The disabled!

Sunday 12:34 a.m.
                           I couldn't go and see our friend with the MS this week because ... well, I couldn't be arsed. I could have gone to see her today after I got finished with  the bus journey from seeing the mother-in-law, and of course I couldn't go and see my own mother because I was supposed to be seeing my mother-in-law... only one of these disabled folk is my contemporary. Compared to my contemporary who is disabled, the rest of my so called friends are completely funged. At least, she is a nexus for compassion.
                          I was hearing from the old, toothless one today. He's been retired for about a year and a half. He does not have any hobbies apart from waving his lollipop pole at the men digging up the road, and when you tell him what he might do to stave off  the obsessive and compulsive decline, the tramlines leading to the brain rot, well, he just waves his lollipop pole at you, and what can you do against this kind of karma? Except say he is completely funged.
                         But he is a contemporary of mine. Another contemporary of mine, The Cadaver, is threatening to come and see me. The Cadaver tried to come and see me when I was engaged with the mother-in-law, but fortunately I was not at home. He brought with him his four cans of beer with no beer in them, and I would have had to sit there drinking this awfulness with him, and wishing I had some barbituates to go with them. Anyone else would have brought a bottle of whisky! Or some morphine . Or some decent dope of some kind.
                         These folk I know are all millionaires! But would they spit on you if you were on fire? I do not think so, Jack! This is the awfulness of the evil bourgeois, the disgusting ones who hated their parents and then, voila, turned out just the same. It must be something to do with their genes. Nature versus nurture. Give us a break. They're loaded with this horrible Scottish protestantishness from two cells in! Don't dance, don't sing, don't tell jokes. And don't have any drugs with them. God preserve us from the flatheided, neurotic, life denying basturns! The ninety plus year olds are far more fun!
                        So I'm  going to start being nice to folk in this blog. I'm not going to despise them, or cajole these flatheided, evil bourgeois basturns. I'm just going to say Good Luck! And bye, bye!
                         I got a letter today from the rest and be thankful pension folk. I have not opened it. Once the ninety plus year olds, who are so much more fun than the evil, why don't they strangle themselves, bourgeois basturns, have passed on, I'm going to the hut. No machines. Just vegetables.
                         This blog, however, will end on a nice note. I'm sorry you're funged. I'm sorry you are completely funged! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. But it's not my fault that yous are too dumb to meditate. It really isn't. Right now I've enough on my plate with the ninety plus year olds without having to entertain sad basturns like the pond life morons that yous are!! As soon as the old people have passed on, I'm going incommunicado, and to hell with this stupid clicky clicky clickyness! So there!