COCKAIGNE ADDICT

Sorry that it has been two weeks since I last posted, but I have a good excuse: I was in rehab. No, you suspicious little bastards, I wasn’t in rehab for being an alcoholic. Or a drug addict. Or a sex addict (I only wish). No, I was rehabbing my knee, which I unfortunately injured during a Pilates class in which I was extremely intoxicated. From what I understand, this is a Pilates first. I was also kicked out of the class for indecent exposure (my fifth time). And, from what I understand, this is also a Pilates first.

Still, there’s no excuse for not posting on this blog for two weeks. My knee was actually better by the next day, and I didn’t miss any running. Well, I guess there IS a good excuse: Someone cut off my thumbs. Yeah, I may not be a beer, drug or sex addict, but I am a gambling one (and the beer dependency is debatable). I owed $2,000 for betting on the Packers last weekend, and since the NFL season doesn’t begin until next September, that meant the Packers weren’t even playing a game, so I was destined to lose. And I originally DID have the 2 grand to pay my bookie—I’m not stupid—but I filled up my gas tank 30 times over the weekend in a cross-country trip from NY to California (I own a Humvee), and so I spent $1,500 in gas. (Note to self: NO MORE cross-country road trips). I spent the other $500 buying the first photos of Angelina Jolie & Brad Pitt’s twins, which turned out to be fakes. (Actually, they were baby pictures of Chang & Ang, the famous Siamese twins).

So, since I didn’t have the dough, my bookie cut off my thumbs POPE OF GREENWICH VILLAGE-style, and I was unable to type for the last two weeks. (When I type, I’m ALL THUMBS—yuk, yuk). Luckily, however, I came across a dead hitchhiker on the side of the road yesterday. The dude had two healthy digits, so I clipped them off with some wire cutters and got them reattached to my hands at the hospital. I also sliced off the guy’s right arm just in case I might need it in the future.

Anyway, besides being a gambling addict, I’m also a COCKAIGNE addict as well. Now, don’t go thinking dirty here. Cockaigne (kah-KAYN, noun) has nothing to with either sex or drugs (unless you want it to be). And I AIN’T talking about an addiction to a certain male organ, either. “Cockaigne” is an imaginary land of ease and luxury, and when I’m scurrying throughout the city, training for the marathon, I often find myself creating a fantasy world in which everything in my life is perfect and rosy. I conjure up a “cockaigne” and escape from the pain, exhaustion and the occasional vicious, explosive case of the trots. (Note to self: Bring a back-up pair of underwear on EVERY run.)

Since this post is becoming protracted, I won’t tell you all of the things in my perfect cockaigne, but I will give you my top three:

1) A buck-naked Liza Minnelli singing “New York, New York” with me in a martini-glass-shaped hot tub filled with champagne, hot sauce and drowned midgets.

2) A pet feline named Stevens, so that when people come to my home, I can tell them, “This is my Cat Stevens.”

3) A different ending to THE CRYING GAME, in which Jaye Davidson is NOT a dude but a gal. (Note to self: Never pleasure yourself to a chick in a movie until you’re ABSOLUTELY sure that said chick doesn’t have a schlong.)

In the interest of saving time, I’ll sum up my activities of Tuesday, June 24th until Sunday, June 29th by stating my average run, beer intake and sleep. I promise to get up-to-date soon. Although, I have another $2,000 in my pocket, and I have a feeling the Packers are going to win this weekend…

June 24 – June 29

RUNNING
17 miles (total for week)

DRINKING
8 beers/night (approx 112 oz., with Sunday off)

SLEEP
Approx. 5 hrs/night