SomaCow

This is a blog about a fat guy who got hip checked when reality handed him Diabetes and asked, “Do You Want To Die?”

Today is Halloween, All Hallow’s Eve, and my samhnag was carved up and ready to go by 12:00 noon today.

I was standing outside, reflecting on what life had become over the last month, while I waited for trick or treaters to come to my house. I watched kids chasing through the shadows, eager to fill their sacks and buckets with as much sucrose as they could lay hands on.

So many of them were fat, pudgy, short of breath, asthmatic, possibly? There’s their dad, smoking like a chimney, his tummy paunched forward, maybe just a gut, maybe cirrhosis.

There’s their mom, walking in that vaguely penguin way women must when their thighs have grown so flabby the skin rubs raw with each heavy, flip-flop mauling step.

As I asked on the show this week, “Why do I need to watch horror movies anymore?”

What emotion  can I muster from watching Pinhead flay the flesh from some chump’s bones, when I know a few high glucose numbers, or low numbers, could see me in a coma, never to wake again?

What terror could possess me about hell, the devil, or demons, when I know I have probably given my own child a loosely wrapped gift, which she may inadvertently open one day and discover this idiot disease waiting inside?

My dreams are no longer haunted by a Freddy Krueger, they are filled with visions of needles and foot amputation and ever-blander diets and waking up one day to find the meds just do not work anymore, or heart disease has finally come home to stay, or my eyes are no longer working.

If the body is a house, this disease is mold. It gets in the eaves, the spaces between the walls, underneath the floorboards, and it festers. It grinds away at the good parts, and corrupts what it touches.

I am thankful I can still see, I just wish the view was not this weirdness.

I know, it looks like I forgot to wash myself.

I didn’t. And those aren’t freckles.

It’s either little burst blood vessels from all of my exercising, or diabetic dermopathy, or some new horror. My next appointment isn’t until January 20 somethingth, and I think I might should schedule a look-see before then.

I’ll keep an eye on it. I really hope nothing is wrong. Otherwise, I had a great birthday, and Rowan had a great Halloween, and I am off to pay back some sleep debt!

Tags: ankles, brown, brownish, calf, dirty, dots, foot, leg, little, red, shin, small, specks, spots, tiny, weird

SomaCow Media, Inc. is proud to present SomaCow, brought to you this week by Diabetes. After finishing Mustangsally’s brownies, we are all now far more bloaty.

In this hour, we learn, through the magic of the Tarot, that Mickey is the unwitting victim in a plan to destroy SomaCow. Tune in to hear the startling details as The Chick That He Is Dating makes a desperate and transparent bid for his complete control by taking him to the Big Apple, where she will attack, mummify, and then consume him alive before reverting to her natural Arachnid-state.

I can only thank God, or, as I like to call Him, Kevin, that we were alerted to this nefarious scheme by the mystical cards He dealt. We also learn that our producer should not complain about not making enough money with SomaCow, as she was preordained by the fates to be brokity broke broke.

We unwound the tangled web TSTMID weaved (wove?) with the following strumming tunes:

MC Lars – Turn Your Cell Phone Off & iGeneration
No More Kings – Sweep the Leg

Tags: apple, big, comedy, diabetes, independant, independent, kings, lars, leg, mc, more, music, new, no, orlando, Podcast, radio, sweep, talk, tarot, the, york

SomaCow Media, Inc. is proud to present SomaCow, brought to you this hour by Guinness.

Ah, the majesty that is St. Augustine, Florida. Surely divine providence was in play when this noble town sprang forth from the yielding bosom of a fort known as Castillo de San Marcos (Literally, “Castle of Sand and Water Sports That Most Kids Cheat At”). We toured the Fort during the morning, which is the best time to stand stoically amidst the parapets and gaze upon the overweight and under entertained masses yearning to breathe air free from horsey poops.

As we approached, I was struck with awe and some shock to discover that the fort had never once fallen in battle, a feat made all the more amazing by the fact that it was defended by Spaniards that were apparently too short to mount the cannons high enough to fire over the wall. Luckily, the walls are crafted of a magical substance known as “Coquina”, which looks like some shelly concrete and apparently is capable of taking straight cannonballs to the balls all day with nary a complaint. Perhaps the Spanish could have avoided the upcoming shame of having their entire armada defeated by “Protestant Wind” by making their ships out of this stuff.

So, yeah, the fort is neat, and HAUNTED. Oogita Boogita, folks, I shit you not. Witness the strange “Golden Lights of El Dorado”, which cascade the prison bars/cheery windows/blessed aperture/ of this stable/mess hall/church:

If you are lucky enough to be touring the fort on any day we didn’t, at any time we didn’t, you apparently can thrill to the ritualistic shooting of a cannon sound effect, which is brought about by stout, hardy folk who go the extra length to keep the period illusion up. No bones about it, these guys toil in myriad ways to ensure that tourists are treated to a real sense of what things were like, “way back then”.

Tasty.

So, I told about my exploits, and Mickey informed me that he has never set foot out of Orlando in all the time he has been here. Imagine the sadness of such a life… Mickey has never experienced the soul-enriching experience of Dinosaur World, or Cypress Gardens, or Fuddruckers, or Yeehaw Junction, or any of the other glorious sand traps that make this mighty state dangle proud off the backside of America.

J, apparently, was too winded to comment. Although his skin did seem to crawl when I suggested we all live together and grow fruits.

PSA – Do not sleep to Discovery Health Channel, or, as I like to call it, the freak show tent channel. Holy crap, people… Try sleeping dreaming you are a 900 lb. dwarf half of a conjoined twin, fused at the throat with a hypertensive tumor named “Jasmine”… Just use the sleep timer or something, for crying out loud. No one needs that in their subconscious.

Mickey and J helped me understand that I had the lyrics to We Didn’t Start the Fire all wrong… What I had been singing was way off, apparently:

“Starkweather, homicide, children of the little mind”…

Who knew thalidomide was even a drug? When my mom felt preggo-antsy, she just fired up some good weed and had a few glasses of chardonnay and sallied forth. Weird.

And then Mickey started talking about Kiss. I am not sure what the hell he was driving at, but the boy needs help.

So, I had a good week, and hope you did as well! Please feel free to tell me tales of your own exploits in St. Augustine, or any other Florida Rest Stop you may frequent!

And a special Moo thanks to our friends Cassie and Jacki for this awesome homage shot during New Years Eve. Send us your creative pics!

We started the following fires in this episode:

Duenow – Sex & Guns
No More Kings – Sweep the Leg
Turbnegro – No, I’m Alpha Male

Tags: 105.9, alternative, augustine, billy, cancelled, cassie, castillo, changed, conjoined, coquina, cypress, de, didn't, dinosaur, discovery, duenow, dwarf, eve, fire, florida, format, fort, fuddruckers, gardens, gone, guinness, haunted, health, horse, independant, independent, internet, jacki, jasmine, joel, junction, kings, kiss, leg, marcos, moo, more, new, no, o-rock, orlando, orock, Podcast, poop, radio, rest, san, spaniards, st, start, stop, sweep, switch, thalidomide, the, twin, we, world, years, yeehaw