From the Vault - Badbladderitis and Gottogopeealotta.

I feel the need to write a new blog post, but to be honest, I can't be bothered. So, here's something that I'm sure all writers do sometimes - look at me, calling myself a writer like I am a Golden God or something - and I'm going to recycle old material. It's nothing exciting, just a bunch of old blogs that I've raised from the dead from thescientistmrj's blog on LiveJournal: The Human Equivalent of Penicillin. 

Back then, it was Andy - Boy of Destiny writing. He was a fan of American Psycho, just like current day Andy is, so therefore, the comments section had 'Go Return Some Videotapes' for the ability to leave a comment, and 'X Problems In Sri Lanka' for the amount of comments. The X in the equation is the amount of comments left on that particular blog. I routinely think about reviving that old beaten up blog, but then I remember that's a fools errand and nobody uses LiveJournal anymore except people who still use MySpace and make jokes about Tom. 

For example, what would happen if Tom from MySpace got into a fight with Mark Zuckerberg? 

I don't have an answer to that, but that's the hypothetical build up somebody would use if they were still making jokes about MySpace's Tom. I'm not very good at making jokes, just like I'm not very good at creating legible sentences, but alas, I still keep trying. 

Anyhow, I digress. You're currently sitting at your computer wondering two things: A) When was the last time I watched Almost Famous and why do I have Tiny Dancer in my head and how did Kate Hudson get an Oscar nomination and why did people think she was going to win that year when it was obvious she wasn't going to win because getting sold for a case of beer isn't as sad as an abused partner of Jackson Pollock and will Kate Hudson ever get another Oscar nomination, and B) where is this remnant of an old blog post that Andrew was talking about, and is he just making me read all of this crap because he wants to talk about crap, in fact, I don't have to take this crap from him because I'm not getting paid to read this blog, I'm not even getting a spiritual enlightenment like I thought I would from reading this blog, I don't know what I'm doing and I really need to get out more and stay away from the internet, I mean, really, I won't have anything to do on the internet now that the UK is requesting people to mark down whether they are going to look at porn or not, how do I live without porn, I want to know, why I have the theme from Con Air, in my head right now, and I also want to know how Con Air is a two time Oscar nominated film? 

So, whilst you're thinking those things, I've busily gone across to my old blog and copied the following text. I'd say enjoy, but I know you have probably skipped to the end to see if there was a gif of Alison Brie or not. (Spoiler: There isn't.)

November 21st 2006

It wasn't too long ago - I'm thinking, about four or five months - that Bernadette warned me of the pangs of badbladderitis, or otherwise known as gottopeealotta. It's currently something that doesn't have a cure, only prevention - in the form of Tena Lady and a catheter. Today on my way to Vet Nursing, I picked up two iced coffee's - harking back to the days where my car was littered with iced coffee cartons, some dating back a year ago - and drank both in the car. Flash forward forty five minutes and my bladder was screaming at me. 

Flash forward another two hours after relieving myself and my bladder started screaming at me again. This time I responded, hey! I haven't even drunk anything yet! How can you need to go again? What have I done wrong to deserve this? 

So, I relieved myself. Flash forward another two hours. Still not having drunk anything, my bladder exclaims, excuse me, please, may I be excused? 

I excuse it. 

Scratch my head. 

A few hours after that I leave, I arrive home. Still no additional drinks, just food. I sit down after changing the cat water, putting biscuits out for her, and I think, time to relax for a second. Then it screams, you aint fuckin' doin' that buddy! And off it goes again.

Why didn't I fully listen to Bernadette's warnings before and ask for it to be surgically removed before all this trouble started? Why? Why have bladders in the first place? 

Who knows. That, for me, is a greater mystery than what is the meaning of life or which road did Tom Hanks take at the end of Cast Away.

3 Problems in Sri Lanka:

Leadingdog - So true, I swear my bladder became bad overnight, one day I was bragging to myself about how I could hold it for ages, and mocked those who braved the cold nights to wake up and pee, and now I am one of them and there is nothing I can do to get my old bladder back. 

signed..no more forghorn.

threedimensions - 42 andy...

and the road to unequivocal millions (in americano dollars)

Anonymous - It's probably the caffeine. The frequent need to urinate is also a sympton of diabetes.

One time I held my urine in for two days, I swear. I don't want to explain why, just that I did it. It amazes me today, I probably did some horrible damage that I will only know of later.

Six days later I reviewed the following films: 

Borat - ****
Slums Of Beverley Hills - ***1/2
8 Below - *****
The Prestige - ****
Shaun Of The Dead (Edgar Wright & Shaun Pegg Commentary) - *****

And I'd say that's that mattress man.