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Parakeetist's avatar

Fuck.

I'm crying.

A million years ago, I went to UF, in Gainesville, for grad school.

The professors were challenging, my fellow students were terrific fun to be with, and the school was ranked #7 in the entire country for Journalism. That's what I studied.

I would be frightened for the students of today.

I hate this motherfucker De Santis so much that I have to end this sentence right now, or I will explode.

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memzilla's avatar

O/T: Bad puns can relieve ill.

My friend of 40 years is currently chasing the devil of cancer through various organs of his body. Fucking fuck.

He's telling me of his latest journey.

Did you know there's a difference between doctors who specialize in 'masses' on organs vs 'lesions' on organs? I sure didn't. Neither did he.

He was telling me that a lesion on his bladder had committed disease hara-kiri and turned into a calcified mass, and thus harmless.

"So it was a *foreign* lesion," says I.

A split-second pause.

Then he burst into a fit of laughter that lasted for a good fifteen seconds.

"That's why I love you, man"!

"Hey man, it was low-hanging fruit," says I.

As I said, bad puns can relieve ill. If only for a little while.

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