Everyone loves Christmas but I’m pretty sure that back in 2018, nobody in all the world loved Christmas as much as my first wife did.
If you don’t believe that, just check out the look of absolute glee on Marjana’s face when she first saw the gifts with her name on them.
A friend asked me the other day how I am coping with my first wife having cancer and I didn’t really want to talk about it to be honest. I usually end up sweating from my eyes if one scratches the surface with delving questions.
Not one to be rude though, I did reply saying probably the hardest thing is seeing the ol’ girl when she looks sick as fuck. Walking up the stairs to find her asleep on the couch, looking pasty, pale or even Simpsons like yellow and basically not looking real flash and is simply a cunt of a feeling. Every parent whose had a sick baby at hospital would know a similar feeling of utter helplessness. Not every day because there are good days and bad days but it absolutely breaks ya heart, man!
And that’s just the third party people like myelf. Imagine how the one dealing with it feels. Poor girl…
But apparently there is a counter action for battling bowel cancer and it’s called shopping.
Thanks to some of you who gave my maid shopping vouchers for her 50th birthday she recuperated phenomenally over a number of days thanks to shopping.
Seriously though, that form of therapeutic treatment should be in medical journals.
(Un)fortunately I had what I am lead to believe was the privilege of accompanying my housemaid during these therapeutic excursions.
It was soooo much fun….!!!
In fact I feel very sad she has now used all her vouchers and as such she has no need to return to any shopping centres for a very long time (fingers crossed).
We had an appointment with our baby faced surgeon Peter a couple weeks ago. He really is a good cunt and even recently had a lecture with our oncologist who I’m not allowed to call a gnome even though he looks like one. Just shows they are specialists in their area but with Peter I’m starting to wonder if he organises these appointments because he just needs a laugh.
It wasn’t until she lay on Peter’s examination bed and pulled up her dress for him to examine her surgery scars that she realised she was wearing an old raggedy pair of undies with so many frayed holes and rips they looked like sexy lacy lingerie, or at least a back woods redneck version of them.
Thinking this may be why she got herself some new undies during her shopping excursions.
She’s actually been feeling pretty good lately to be honest. Managed to go on a few walks to our local dog beach with Bella and that’s a 6km turnaround so could be worse. Problem is she, because of her chemo she has to hide from the sun so often looks like a Muslim sheila in that full body covering get up some of ’em wear. I know quite a few Muslims and they’re all good bastards so no issue my end but does suck on hot days.
Kodi came for a visit the other day and with that comes your quote of the day…
Kodi (serious as fuck): Where’s the Gary Coleman?
Me and the first wife: Huh, Gary Coleman?
Kodi: Yeah the sandwich maker grill I always use.
Me and the first wife: Oh, you mean the George Foreman (laughter).
For those old enough to remember Gary Coleman in Different Strokes and his ‘What you talking about Willis?’ line and George Foreman the boxer and not just his grill should see the irony in the similarities between the two.
Our young cuzzie Kimberley is back from abroad and came out to surprise us and play with some wigs with the mrs. Why let them have all the fun right…
Finally, a couple young fellas have been charged with robbery from an incident in Cleveland just after midnight Saturday where our young fella Dilan was the victim. I’m trying to be nice here as apart from ‘first call’ it hasn’t gone to court yet, so it’s still only alleged.
This isn’t an official police report and is my own personal blog so It’s alleged that five piece of shit cunts did that coward dog act of ganging up against one dude who became separated from his mates. Because a one on one fight just wouldn’t be fair when you’re a piece of shit coward cunt.
I’m also alleging that Dilan was punched, kicked and bottled over the head and that Dilan stood his ground and fought back landing punches of his own.
I’m further alleging that whilst Dilan was on the ground these piece of shit cunts ripped his satchel off him that contained his wallet and some other shit and stole it.
When we got the phone call, we immediately picked him up and went straight to the cop shop to report it.
For any piece of shit cunts who may be reading this and reckon reporting shit to cops is snitching or a dog act, how about you go fuck yourself. The dog act is being a coward cunt in a pack to start with and all you cuntheads pretending to be ‘gangsta as’ or tough cunts are actually soft cock coward cunts in my eyes. Y’all only say shit like ‘snitches get stitches’ to deter ya victims from reporting shit ‘cos ya know ya not gunna get away with it if it’s reported, so fuck you, fuck off and go and get fucked cunt. None of us, including Dilan are intimidated by y’all..
Maybe try and be a decent human being. It’s actually a good feeling and good things happen to people who do good things. What comes around goes around.
We spent the entire night at hospital and shortly after we got home we heard that the coppers had charged two of the offenders and located some of Dilan’s gear in their car so a thank you to the responding and investigating officers for your efforts to date.
Dilan plays hooker and prop and was probably too pretty for a front rower anyway.
It’s true, my first wife swims like a rock. A very large heavy rock to be precise.
With that being the case, back in 2017 I figured a good birthday present would be a scuba diving course because it’s an underwater thing and anything that sinks like a large heavy rock would be a natural at the bottom of the ocean.
I did make a public disclaimer at the start though that if she did drown (which she obviously didn’t) that I wasn’t the murdering type.
Far out man, so much can happen in a month and heaps has since I last blogged. Hate doing these long catch ups as tend to struggle finding rhythm to make them flow from trying to fit heaps in. But that ain’t your fault; I’m the lazy cunt here, not you.
So what’s happened of late? A couple of Chernobyl days and the inevitable grossness that comes with it (including a chunder or two), I pissed off the first wife even more than normal and made her sad (not one of my finer moments I admit but I’ll cook you a mean as feed of scallops in exchange for your mercy, ljubavi), had us some doctor visits, some church visits and seen a man in a white cloak (a priest not a fucken straitjacket dude ya spastics), one child gained employment and another gained a title called ‘House Captain’ at school, a work visit and a little something called Marjana’s half century birthday celebration.
Wont go into all things but first up I’ll touch on the Chernobyl Days. As I pen this the first wife is catching Zs with both her drip feeding chemo bottle and our cunthead cat Pudding snuggled up to her.
Nobody knows better than a cat the positive effects on humans that cat cuddles, the soothing sound of their purring and that little kneading foot massage thing they do, has. And our pissing cat knows her mamma is a little bit sick right now.
Whilst on that note, not sure if any of you fellas heard of this thing called a cat litter box? Yeah, it has like sand and shit and does wonders for people dealing with cunty cats that piss inside on ones clothes. Quite and amazing invention really 😉
The chemo effects were knocking the ol’ girl around more than Jake the Muss so our oncologist who I’m not allowed to call a gnome even though he looks like one, has tweaked his warlock brew and taken out one of the key players; the cunty spew one apparently.
It’s a double edged sword though because although she’s no longer spewing like an unfit front rower at pre season training, we’re hoping the removal of such a key ingredient also wont inhibit her recovery.
On a negative note, that chemo piece of the puzzle usually takes a good 90 minutes to shoot up and with that now gone I’ve lost my blogging mojo. Along with the odd eyelid flutter and pat directed at my first wife I’ve lost a good chunk of genuine blog dedicated time. Might have to have a whisper to our oncologist who I’m not allowed to call a gnome even though he looks like one, about reinstating it. Hmmm…
Ol mate also allowed her to take an extra week off for her 50th birthday celebration. He’s a good cunt like that.
Took a little bit of effort to pull it all together but it turned into a fucking primo night. Was awesome to see those that turned up and the joy y’all brought the birthday girl by being there. Even if she didn’t get to spend much time with each of you, she seriously had a primo time and was on cloud nine for days after.
Turning 50-years-old is a bloody good reason for a piss up I reckon and in this case even more so, ‘cos when this cunty cancer thing invaded our lives there was a time when we weren’t sure if my little Dalmatinka would live to be 50 years old.
But she did and like I told her this morning she’s so fucking spoilt because she’s still living, even though she’s now already past that goalpost. Might have to do what wives do to their husbands once they get ’em and change them, (move the goalposts that is 😉)
Apart from smashing out two bottle skulls and being reigning champion of our pee tree, my main party trick is feeding hungry cunts and I’d like to think that was accomplished quite nicely.
It’d be rude to not to mention certain people and specific gifts but I’m gunna be rude and not mention names because will leave people that matter out. But please take peace in knowing that each and every gift Marjana received was appreciated but not as much as your company on the night. Y’all deserve a ‘fuck yeah’!
For those that couldn’t make it, y’all just a bunch of cunts… but ya not really as we know you would’ve been there if ya could, if it wasn’t for things like work, international Covid travel restrictions and also attendee numbers also being restricted by Covid.
Heaps of thanks to all who helped before, during and after the party. Could not have pulled this together without y’all input. Anyone that helped is welcome to come around and drink some piss with me. My shout. Actually, fucken anyone is welcome to come around and drink piss with me whether ya helped or not.
A week before my cook’s birthday we tee’d up a visit to her work. Although she’s had untold contact with heaps of her workmates via messages, calls or visits, she hadn’t been to work since she was diagnosed with that cunty cancer. She was so looking forward to it and absolutely loved the visit and catching up with everyone. I ain’t never seen anyone so happy to go to prison.
Although I’ve been to prisons in my line of work I hadn’t actually been to Brisbane Women’s which is where my favourite vacumer worked, and the little tour was very much appreciated. Not only did I get to meet a bunch of Marjana’s workmates and guests of the Queen in their natural habitat but I now know what it feels like to walk the catwalk naked at a hens party.
One of my first wife’s mates asked how I felt about seeing inside the prison and your quote of the day comes from that conversation…
Colleague (asked via Marjana): How did Brendon enjoy his visit to the women’s prison?
Me: Felt like a chunk of meat.
Colleague: Hope it was a chunk of fillet steak he felt like and not chuck steak.
Me: A very soft tender piece of succulent meat that anyone without teeth could eat (you may have to visit to appreciate this reply).
Finally, if ever my Mrs needed evidence to prove I’m a dumb cunt, here it is. I made a couple more shelves, one that fit perfectly at the end of our hall and the other larger one was a left over piece to use elsewhere… Guess which one I [ut the legs on? #dumbcunt 😒
My word, the year 2017 was indeed a massive year for my first wife!
Yet another Christmas gift for her to jump for joy over.
Guesses as to what this actually was were mostly way off although one particular cuzzie picked it straight away.
Educated guesses anyone…?
Woodstock's blog 