This is Rex Kramer. I wouldn't call it rehab, but I have emerged from losing one of my feet. I can explain and my advisors have suggested it might be therapeutic to do so. See, after years of travelling barefoot, I decided to wear some shoes. My feet were bloated so I got a large size. But then I thought I could jump up and down. On top of some citrus fruit, who knows maybe I was standing on an organge-wine empire. Anyhole, through some kind of scientific phenomenon, the shoes grafted into my foot skin. They were Kenneth Cole Reactions- nice black patent leather. So now my feet looked like tiger haunches. Cool, right? Yeah. No. I developed circulation problems. And if now you are thinking that Rex is not as much fun as he was, well, these are the terms by which I'm allowed to re-emerge. I owe an explanation for my absense.
And it's not just my feet. It's my mouth. And my head. Apparently I can never remove my crash helmet again. Else I die.
So how I'm supposed to seek thrills now, right? And maybe you heard rumors about my children. There are two. I see them on Skype from internets cafeterias.
This is so sad, isn't it? You see, now that I am somewhat tethered to real world concerns, my ebullience is hampered. Maybe re-blogging the whole blog and nothing but the blog might reinstate my penchant for perversity.
I'll try.
Rex Out.
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