Through the pain, I think of weird things

Cookie is the middle of another bout of his pesky acute disease, diverticulitis, a chronic condition that has ruined my life for the past 15 years.  The pain is unbelieveable, and once you take the antibiotic it takes about two days for everything start functioning.  I'm so familiar with it that they have me stocked with $30 a pill antibiotics, twice a day for day.  On top of being in pain and unable to stand up, its an expensive condition.

Anyhow, one of the pills that I take when this beast is taking over my colon is an antispasmodic which is like a muscle relaxant for your colon. (Once the infection starts, your colon loses periostatic function.  Which means you can't crap, even though you need to, and it cramps up, which is painful. )   It makes one terribly sleepy, and I for one have very weird dreams and waking thoughts.

One of my strangest was me in court, on the witness stand, unable to move.  The attorney grilling me wanted to know why I insisted that products be named for what they are, nothing something prosaic and detached from the item itself.    But I was unable to speak, and then when I told to step down, my legs felt like lead weights, so instead of stepping, I skated away with the greatest of ease.

This morning, my friend Deb posted this picture to her Facebook account:

Now, since this speaks directly to my dream, I am sharing it.  Both men are wearing something of polyester knit.  It's called the "Palm Springs Suit".   I see not a thing about this get-up that even harkens to Palm Springs.  I mean I know its been 40 years since I was in Palm Springs, but really - did this type of thing go on there?   Did Sinatra wear this?  Do they still wear this, only made of better materials?

I think its a sham.  No man would choose to wear this in Palm Springs.  Or anywhere for that matter.  Even these two guys were paid to put the thing on and even so the guy on the left is being held in place by a woman who, if she is still alive, is some person's grandmother.   Still, if they ever do a sci-fi movie about Palm Springs, here's your futuristic outfit.

Then there is this:

The irony is not lost on Cookie.  But except for the guy asleep on the doorstep, no one in this establishment is dreaming about gentlemen, and I think that the closest you could get to a Gentleman entering the establishment is the sign telling you the establishment is for gentlemen.

It's like those VIP lap dance clubs, where women parade around in high heels, a smile (or a grimace indicating that she is a wild hot bitch in heat), but there never any VIP's in the club. Don't believe me? Look at the parking lots.  No VIP would be caught dead in a 1999 Dodge Stratus with a bumper sticker reading "My kid beat up Honor Student", or "Every Child Matters at P.S. 89."

Now, if y'all will excuse me, I need to nap.  This pills have exhausted me.