At first I was mildly annoyed, but as minutes and then hours passed….
By
pparets
on July 31, 2008 at 01:07 pm
14 Comments
.... my palms began to sweat. By bedtime, I was pacing the floor, the ashtray littered with butts. “I’ll be ok”, I said to myself over and over. It was a long night.
The next morning, I bounded down the stairs. “SAB will be back and up”, I whispered feverishly. It wasn’t! “Nooooooo....!”
There would be no mutual flogging… no incisive wit… no attack, dodge, weave, bob, thrust, strike!
By noon, I had no appetite, the cat was in hiding. Every five minutes I tried… that damn sign-on thing became my enemy. Was this a nightmare from which I would never wake?
By night-time, I knew I was in bad shape. I actually longed to have 108 call me a moron. I prayed to see one of realitybasedbob’s inane posts. It would be OK if Move_Zig thought McCain was a chi-com plant. Even Sparkie. Anything, anything!
In the darkness, I cursed Rob Port. I needed a fix and I needed it now. I was sweating and trembling. I had pain in my gut. I knew what it was… withdrawal! I was in the grip of SAB-tremens…
Feverishly, I got up. I took a dose of LGF… I shot up a hit of Gates of Vienna. Later, I emptied a hidden bottle of Power Line. Nothing helped.
Would I ever see BatWing again? Would Whistler, Anna, Zsa Zsa, RG, Proof, 2hotel9, Chief, Neimans and the others ever give me a rush again?
Now I was out on the darkened streets. Cars slowed to the curb… “Yo, you need sumpin’? Grass? Coke?” I stumbled over… “You got any SAB, man? I’ll pay anything...”
I would have given $50 for one hit of Hannitized. A $100 to trip on LDS.
I had hit bottom. Friends commented that I looked ill… thin.... in need of a shave. I didn’t care. I needed my FIX!!!
In desperation, I checked into a clinic on the second night. At 2:00 A.M., the doctor on duty finally saw me. He looked nervous and distracted, but I told him my story anyway.
When I was done, he shook his head sadly and slowly. “Me too, pal, me too. Can’t help you. Right now I’m hoping 200 cc’s of Michelle Malkin will get me through this shift. Go home. Take two aspirin, and call me in the morning.”
The next morning, I bounded down the stairs. “SAB will be back and up”, I whispered feverishly. It wasn’t! “Nooooooo....!”
There would be no mutual flogging… no incisive wit… no attack, dodge, weave, bob, thrust, strike!
By noon, I had no appetite, the cat was in hiding. Every five minutes I tried… that damn sign-on thing became my enemy. Was this a nightmare from which I would never wake?
By night-time, I knew I was in bad shape. I actually longed to have 108 call me a moron. I prayed to see one of realitybasedbob’s inane posts. It would be OK if Move_Zig thought McCain was a chi-com plant. Even Sparkie. Anything, anything!
In the darkness, I cursed Rob Port. I needed a fix and I needed it now. I was sweating and trembling. I had pain in my gut. I knew what it was… withdrawal! I was in the grip of SAB-tremens…
Feverishly, I got up. I took a dose of LGF… I shot up a hit of Gates of Vienna. Later, I emptied a hidden bottle of Power Line. Nothing helped.
Would I ever see BatWing again? Would Whistler, Anna, Zsa Zsa, RG, Proof, 2hotel9, Chief, Neimans and the others ever give me a rush again?
Now I was out on the darkened streets. Cars slowed to the curb… “Yo, you need sumpin’? Grass? Coke?” I stumbled over… “You got any SAB, man? I’ll pay anything...”
I would have given $50 for one hit of Hannitized. A $100 to trip on LDS.
I had hit bottom. Friends commented that I looked ill… thin.... in need of a shave. I didn’t care. I needed my FIX!!!
In desperation, I checked into a clinic on the second night. At 2:00 A.M., the doctor on duty finally saw me. He looked nervous and distracted, but I told him my story anyway.
When I was done, he shook his head sadly and slowly. “Me too, pal, me too. Can’t help you. Right now I’m hoping 200 cc’s of Michelle Malkin will get me through this shift. Go home. Take two aspirin, and call me in the morning.”
Bike Bubba
The Whistler
Dino
Move_Zig
robert108
bill-tb