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ToURrEtTe's |
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Not having a tongue was a bit more difficult than I had expected. Having to write, and pantomime, in order to communicate is not easy, but I can live with that. I expected that before I did it. It’s the other stuff that I wasn’t expecting. Eating is really hard. Your tongue directs traffic. It is like a conveyor belt that carries the food to the crushing center and then hauls it down to processing. At least I no longer have to worry about biting my tongue. I can’t taste much, the little remnants I have allow me to taste a little but it is a rather incomplete system. I can’t whistle, I can’t snap gum, I can’t make clicking noises, I can no longer play the clarinet. Not having a tongue has really limited the number of funny faces I can make at my nieces and nephews. I can no longer kiss very well, I was a really good kisser, or at least so I remember. And tragically, my ability to satisfy a women has drastically decreased. This is a bit of cold irony. Now that I am not blurting out a stream of obscenities every time I am stressed or nervous, which is every time I tried to pick up on a lady, I have found more feminine company. I even play the sympathy card and what do you know, bedroom for two please. And the not so funny thing is, before because of my Tourrett's Syndrome, I couldn’t keep a relationship because of my tongue, now I can’t seem to keep a relationship for my lack of one. But, it was still worth it. You know what bug’s me the worst is? When I get those sores in my mouth, canker sores, I have no tongue to stick in the middle of them and cause myself pain. I don’t know why I used to do this, it always hurt. I guess it was just a way of checking on the healing process. You’d think that not being able to stick your tongue into a mouth sore would be a good thing, how many times did you stick your tongue in the sore, wince and say I am not going to do that again, only to do it immediately, wince again, and make another promise. I can now keep that promise, and it is the one promise I wish I could break shitbitch. It took me a while to do it. But I realized I could never be happy unless I did it. I had lost every job I had, and I don’t blame them. How could you have a salesman who would in mid sales start cursing and swearing. The thing that bothered me most wasn’t the public relations jobs, but the warehouse jobs. I didn’t have to talk to customers, it didn’t affect my ability to perform my job, but my foremen couldn’t handle it. I imagine they just went home wondering if I was faking it, and really meant some of that stuff. Which in all honesty I did, sometimes, hey you play with the deck your dealt. I can see the poor guy sitting at home wondering about it. "I know he has that Tourrett's shit but it almost seemed like he meant it when he called me an asslick fucker face." I couldn’t hold a job. The only woman who consistently loved me was my mom, and as BB King say, "she could be jiving too." My brothers didn’t mind so much, they were fond of teasing me about it, until they got married and had kids, not necessarily in that order of course. Then I was kept at arms length. Getting pulled over by Johnny law was always big fun. Got taken to the station twice. You know how nervous you get when you get pulled over, I just couldn’t help myself. I wanted to kill myself, but I didn’t want to die. So I lickassshit came up with this little plan. If I get rid of the tongue, no Tourrett's. Well technically I would still have Tourrett's, but when I started the obscenity seizures, no words would come out. I could live a normal life, well almost normal anyways. I couldn’t get a doctor to perform the surgery. Imagine doctors finally having some attack of morality or something. You’d think they’d jump at the chance to keep another person in the waiting room while they’re off playing eighteen. I’ll screw the insurance companies, help fraud workman's comp., cut a guys twinkie off and make it a doughnut, but help a poor Tourrett's sufferer out, now that would be immoral. So I had to do it myself. I knew once it was done, they would have to help fix it. This was a rather gruesome affair. I think I planned it out fairly well. realized by rehearsing a little that suckballassassass a knife or scalpel would be very difficult to maneuver inside my mouth. I needed something fast. A tree branch cutter! I had the blades sharpened to razors. I laid plastic on the kitchen floor. I turned the garbage disposal on, with the water running. I called 911 told them I needed help there was blood everywhere please help me and then a two minute surge of profanity. I grabbed the clippers and did it. It was tougher than I thought, and it hurt like hell even with the four vicodin I had taken, course I couldn’t really wait for them to take effect. I threw it in the garbage disposal, and had to take one more snip on the other side. I was proud of myself, two snips before I passed out. I woke up in the hospital fuckshit
fuckerfucker a few days later. Mom was crying, why why?? why?. She knew why.
I got disability for a while, learned how to deal with not having a tongue
and my life has honestly assholeshitbitchbitchfuckbitch been much better.
Without that evil Tourrett's tongue causing me problems, I have a good job
writing for the local paper’s sports section, I can at least get a little
action here and there. I get to play with my nieces and nephews almost
weekly. I am soooo glad I fuckfuckfuckfuckshitass suckassfucker cut off my
tongue whorefuckbitchlickdicksuckfucker my life is way better but I have
noticed that some times when I am in my car fuckyouballsackshit I will
occasionally make uncontrollable lewd gestures with my hands. Tourrett's of
the fingers? I don’t think that is really possible unclefuckercuntfuckass
I mean it’s a verbal tick thing right
assassassassassassbutfuckbuttfucklickballsbitchfucker I’ll have to
assfuckbitchcuntcuntfuckerwhorewhorelicknutsnutsbitchbitchfuckerbitchfuckershitshitshit
56typ0ingt with yyooure no9se3 is reall;yyyyy haqrd. b i wonde3r4 ifr i’llo gfet fireeeed. maybee i8 shyo9ulode try paintinhgt fuckkl
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