Look away. Baby, look away.

As loudly as EF Hutton, you, my readers, have spoken. Unfortunately, I don’t have the doctorate that qualifies me as a true listener… you know, the kind of listener that can actually go, "Hmm... I see. Well, now, let me pull out my handy-dandy 'script pad and send you off with a cure for that little problem!" More than likely, it wasn’t my readers at all, but rather some sick, lurking, desperate human beings searching through the night for a miracle of sorts. I know this. I have been you. Actually, I still AM you at least ten times out of the year, surfing through the web on a magic Google ride, stopping at URL after URL, only to fly away disappointed at the end of the night due to the lack of knowledge or pictures or INSTANT GRATIFICATION out there. In other words, a cure! I thought it was just me. I had no idea how many of you were out there. Last month alone, I got blog hits from people in search of:

Seeping tonsils
Cryptic tonsils
Cryptic tonsils pictures
Cryptic tonsil laser (What?)
Heal cryptic tonsils
Irritated tonsil poking

And my favorite… sore, shrunk tonsil.

Someone was googling for help with their poor wittle sore, shrunk tonsil! But they came to the wrong place. Because, while mine are sore and seeping and cryptic and irritated, my tonsils are most definitely NOT little or shrunk. “Quit calling them tonsils. Those things are TESTICLES,” Allan says. They are hung like inflated blowfish. Blowfish that have been hooked and thrown back out to sea a time or two. Blowfish that have been shot at with bullets and hit by large fishing boats and swallowed by frenzied shark and then spewed back out again to wander the oceans in search of a happy ending to their miserable existence. I blogged about it once. And all it took was that one post to create a shiny light of false hope out there. Sorry. To all who stumbled here in search of answers to your icky tonsils dilemma, let me know when you find one! To be honest, I don't care. I don't want to hear about this lizard oil you rub on your tonsils three times a week to make them shrivel up and die. I don't want to read a ten-page pamphlet on how to practice breathing exercises after gargling with lemon juice and Vodka... on second thought... NO, NO NO, just give me the name of a surgeon who’s willing to remove an adult pair of throat testicles. One that isn’t a veterinarian or located in the far corners of southeast Asia. I’m scheduled to go see ANOTHER doctor in two weeks, hopefully one that’s stoic enough to take some scissors to the back of my throat and castrate me. This is my last post on being sick, I swear to you. At least until I can happily report that I’m finally going under the the influence of some serious drugs and a very sharp knife.

Next time on the Revolting Blog otherwise known as On the Banks of the Rio Grande: Out of control ‘shrooms and how you’re supposed to politely ask your neighbor to eradicate them (or... you know, share) before they start impeding upon the view of the mountains.

They blend in with the leaves. So click the pic for a better view.

Come on, you know you want to.