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The Bang Bang Theories

I’d Rather Not.

You Guys. My relationship with Brad Pitt took a turn for the worse, and how.

After a soak in epsom salts & apple cider vinegar, Brad Pitt became a volcano of grossness, that turned black on Monday, and had me frantic and hysterical and on my way to the ER.

We weren’t really sure if it was serious, because the doctor at Urgent Care on Sunday said an oral antibiotic would do the trick, and when I flat-out asked if I should go to the ER they told me no, not necessary.

Boy Howdy, were they wrong.

I was x-rayed and admitted and words about “several days in the hospital” and “possible surgery” cropped up, and I knew then it wasn’t going to be a quick stop at the ER and then on to Olive Garden for their never-ending pasta bowl.

I was turning into a zombie from the foot up, with Brad Pitt turning into a bunch of dead tissue. Thank Garth this didn’t end up in the bone or all my little “amputation” jokes would have been a big fat joke on me.

I ended up in the hospital for 5 days while they worked to stop the Zombie Apocalypse from taking over my body.  I have some extensive apparatus attached to my foot to stimulate tissue growth. They had to cut out all the zombie outta me and it left a gaping wound, described by one as, “A really fucked-up looking vagina.”**

So yeah, I’ve got an almost-zombie, fucked-up vagina on my foot with a vacuum cleaner hooked up to it 24/7 and this is basically no way to lead into my 50th year, or maybe it is because after this it will be smooth sailing? Or is this just the start of it all?

Basically I just need Rick Grimes to stop by and hold me and tell me it will all be okay.

**I’d post pictures but they are super disturbing and once you see them you can’t unsee them, so we are going to err on the side of caution and not post. You’re welcome. And I’m sorry. 



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