My first wife chopped all her hair off today. Bit of a cunt of a day really.
Last night with hair
Kissing an almost bald first wife with a mask on is a little bit shit
Well, technically she didn’t chop it off as she got her hairdresser to do it.
Even with all my fine-tuned hair cutting skills she wouldn’t let me do it. Reckons I’d give her fucked up racing stripes, spots or some other funky shit. Just goes to show how well she knows me ‘cos that’s exactly what I would’ve done.
A potential outcome
Racing stripes
She did make me come and watch it though. You know, just for torture purposes to make me cringe and feel or freaked out and shit. Watching was probably just as bad, if not worse than doing the cutting.
In all honesty I guess it was always inevitable that my first wife would lose her hair but we clung to the fact that she had amazing very thick hair and the chemo the oncologist who I’m not allowed to call a gnome even though he looks like one, is giving her was only supposed to thin her hair but not to this extent.
Even then she managed to smile
Really though, who gives a fuck man, ‘cos even though she sometimes annoys the fuck out of me I’ve still got my first wife to naggety naggety nag and believe me, she don’t need no hair to excel at that.
She doesn’t even have an ugly head under all that head of hair she had, so there’s a bonus aye. Fuck yeah!
Making bald pretty
They say try before you buy but in the early days I never really had the guts to ask her to shave her head smoothe like an egg. You know, so I could see what her head looked like just in case she ever got a cunt of a disease, like maybe bowel cancer.
Were there tears today? Fucken oath there were! The ol’ girl shed a few, so did her poor ol’ hairdresser sheila and as for the bald cunt writing this, yeah maybe.
The quote of the day…
Marjana: My hair looked like I barely survived Chernobyl.
Me: Well fuck me wife, I don’t call ya chemo days Chernobyl sessions for no reason.
Better hair times on Straddie
A few positives though…
We could probably pay off our mortgage in a year from money saved on hairdressing shit.
Won’t need to buy any more hair products.
I can take her hair products out of our shower and now have enough space for at least two, if not three beers in there.
With all the weak wispy clumps of hair now gone my first wife no longer pulling off that dead person dug up from a grave look.
Scarecrow hairdo
If she didn’t sing like a cat whose being held by the balls, she could probably pass as a young Sinead O’Connor.
With her dance moves she could easily replace that spastic dancing cunt from Midnight Oil.
She can lay claim to being the baldest in our home. A title that I’ve held for ages and might yet claim it back.
I don’t have to go to the bathroom to look in the mirror and can just look at my first wife instead.
Comparing whose got the baldest head
Hopefully she can get an acting job to replace that weak as shit actor Vin Diesel.
I won’t catch the cook sneakily crying when she’s brushing her hair.
I don’t have to lie to her saying I can’t even see the difference.
Once upon a time
And let’s not forget the fact, she actually feels a lot better for it.
So yeah, a massive day for us man. But it could be way way way worse so all good and nothing to see here… unless of course ya looking for spastic looking heads.
As promised in the last blog, this subsequent follow up is a lot quicker than the previous couple have been.
The ol’ first wife had her Chernobyl session last Wednesday and it fucked her up big time, man.
She felt shit at the time when she was sucking in her chemo juice but survived it; partly because I was there with her and she figured if I can go through life being the spastic cunt I am, then she ain’t actually all that bad off.
She hates it when I do this to my hair
Cant deny the spastic
These chemo sessions take a good three to four hours too. I use this time to write these blogs while she uses this time to watch me writing these blogs waiting with practiced skill for the most annoying times to interrupt #levelexpert.
Anyway, when we got home, my first wife was complaining (in this scenario I’m happy to utilise the word complaining as opposed to nagging) about how she feels all nauseous and shit.
Even asked for spew vessel just in case. A spew vessel is like a drinking vessel but kinda different.
I gave her an empty honey container I found on the bench. Half a litre one from memory. She’s not only a first wife, but she’s also a real short first wife; somewhat larger than a midget but not significantly so, so figured that’d be heaps big enough.
Fuck me was I wrong or what!
The only thing heaps big was her heaps big as chunder.
She filled that up quicker than a dirty ol’ whorebag gets filled on a cold wintery night.
She didn’t want to stop there either though. No way, man.
She also didn’t like the colour of the floor so painted some of that too and the splatter effect she left on our coffee table chest thing was kinda retro-ish I guess, so wasn’t really all that bad.
A few minutes prior to all this, I’d hand washed the dishes including a few pots so I grabbed the biggest one and away she went again.
Here a spew, there a spew, everywhere a spew spew…
Kinda reminded me of that sheila in that Exorcist movie but my first wife’s head wasn’t on quite so backwards.
Also reminded me of my old rugby days where we’d sing songs prior to skulling heaps of piss, often ending with spew everywhere… ‘Here’s to brother Woodstock, brother Woodstock, brother Woodstock. Here’s to brother Woodstock whose with us tonight. He’s happy he’s jolly, he sinks piss by golly…. etc’, only this time there was no singing prior to give a decent warnin.
Meanwhile, I’m in sprint mode but really only at 3/4 pace because the floor didn’t really need any more layers of her vomit strewn about. Toilet flush, back with wet wipes to clean her slobbery face and shit… and repeat.
Our boy Dilan’s still just chilling in his room on his phone without a clue even as I venture into the bathroom to wash her first chunder bucket a bit… oh, and my arms… I washed them too.
I’m known as somewhat of a good host so often when mates come to visit they end up spewing because I’m rather generous in making sure they feel dehydrated. This was a bit different though because I didn’t play a single part in this spew session.
Dilan must’ve picked up on a vibe as a little while after my first wife had finished her guts syphoning session he came out slightly bewildered… “Did you spew, Mum?”
The look she gave him probably wasn’t her most motherly loving one.
When someone phones but you’re listening to music via Bluetooth and instinctively pick up the speaker to talk as if it’s a phone
The ol’ girl struggled through that Wednesday night feeling like a real shit cunt.
That didn’t change Thursday at all so she slept nearly the whole day and night.
Not only did she put any teenager to shame with tiredness by sleeping it also somewhat nullified the nausea and sickness she felt, so yeah, I get it.
Dilan’s taller than his ol’ lady but check out his spastic toe. Keep telling him he can’t go out in public with a toe that looks like a midget’s stubby cock.
Come Friday she had to head back to Chernobyl central because that’s when she gets the chemo bottle thing removed. Remember, she has chemo on Wednesday then goes home with a bottle attached that drip feeds into her over a couple days and has to be disconnected on Friday.
Like everyone else in Queensland, when we woke up Friday it was to reports that there had been a positive case to this new Pommy more evil strain of COVID and as of 6pm that night we were in lockdown.
Chernobyl central though had already taken steps which meant that I couldn’t accompany her in for her bottle removal session. Pissed me off because I was hanging out to tell her massive spew story. Oh, I knew she’d tell ’em but not with the passion or story telling ability that I have.
Instead of the short visit, this one also turned into a few hours because our cool dude of an oncologist who I’m not allowed to call a gnome, even though he looks like one, was kinda worried about her.
They hooked her up again giving her heaps more fluids which I think were cleansing shit, anti nausea shit, hydration shit and steroid shit… albeit, not the muscly steroids or if in fact they were they aint working real good.
There was talk of her going into hospital over the weekend where she could receive extra care if needed but we went back home Friday for more sleep.
Perfect timing for a three day lockdown because what do ya reckon she got up to over the weekend when we weren’t really supposed to leave home? Yeah man, more sleep.
I mentioned a few times about going to hospital and she’s like ‘No fucken way man. They gunna poke and prod me and there’s Corona virus and shit and you won’t be able to visit’, and I’m like ‘Well there ain’t much poking and prodding going on in this household right now wife’, and she’s like ‘But you cook so good’, and I’m like… well you get the picture. But we didn’t end up in hospital okay.
Not sure if it was a subconscious alignment thing but some of our neighbours came home Friday night and spent the weekend spewing and shitting themselves and to those guys, I say ‘Fuck yeah!’ Absolutely love ya work team. Great skills and appreciate your efforts.
But back to my cleaner sheila, as much as I can take the piss out of it all with these stories, the above is part of the real life effects of what this cunt of a disease does to good people like my cook, cleaner, vacumer, dishwasher, first wife and my love.
As of yesterday she’s feeling better though.
Fuck you cancer you cunt of a disease. Fuck off already!
The irony of this pic following a ‘fuck off already’ comment and especially considering the sign in the background behind this old model of a sheila
We might call J9 a raggety ol’ hag but we love J9 and her visits
Don’t ya just love it when ya buy ya first wife wedding anniversary presents like these beauties and they’re already wrapped.
I killed two birds with one stone here in my efforts to make her happy… not only did she receive these cool presents, I also saved money on wrapping paper.
Another good use of the word ‘killed’ is that I haven’t been, yet.
My first wife isn’t 100 years old and it wasn’t our 100th wedding anniversary but that balloon was a really good price
I woke up on the morning of my first wife’s seventh chemo session with her standing over me doing the ol’ Kathy Bates thing in Stephen King’s film, Misery. I kinda felt for James Caan in that moment.
I actually think she thought it was more of a Sleeping Beauty moment. You know, just before the prince kisses that sleeping sheila awake. I ain’t so sure though.
Anyway, it made me think back to when she recently bought me some flash new jandals but when I tried them on they were uncomfortable as fuck making me walk like a spastic. A very slow spastic.
Even a first wife with fully fledged bowel cancer and shit could catch me in them should I ever try to escape. But I ain’t going anywhere wife because if there’s one thing Croatian sheilas are good at, it’s their hunting prowess (and cooking, looking pretty and being a good little nagging first wives), so I wouldn’t like my chances.
Only partially got through scraping the window clean
Been over a month since I last blogged here and I’m seriously gunna have to work on my time management so these posts aren’t the watered down paraphrased versions like this one is… Especially when extreme hair loss, Christmas and New Years fall within that month.
But here goes…
To accommodate Christmas, our oncologist who I’m not allowed to call a gnome even though he looks like one, gave the first wife an extra week off chemo. He’s a good cunt like that but it wasn’t because it wasn’t needed. It was more to coincide with holidays so my cook wasn’t all fucked up for Christmas day.
That’s what first wives get when they ask first husbands to write their Christmas cards
Problem was though, the ol’ first wife’s blood test showed her immune system was lower than a league player’s interview skills, so chemo was postponed yet again making it a whole month between sessions. Sounds awesome, unless of course she needs the chemo… which she does.
Remember back to how she first identified this little cunty thing called cancer? She had swollen glands in her neck that have since shrunk. Not as much though as the oncologist who I’m not allowed to call a gnome even though he looks like one, would’ve liked.
Disclaimer: Marjana wanted me to remove the gnome comments but I couldn’t hear her so added this line to show her disproval. For the record though, I ain’t saying he’s not good. He’s awesome in fact… it’s just that he reminds me of a gnome. I like gnomes too though remember and I remind her of a bald spastic cunt so go figure.
On a positive though, her vertigo has finally fucked off thanks to some funky moves with some switched on vertigo physio sheila. That vertigo’s a real cunt of a thing man that really made this hill we’re climbing a lot steeper. The video at the end gives an insight into the effect it had on my first wife, even with only lying down or getting up.
Thinking her brain has been a bit spastic of late and yeah yeah yeah, I get that it’s probably from hanging with me too much but Marjana kept fucking up appointment times and dates, including one with our surgeon Peter. He’s a real good cunt though and I sorted a sneaky little work around with him without her knowing because some of my cook’s workmates had arranged a surprise Christmas party for her that ended up being the same time as she was supposed to be meeting Peter.
Surprise Christmas catch up from the first wife’s workmates
We had our surgeon meeting and then coincidentally bumped into a bunch of the first wife’s workmates for a great arvo. Being the wog that he is and not wanting to miss out on a party, even our local hero surgeon Peter came down for a meet and greet.
A bloody great little afternoon had by all
Sitting as though upon a King’s throne
We’ve had some good times of late including a very nice weekend at Mooloolaba with some good mates, Biggles and Lexi. We partied, drunk heaps of piss and ate heaps (well one of us did).
First swim for first wife since her op
Like sands through the hourglass, so are the winds through Dilan’s mullet
The Biggles
We hope y’all enjoyed Christmas as much as we did. Fuck, it seems so long ago now aye.
Initially we were home with just our devil spawn and this was mega important for the first wife because Christmas and family should never be taken for granted. We’ve never really taken it for granted and always appreciated the occasion but this year we weren’t even sure the ol’ girl was gunna have another one. So to say it was appreciated is somewhat of an understatement.
One happy first wife
We then headed to cuzzies Jason and Lisa where we… you guessed it; partied, drunk heaps of piss and ate heaps (well one of us did). Again appreciating the occasion, the company and an over abundance of shit that made me even fatter and even more of a spastic cunt.
A nice little suckling pig on the spit
Fuck it was yum
Facetiming cuzzie Kimberley in Germany
Come boxing day we still weren’t quite fat enough so thought fuck it, lets have another Christmas party with some other good cunts who just so happen to be our neighbours we partied, drunk heaps of piss and ate heaps (well one of us did).
Christmas Day continuations on Boxing Day
New years eve was more of the same with another couple of good mates Parso and his mrs from the land of kilts and funny sounding people.
Sorry if this blog has been a bit of a weird catch up one but the next one will be a little more up to date situationally on my first wife’s predicament.
Before that though I do need to acknowledge my boss Chris for nominating me for the 2019 – 2020 Redlands Police Officer of the Year award. He’s a good cunt himself whose going through some funky health shit of his own right now and could’ve actually won it himself if he was in fact nominated.
For those that don’t know, I actually won the award and it was an awesome moment. I wasn’t going to raise it here but have done ‘cos life as we’ve been reminded is about living and appreciating the fine things it has to offer between times that aint so fine. For me, winning that award was fantastic but seriously man, the highlight was that my first wife was there to witness it. That for me was a beautiful thing… even if it was during Movember and I looked like a spastic cunt with a revolting moustache.
Snapped when when my first wife wasn’t crying
Finally, a massive shout out to my other boss Darni who has had my back big time since I’ve been off work. Thank you heaps to you and the team who’ve been carrying me of late. Y’all a bunch of good cunts, I reckon.
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