A Trump rally, frozen shoulder and smartphone detox – topics you wouldn’t think work together on a normal day. I don’t recall any recent days I could classify as normal, but stay with me because hopefully it should make sense.
Yes, dear blog reader, it’s rant time. Get a drink, drop trou and cup your stuff (if that’s your preferred relaxy snuggle style) and settle in for a good old-fashioned whinge-a-thon.
Okay. First things – it’s obvious to anyone with even a tiny brain that Donald Trump is a massive cock. Possibly the biggest in history. I can’t comment on his actual penis size, though judging by the volume of shite that pours from the hole in his face it’s reasonable to assume he’s compensating for something.
I don’t like the guy, and wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire. I would likely throw on extra fuel to get the job done right. Plenty of Yankees don’t like him either. I don’t need to reference any dumb shit he’s said as the internet is awash with Trumpisms. He needs to go. Like yesterday. Doesn’t matter how. Choose your dream demise for the guy and cross those fingers. He shouldn’t just be booted out of office, but removed from the planet. Or existence. That would be ideal.
Anyone with the desire to be in a position of such power must be required to pass a series of capability tests, especially mental and emotional, to prove they’re stable enough to perform at that level. There’s something wrong with this idiot and I’m shocked the American people haven’t yet mobbed up and physically ejected him from the White House.
Come on folks, there’s still time.
All that idiocy aside, the news often tells me that old leather Drumpf has held another rally.
And I wonder…
“What the fuck is he doing?”
Here he is in Phoenix, Arizona, where he Tweeted his 72 minute speech was to a crowd of 15,000 people.
From that photo you could think: “Wow, he’s still pulling in the crowds.”
But also: “Holy shit, people are still stupid enough to give him their time!”
Not forgetting: “There are some dumb fuckers in the US.”
That still doesn’t answer the question: “Why is he still holding rallies when he won the presidency 9 months ago?”
Someone needs to have a quiet word in his ear:
“Er, Trump, look mate, you know you won, right? Yep, seriously. I was as surprised as you. No, they won’t stop crooked Hilary getting in. It’s done. Over. So, you don’t need to do all this shit now, there’s no point.”
I found this amazing video on YouTube that shows the actual crowd size, and that plenty of people were leaving while he was still ranting on.
That’s a hilarious video. Certainly makes you question the slant his media team put on this kind of thing.
The only reason I can come up with for Trump to still be holding rallies is because his massive ego needs to be fed. In which case doesn’t that sort of prove that he was never in the presidential race to become a good leader of a nation, but to validate his existence, and have people chant and adore him?
How is okay to encourage people in a crowd to punch someone in the face?
How is it okay for a leader of a powerful country to attack companies on social media to the point where they lose billions in their value?
How is it okay for that leader to consistently make false statements with zero consequences?
What the fuck is wrong with the world? And what the fuck is wrong with America?
I’ve said it before, but it’s obvious the rest of the world see the USA as the world’s biggest bully. It’s no wonder countries like Iran and North Korea want to arm themselves.
And now there’s a crazy person in charge of the US of A.
Simply put – Trump, the moronic, misogynistic, tiny fingered fuckwit – should not be in a position of power. Shame on anyone who voted for him.
He really does have tiny hands.
And what’s with the thing he does touching his finger and thumb together to put emphasis on words? It looks like someone’s controlling him, like a puppet on Sesame Street.
Body language specialists have a thing or two to say about this. Here’s my interpretation.
To conclude – Trump is a massive wanker. He pisses me off.
Let’s move on.
This is a fun topic.
I had “surgery” on my left shoulder a couple of months ago. The lovely
torturer surgeon stuck a needle in my body, filled me with liquid stuff to expand the area – saline and steroid, and other shit probably.
According to the physiotherapist, who saw me straight after, the aim of the game is to make the capsule “pop.”
Ewww. Sounds gross. That didn’t happen.
The procedure was pretty unpleasant. Not “get me out of here this hurts like a bitch!” kind of pain, but highly uncomfortable, like my shoulder was getting heavy, dying slowly.
Here’s the thing. For the last year or so my shoulder has got worse. There’s limited movement and when I pull or wrench the thing the pain is intense, strong and lasts several minutes, where I can do nothing but clutch at my shoulder like I’ve just been shot.
If anyone asks what’s wrong, I grit my teeth and hiss: “Shoulder!!”
My shoulder and I arrived at an agreement – I won’t put it through any stupid movements and it won’t hurt me.
Before the op (and even now sometimes) my shoulder feels like it’s not attached to my body. The physio explained the weird job the shoulder joint has. That odd, disconnected sensation isn’t in my head, it’s the arm bone (technical, right?) slipping in and out of the socket and not seating correctly.
Laying on my back in bed, because the side is out of the question, gravity pulls my arm down, and teases it out of the socket.
The smallest movement can render me immobile and pissed off. I went to pat the dog once. A simple hand movement. The pain roared like a volcano erupting between all the shoulder bones. I was okay 10 minutes later when everything had calmed down, when I could laugh about the absurd way it set off the pain chain reaction.
It’s painful but small shit compared to people who have genuine reason to complain.
Physiotherapy at Addenbrooke’s Hospital in Cambridge (amazing people there by the way!) has helped reduce the pain in my left shoulder. Getting the full range of movement is still a bitch, but it no longer aches all the time. Just at night. And in the morning. And when I pick things up. But it’s much better. Sort of.
Pain killers are pointless. They sort of take the edge off, but only serve to let the pain creep back in and surprise you later with a: “Ah-ha, I’m still here you prick!”
Humour and bitching aside, it is improving slowly, so I’m happy (er) about that.
About 6 months ago I began feeling the exact sensation in my right shoulder as I had in the left. Oh great. That’s just what I needed. Now I won’t be able to wash my hair with either fucking hand.
So, as the left has lessened in the pain department, the right has picked up the slack. And improved upon it. The right, not to be left out of the pain game, is much worse than the left.
When asked to describe the pain, I try to find the right words that encapsulate the feeling. This doesn’t quite do it justice, but it’s close.
This impacts on my life in odd, often funny, if hugely frustrating, ways.
I can’t get a fork to my mouth in the usual manner. I have to sort of extend it to my fingertips, lower my head and hope for the best. After that It’s a case of cutting up food, resting fork using arm/elbow on table and raising hand and lowering face. It must be hilarious to watch in a restaurant.
In the shower I squirt shampoo into my right hand, and then use my left to help hoist the right high enough, whilst praying I can slap it over my head before my left shoulder screams at me for pushing it too far, and my right shuts down completely, leaving me stood under the water, both shoulders pulsating crazy pain, and shampoo sludge sliding down my face.
No big deal, yeah? Nope. Because gravity acts on everything, it seeks to pull my arm bone from the socket. So I often have to place my arms across my chest like a vampire in a coffin.
Pulling up trousers is achieved by doing a little dance – both sides, pull up, then rest, deep breath, pull up a little bit more, arms down, and rest, up a bit, rest a bit, and repeat. Try it yourself, and add some flair by flailing your arms out every so often, and jiggle your legs about Riverdance style.
Things with sleeves. Depends on the day which arm I do first, but ultimately results in one arm chasing the sleeve, my body turning on the spot as I become more frantic to shove my hand in and hope my arm follows before the pain becomes unbearable and I have to stop, with teeth clenched. “Shoulder!!!”
This isn’t too bad right now, but before the op I had a fluffy travel pillow on my desk to rest my left arm on because every time I tried typing it felt as if the arm bone was about to pop free of the shoulder bit, rip free of the skin and the entire arm would plop on the desk then slowly topple onto the floor as I stared in mute horror, mixed with a blend of resignation that it was bound to happen and releif it’s finally over.
I don’t sleep much these days. A few hours each night, if I’m lucky.
Oh, and here’s a gross thing – both shoulders crack and grind when they move. According to the physio that could be the scapula, or the muscles near it, grinding to pick up the slack from muscles that aren’t being used now. On and below the shoulder blade I feel this grinding, popping, wrenching thing when I lift or lower my arms.
You have to laugh about it. I know I do. Seriously. When the pain is too much I often start laughing, mostly to avoid crying, but because I can’t believe how much silly shit can go wrong with the body at once to cause such consistent pain, coupled with nice short, sharp bursts of agony.
I can’t even scratch my back, or my shoulders!
Nature has an evil sense of humour.
I’ve been told it can take a few years for the body to correct the frozen shoulder issue. That’s a shitty name. Sure, it feels frozen in place, but only when frozen things burn like the deepest fires of Hades.
On the plus side, the gross thing that happened to my foot is now healed up.
To conclude – frozen shoulders are evil. They piss me off.
Can you see what’s wrong (or right, depending on your point of view) with the above photo?
We all need to be a little more like the lovely old biddy enjoying the scene, instead of taking endless shots on your screen for no fucking reason other than “because you can.”
I send my Galaxy S7 off for repair on Friday 25th August. It had stopped charging. I did have a shitty Windows Phone, but the sim stopped working and wouldn’t come out. Just to clarify, the actual build quality of the Nokia (that’s Knockeeya, not Noh-keeya as you weird Yankees say it for no reason whatsoever) is top-notch, but Windows Phone is so, so, so utterly shit.
I bought a £14 POS Alcatel phone that does calls and texts on a screen so small and pixellated it hurts my brain.
I don’t miss that.
Some people have this dreamy rose-tinted memory of their Nokia 3210’s and talk about how cool they were, and phones these days have no soul, the battery sucks, not like our old Nokia’s where the battery lasted 137 years.
Bollocks. Give me my smartphone any day over the monochrome, text only and Snake era.
I’m very split over losing my smartphone.
Peace & Quiet.
I like the fact that I’m not hooked up to the screen every waking moment. I get to enjoy the scenery as a car passenger, strike up a conversation with people, enjoy the moment without trying to get the best photo and share it for LOLZ with my internet buds, who I guarantee don’t give a shit about the waste of time photo I just made them look at for 2 seconds of their lives.
Fear Of Missing Out.
I miss being hooked up to my screen, whilst I’m on the toilet for example. I’ve seen enough scenery as a passenger, and would rather use the time sending an email, and the internets can help start conversations these days anyway, and whilst I do like taking photos, I generally don’t share them because they’re my private memories, not to be bandied about on the internet for morons to LOL at.
I don’t require idiots to validate my life with meaningless likes and comments.
I find myself reaching into my pocket, realising my little technological pal isn’t there, heaving a small sigh, and trying to remember what I did with my time before the age of the tiny screen.
That said, it’s a nice freeing feeling, a bit like giving up smoking. I see other people squinting at their phones, and I’m torn. Right in half. I miss it. I want it. And yet. I don’t care. I’m good without it.
To conclude – even though I love my smartphone, it still royally pisses me off.
Trump, frozen shoulders and smartphones can all fuck right off.
Nice and simple.
To leave you with a warm, fuzzy feeling after this unpleasantness, here’s a load of oddly satisfying pictures.