For me the most important thread of this story is when I think of my friends who have had to either deal directly with the side effects of chemo therapy, or who have had to attend to their closest loved ones in same. I thank my friend Ellen Parker for having provided such a wonderful text for me to play with.
Home Pharmacy by Ellen Parker
She has found that taking these drugs improves her mood, but negatively impacts her vision.
You didn't use "impacts" as a verb, did you? And you didn't modify it with "negatively," did you?
Me? No. It was her. She.
That ugly nasty disgusting dumbfacedirtysexy annoying loser smelly fastbitch.
She's not that ugly. She's not that fast.
She has found that drinking coffee might shoot a panic attack. Annoying janes in the shoulder. Racing joints. Quivering buds.
That's no panic attack. That's drunk chronic ganja hunger.
What's this toke about blunted vision?
Yeh. She asked her ob-gyn, who goes, Weird. (Doctortweedledeedumb.) He's like, You better get that hitchicken checked.
Instead, she out to lunch. Baked restaurant fattysandwich and chips joint. Eatstarving. Then, mary jane, yellow chewy molasses, just two fast.
Encore the myocardial infarction. Foolin! It's the syndrome. There are grubs for that. Just throw me the money.
Are you just throwing up any old shit you can?
Tryna out-macdonald ronaldtastycheese.
Her eyes pulse. You see, she can't.
Blunt: she's going blind. Said with a two-year-old accent: Mad!
Greensexbitch, you are not facing this ... this ... nugget? What? Hunger: lunch dinner taco. Bet you can't quit. I never fuckass said high could my <3.
Don't you think ronald mcdonald is baked?
No, you can't.
It would be better if she could.
Ellen Parker is editor of FRiGG.