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…?
Flowing on from the previous post from Christmas 2017, here is yet more evidence as to the efforts I go to in spoiling my first wife.
Christmas in the year 2017 was obviously such a joyous occasion for lil’ ol’ wifey aye.
The intricate curves and finely tuned creases are a piece of art.
I think me and the first wife been having a war of words of late.
She’s told me I’ve turned into a fat cunt a few times and I’ve told her that her ass has got fat. Flat but fat. When she reads this I’m gunna claim a typo between flat and fat by the way… nah fuck it, keep it real and call it how it is, I reckon.
On a positive though, I’m still alive.
Couple of other positives are my first wife now checks her curvy bits out in the mirror with more precision and the fact she ain’t exactly a skinny little bitch is actually a good thing.
Not that I don’t love skinny sheilas ‘cos I do… well not like concentration camp skinny or muscle man sheila skinny ‘cos that shit’s fucked up and yeah I’m a spastic cunt but not mental spastic (um, well actually..).
But anyway, during those early cancer days when she was all fucked up following surgery, my cook lost so much weight she looked sick as fuck. Not ‘sick as fuck’ as in teenager talk for ‘cool’ but you know, sick as fuck like maybe she had bowel cancer type sick.
So now that she’s built up a few extra kilos as a buffer she’s good to go and even started exercising again, as have I.
With our two bald heads, we’ve been roaming the mean streets of Cleveland together like a couple of skinhead gang members. Even take our own ravaging dog for good measure. Our dog’s called Bella and she is of course black as fuck, ‘cos although we may look like scouts from Trump’s Proud Boys we also want to show we’re inclusive ‘cos our black dog’s life matters. For anyone wondering, our cunt of a cat is only partly black.
Some of you would’ve seen that we had our 23rd wedding anniversary a few days ago where the first wife wrote heaps of soppy shit and I did my equivalent by taking the piss out of it.
But in all honesty, a few months ago we weren’t even sure we’d get to celebrate another wedding anniversary together so fuck yeah! Although she pisses me off heaps… quite a few heaps actually, I’m happy to have reached this little milestone together with her and counting a couple years warm up, it’s actually 25 very loooong years together. Longer than she’s been alive, I might add.
So I took the ol’ girl out for a flash as feed at the most expensive restaurant in the whole wide world. Drove into the city not even sure where we were going to eat but ended up at La Vue and thank fuck you cunts donated to that GoFund me page because it cost me nearly every single cent of it to feed the hungry little hippopotamus and her growing bum. It was an awesome feed, ambience, service, food presentation and company so well worth it by the way. Although we ate heaps and each came out about 10kg heavier it was still way easier to walk home as I’d lost more than that weight in my wallet.
Just on that GoFundMe page at https://gofund.me/0e62aea0, we were going through it again yesterday looking at the comments and who had donated and everyone that donated to it or in person are still very much considered real good cunts and appreciated.
Wednesday just gone was supposed to be Chernobyl day but for the second time now our oncologist; you know the one I’m not allowed to call a gnome even though he looks like one, postponed it because my first wife’s blood test showed her immune system was down. Apparently it needs to be over a magical number of 100 and hers was like 85 or something. I reckon it might even have something to do with all the energy she’s putting into growing her bum.
Not only did my dishwasher sheila have her fortnightly blood test this week but she also had another CT scan to see the current extent of her cunty cancer.
For those that don’t know, people fucked up on cancer get scans all the time including CT or PET scans and probably even other ones too. So far, Marjana has only had CT scans which still require some funky shit to be injected into her veins to show things clearer. She hasn’t as yet had a PET scan which they do if the CT scans don’t show shit properly… I think?
Because my clothes folder had issues with vertigo they also checked her brain in the scan.
So the outcome of the scan probably deserves to be started with a quote I reckon…
Me: Did the scan on her head show an increase in nagging?
Oncologist who I’m not allowed to call a gnome even though he looks like one: Nah, that’s her baseline.
But it looks like the cancer hasn’t grown.
It also looks like it hasn’t exactly shrunk either which is a little bit of a cunt actually.
Our oncologist who I’m not allowed to call a gnome even though he looks like one, said that although the size of the tumours are pretty much the same there’s a chance that some of the mass that’s showing may actually be scar tissue that hasn’t broken down and dissolved back into her body.
Well here’s to hoping because after all these Chernobyl sessions, spewing her guts up, flaming ass diarrhea (not linked to the fat bum syndrome apparently), nausea and even nagging it would’ve been good to get news that the cunty cancer had done the equivalent of a grown man’s cock in freezing water and shrunk to that of a infant boy’s size shlong and concaved somewhat, but nup.
Our oncologist who I’m not allowed to call a gnome even though he looks like one, said he was going to tweak her chemo concoction because it’s fucking her up a bit more than it probably should’ve. He obviously hasn’t seen her when she’s pissed off.
He said some brainy doctor words about taking out this and that in her chemo and I asked him if he could write down exactly what he was saying. But I also asked if he could write it in human writing so I could read it. In his defence though, he did try and that’s what counts right?
So another couple weeks spent alive since last post so this merlot is for you dear first wife for making it this far and still looking pretty on and beautiful on the inside and out.
This little gem of a gift goes back to Christmas in 2017.
My first wife had a whole week of having to look at it, touch it, shake it and try to peek through any wrapping joins in an effort to work out what it was.
Oh the temptation she must’ve felt.
I didn’t give in though, although I did give her a hint by telling her it was not a hat.
At some stage I hope to cover off more about both our work colleagues and employers but not yet.
The ol’ girl ain’t in any state to return to work but I’m a little bit different. Yeah we may both be bald cunts but I don’t have that cunt of a disease and there in lies the difference.
So after a few months off work, I managed to find my uniform (appears to have shrunk around the guts area somewhat) and went back to work. At this stage only a couple days per week though.
Something in the universe was off centre though because it really was a cunt of a morning!
4:30am: Deep sleep interrupted by our internal fire alarm screaming hard out. Talk about freak out, man!
In that weird place between sleep and awake I jumped up out of bed almost as quick as that time our cunt of a cat pissed on my clothes.
With cock and balls and a big fat guts swinging and jiggling I ran around the house like a spastic trying to hold in a shit.
I didn’t need a shit though. Was trying to find a fucken fire, man.
The first wife had also jumped out of bed and if I looked like a spastic trying to hold in a shit, she was way worse. She’s blind as fuck and still had some of her hair then and looked very much like the love child of some fucked up orgy involving the Scarecrow in Wizard of Oz, Worzel Gumidge, Einstein and that Boris Johnson cunt.
I’m running around trying to smell smoke and look for flames while she’s just prancing around like a spastic and yelling shit.
Search downstairs for flames and smoke. Nothing…
Search upstairs for flames and smoke. Nothing…
Kodi was elsewhere but Dilan was home. Open his door and he’s still crashed out big time dreaming 16-year -old dreams.
Our fire alarms are all interconnected and are loud as fuck including the one in Dilan’s room going off. Obviously not loud enough to wake a teenager though.
For some reason out of the blue the alarm stops and I’m like ‘What the fuck, man!?’
Because we’re still half asleep I’m thinking if I go back to bed I can maybe sneak another hour sleep before getting ready for work.
Talk about being a dumb cunt alright.
Yeah I’m continually sniffing for smoke but my brain’s trying to relax and three minutes later just as my first wife calms enough to stop talking, well it all starts up again.
Repeat as above but this time I’m also looking in wardrobes and cupboards and even went outside naked as fuck, grabbed a ladder and climbed up into the ceiling for a gander.
And again it stops, then starts, then stops, then starts…
I spent the next hour pressing the reset button on the fire alarms trying to work out which one was causing it.
Keep freaking out thinking fire engines are gunna pull up outside our house with lights and sirens.
Those cunts looove their sirens but silly me I forgot they were firies and not cops so would be sleeping their nightshift away at that time.
Remove the battery from what I think was the main alarm going off and by this stage it’s time to start getting ready for work, fuck it.
I’m massively on edge trying to make me and the cook a coffee and expecting another screaming alarm at any moment.
Because I hadn’t been to work for fucking ages I had to find uniform apparel like epaulettes, work socks and belt and throw ’em all on our bed
The first wife sipped enough coffee to decide it was weak and complain about it.
Oh, I forgot to mention we’d changed the sheets the night before too.
So about this stage the coffee complaining first wife decided to spill her entire cup of weak coffee all over our bed.
That screaming fire alarm had nothing on an angry first wife who found a number of most inappropriate words for a supposed lady to use, yelled at me blaming it on me because I made her weak coffee and put hundreds of belts on the bed.
Cancer may have taken most of her bowel but it ain’t taken her vocal chords, I tell ya.
When I left work for the cook and her cunty cancer I was acting sergeant but returning as a senior conny. Acting sergeant epaulettes are everywhere but senior conny epaulettes are as hard to find as strong coffee nowadays.
Head upstairs to escape my coffee cleaning wife, put on my socks and repair my hearing.
I got a million pairs of socks in the drawers and only one of those pairs has a hole in ’em. I don’t need to tell you which pair I’d grabbed.
Kiss the first wife and go to work.
Good times man, good times.
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