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This is a question Faking it

Rakky writes, "We've all done it. From qualifications to orgasms, everyone likes to play 'let's pretend' once in a while."

So when have you faked it? Did you get away with it? Or were your mendacious ways exposed?

(, Thu 10 Jul 2008, 15:16)
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MY Left Foot

REAL story now…

I am faking it this very moment…well I’m trying to anyway…

Let it be known that I am what is affectionately known in the trade as a fat, alcoholic ‘Rhinog-a-hog’. I chow Chinese food in articulated lorry-like quantities, and quaff booze and red meat in a way that would make even Henry VIII blush and say: “Fucketh me Poo, forsooth you certainly can quaff ye shitloads of booze and red meat!” (Or however he would’ve spoken at the time)

You get the picture.

Also, somewhere along my wobbly stagger through life I happen to have contracted a not too altogether pleasant kidney disease.

Now if you add the above lifestyle to said disease, they combine to create something truly magical…and when I say ‘magical’, I mean something that, despite my tender years (ahem), fucking hurts like the famous ‘fucking hurty Mchurter bastard hurting pain’ of Fuckinghurtsville, Arizona.

I’m talking about Gout.

Last night I settled into my regular drunken stupor without a care in the world. Yet I woke up this morning with my left foot feeling as if someone had gently poured molten lava over it; whilst simultaneously dropping a comedy ‘pythonesque’ 16 ton weight on top of it, before jumping up and down on top of that…and then introducing my groaning, withered stumpage to whatsername out of that film ‘Misery’ who promptly got to work on it with her trusty sledgehammer.

Thinking back, the phrase I was looking for at the time was possibly something like:

“Ouch, that tends to ‘smart’ a tad”…

However, I opted for the slightly less orthodox:


All fine and dandy so far, but here’s the problem. As I’m almost tired of banging on about to you good people, I have only been in my new job 3 months…Therefore throwing a sickie is out.of.the.question. I have to go to work…even dragging my lame-arsed gammy left peg behind me if need be.

So what can I do? I can get on with it. That’s what.

The sheer agony of putting my socks on triggered a howl so piercing that it must surely have had the neighbours reaching to the phone to call either the RSPCA or ‘Werewolf-Catchers-R-Us’.

Every step towards the toilet was like stamping on broken glass covered in acid (and not the good kind) whilst being given a vigorous foot massage by the Incredible Hulk in a ‘rather more than slightly pissed off’ mood.

After the excruciating experience of getting dressed etc, I had my next problem. I then have to drive to work. In my manual car.

I have tried to remember the faces of people at the bustop for later apologies, because I sped by with the window open and my head hanging out of it like a rabid Golden Retriever…growling “OWWWWWGRRRFUCKINGOWWWFUCKINGCUNTSSSAAARGGH!” every time I needed to press the clutch.

Eventually…I arrive at work, sweatily fall out of the car into my parking space and start to crawl ‘commando’ stylie across the car park before somehow getting to my feet and through the door.

I arrive at my desk and my boss is already there.

Boss “You alright, PF?”

Desperately grimacing and attempting to fake the fact that I was contemplating removing my foot from the knee, I answer:

“Oooh grrrfuckinghell I’m fine cuntingfuck thanks for asking”

Boss: “Well, I’m in meetings all day today so you’ll be on your own…ok?”

Thank sweet, blossom-scented fuck! For once…God has finally decided to smile on me.

I collapse into my chair and bury my head in my hands, shaking in purest anguish and vowing never to touch another drop of alcohol or slab of meat again…well…at least until tonight anyway...

Of course, before long I have to bow to the inevitable ‘call of nature’. Therefore I need to make what seems like the 58000 mile round trip to the toilets. Gripping onto my chair handles I heave my shoddy shattered carcass up to my feet and start to shuffle along…muttering plentiful expletives along the way.

By now I’m resembling Igor from an old Frankenstein movie as I hobble towards the toilets…I’m bent over and belming with my leg trailing behind me…and as I look up I notice I am passing the company director who always walks with a limp… then it hits me

“Fucking hell he thinks I’m taking the piss!”

I desperately try and straighten up, whereby the pain increases making even the muscles in my face contort and spasm…

And I wink at him.

Time stops.

His eyebrows furrow in a look of quiet disbelief as my eyes widen to the size of dinner plates…

I have finally turned into a fat look-alike of Gollum…And through the pain barrier I try to speak…


Oh dear lord.

Giving up on life, I continue to the toilets and on arrival it hurts so much that I can’t even piss.

Obviously, I’m now back at my desk. The other people in the office are staring at me strangely even as I type this, possibly in wonder at my highly dubious attempt at covering up the agony by screwing my face up and gurning so hard that all I now need is a horses collar to stick my head through. I also keep making impromptu noises like ‘Ooooyahh”, “DAAARGH” and “fuckingchrist” every time my foot touches anything…like air.

I’ve now just been told that I have an important meeting at 2pm. The Director is going to be there…yet I can’t even concentrate on anything except ‘painpainpainpain’ ad nauseum.

If I need the loo again I’m going to do it in my pants.

Pray for me.

My left foot? – Daniel Day-Lewis can suck my stump…he should try MY fucking left foot…he doesn’t know what suffering is.
(, Tue 15 Jul 2008, 13:01, 17 replies)
You have my sympathies. I have a mate that suffers from the same thing and he swears he'd rather hack the bastard off than suffer the pain.
(, Tue 15 Jul 2008, 13:06, closed)
For God's sake Pooflake.
Go and see a doctor.

*laughs at the fact Pooflake has gout*

*Apologizes at laughing at Pooflake*
(, Tue 15 Jul 2008, 13:09, closed)
A french chap at work
Has Gout, but he cannot pronounce it properly and says

"I 'ave zee goot" which always produces muffled sniggering, so unfortunatlely although wonderfully written all i see in this post is

homopuddle has goot

sorry sorry sorry!

have a sympathy cleek
(, Tue 15 Jul 2008, 13:28, closed)
Another thing
I'd have taken a sickie. You've been there 3 months after all - if that bloke from the apprentice can call in sick on his first day...
(, Tue 15 Jul 2008, 13:44, closed)
yeah, but he had the shits, not gout. You've got to look at these things from a seriousness point of view you know.
(, Tue 15 Jul 2008, 13:51, closed)
I suppose.
I'd probably shit myself at the prosepct of working for Alan Sugar as well.

Seriously though, if an inability to use your foot properly doesn't constitute a day's sick leave I don't know what does. I took a day off a short time ago on the basis of feeling a bit *meh*.
(, Tue 15 Jul 2008, 13:59, closed)
i feel
a deep sense of pitty for you dear boy, (i thought it was painful pushing the clucth down with my heavily bruised knee)
im amazed by the hillarity of your post though!
(, Tue 15 Jul 2008, 15:41, closed)
I feel your pain, ...really

I've torn ligaments in my ankle/foot (also the left one) and made it into work, in my car, not a pleasant experience as my office is upstairs and stairs have to be conquered for the toilet or anything else.

I do have a crutch though, that gets some odd sights, leaving the car with a crutch!

go see the doctor! it sounds bad
(, Tue 15 Jul 2008, 15:44, closed)
The nurse in Misery was Annie Wilkes, the psychopathic delusional killer nurse who hobbled Paul Sheldon with a sledgehammer and a short piece of wood ... now that's pain beyond imagining ...

Do let us know what happens btw...
(, Tue 15 Jul 2008, 16:04, closed)
You've reminded me of Misery, my balls just retracted into my body. That was one of my least favourite scenes in any film ever.
(, Tue 15 Jul 2008, 16:28, closed)
Unlike most everyone else, I truly feel for you. I had gout in my ankle a few years back and it hurt so badly that I couldn't read while I was waiting to see the doctor. For anyone who doesn't know what it is (and is to lazy to wikipedia it), gout's a build up of uric acid crystals in the affected joint. Imagine shards of metal covered in acid (the bad kind) embedded in your foot that slice into your flesh every time you move and drip acid into you flesh when you're not moving. It's not all diet, it's also genetic, so blame your forebears before you blame the alcohol.

Good luck. Hopefully you can get to the doctor fast and get the pills that make you pee out all of the acid crystals.
(, Tue 15 Jul 2008, 16:56, closed)
For God's sake man
Allopurinol. From the doc. Now.
(, Tue 15 Jul 2008, 18:02, closed)
"Two reasons, really"
I have clicked this for two reasons:-

1/ The excellent use of imagery, coupled with inventive expletive usage.

2/ Giggling my nads off at the thought of Pooflake in pain.

Mates, eh? Nothing like them!
(, Tue 15 Jul 2008, 19:15, closed)
Gouty Pain
Ah the joys of Gout.

Laughing as I read this I fondly remember Christmas Day last year when I awoke to all the fun of my second bout of gout. (Had it a lot earlier in the year and it was shortish in duration)

Anyway - I was enjoying gout for almost 3 weeks - all through Xmas and new years.

I so feel your pain. I was fortunate to get it at the start of a 2 week holiday.

Ah gout - it makes you laugh when its gone - look at the pic on wikipedia, I laughed at it when I had the gout.
(, Tue 15 Jul 2008, 19:21, closed)
Get well soon!
Big slice of the sympathy battenburg for you! You get a click for the phrase "like a rabid golden retriever" as it made me asplode curry from various facial orifices.
(, Tue 15 Jul 2008, 21:48, closed)
... and chuckles and clicks.
(, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 8:41, closed)
Ah yes, I remember an incident involving clutches and knees. I was about to set off on my way home for Christmas - a 500-mile drive with a ferry in the middle.
While getting into the car, I dislocated my left knee. Yes, it was dislocated - it was definitely at a funny angle, and fucking painful. It was also bloody freezing outside, so I tried to drag the injured leg inside the car to close the door (left-hand drive vehicle). Doing this 'relocated' it, as it were, and it looked normal again. So I went and drove 500 miles. To be fair, for the first few hours it wasn't actually too bad, as it hadn't had time to swell up yet. And most of the trip was motorway anyway, completely uninterrupted for the last 200 miles or so. So the very last 5 miles, leaving the motorway to get to the final destination, were somewhat agonising.

My sympathy to pooflake, too. I wasn't too happy with the splitting, blinding headache I had yesterday, but I think I've used up my share of "sickies" (I'm a PhD student, so it's mostly about not pissing off my supervisor) for the moment so had to sit through it.
(, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 17:25, closed)

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