me out of this. No!

Thanks go to any omniscient being you believe in that I’m not a tattoo artist…

Because that Chinese character you wanted tattooed on your left shoulder blade would roughly translate into “Courage, but needs coffee now! Now dammit!” But it would also be all ragged from my twitching withdrawal symptoms.

Everyone I speak to that has one of those oriental tattoos claims that it translates into “Courage”. Frankly, they all look different to me.

Where was I? I dunno.

If you need me, look for the trembling mess that’s balled up in a foetal position in the corner.

Note: This is an exaggeration of my current state. I’m not that bad. Yeah. I’m not “trembling” at all. I prefer the word “unstable”