Now, for whatever reason, many people seem to insist on proclaiming "oh, I never get sick", but, in fact, The Cyc rarely does. I can assure you this is only a byproduct of strong genetics; my lifestyle has generally been the very antithesis of what one is supposed to do in order to stay healthy.
I live life by my own code and ignore, or adapt, what works for me concerning health and happiness. I don't dwell on this too often, nor try to figure it out. It is what it is, and I am what I am. Fuck all the rest with Caduceus's staff.
However, my life has been a maelstrom of crazy (more than usual) shit lately and I have failed to eat, or workout, as I normally do. I can only assume this caused my immune system to revolt and now the result is the worst goddamn flu I've had my entire life.
This relentless, mean fucker is working me over hard. "Hi, I'm one giant, aching bruise. Touch me and I'll eat your face off". I don't respond well to being used, even when it involves a microscopic bug, and this infectious bastard is testing my patience.
So, being the hardhead I am, I decided to BURN this thing out of my body yesterday, and make it go away--or die trying--and I'll get to that in a few paragraphs.
For now, however, it's time for some ramblings. I'm looped out of my head with fever and NyQuil, so enjoy it while you can. It's true I am indeed an intensely private person, but many seem interested, or intrigued, as to what makes Majase Cyc tick--his background, what infernal brew of circumstances made him what he is. So here goes. It's not much, but it's all you're going to get for now, so pay attention.
I am bred from a strange genetic soup of various cultures and geography. My fathers family lives in the mountainous regions of this state and are, without a doubt, some of the oddest, funniest, toughest fuckers ever to plant roots in that rocky, hard earth. "They good people, surely they are" is a common enough term spoken in the South, and this would apply to my fathers people. To a point.
These are the type of individuals that will give you their last meal and help you out with whatever needs to be done, without fail. But piss them off and all the Legions of Hell will not keep them from finding you and...well, never mind. They good people, surely they are; just remember that and play nice if you're up that way, eh?
Uttering the family name--when mentioned to anyone that has lived, or visited, in that area--causes one of two reactions. They back away slowly and then immediately vacate the area, or they recount "legends" and tales of the more notorious, and known exploits.
I have no idea from where my fathers family originated, but hints of Russian and German are everywhere. Many folks up there have a very odd, lilting accent that I've never been able to place. They refuse to discuss it, so I have to piece things together as best I can. Then again, they may not even recall; decades of moonshine tends to fog up the memory.
On my mothers side...hmmm, yea, that is a bit of a mystery in some respects as well. Her father, and the men before him, were hard-fucking-core military men from all across the planet. My grandfather was the biggest, meanest, scariest sumbitch I've ever come across--and believe me, I've seen some of the worst of the worst in my own travels.
That man could have ruled the world for reasons I'm not going into. Instead, he became a terrifying, brutal bastard that chewed up and spit out everything and anybody that had the audacity to step in front of his towering presence.
He was hard as coffin nails and he ripped apart anything within reach. I have no idea what he went through, or experienced, in the horrors of who knows how many wars, but it twisted the man beyond recognition. I've seen enough myself to know that war, and the environment it creates, bleeds the humanity out of you as surely as a festering physical wound.
My mother spent most of her young and formative years all over the world, as did generations and relatives before her, so what bloodlines and influences run through these veins is anyone's guess. A good portion of her time was spent in the Philippines and various Pacific islands. I could write a book (and may in fact do just that some day) from the crazy growing-up stories she used to tell us as kids huddled around the fireplace at night.
So, anyway, I often do things that not only perplex and shock others, but occasionally surprises me as well. And honestly, few things surprise me anymore. Perhaps some wayward chromosome or two is partially responsible, perhaps I'm just crazy as bat shit at times.
When this flu hit, it came on fast. Within a couple hours of feeling the first symptoms, it was on me like a horny leech. It wore me down, it fucked up my plans, and then, it pissed me off.
I tried to reason with the thing, tried to make it understand, "you don't want to see me when I'm angry".
In response it threw me into a coughing fit that ejected at least 4.6% of one lung, while the other one exited my nose in a gnarly, slug-like pulp. Well, needless to say, it was now fucking on brother! You wanna play hard snot-ball? I'll show you hard, ya influenza bug bitch.
Fifteen minutes later I'm on the beach, running hard as I can, wrapped in thick, brown garbage bags that I duct taped around my arms, legs, and entire torso. A wool toboggan big enough to choke a Giraffe covered my head. While I'm running, I constantly chug down an old if-it's-in-you-this-will-kill-it recipe from my dear old granny.
This unholy concoction consists of hot pepper sauce, grain alcohol, honey, tomato juice, and cod liver oil. Although I'm uncertain, I believe the idea is if you can keep from puking it up, it'll annihilate anything in your system like a radioactive isotope, releasing enough gamma rays to melt your commode once it shoots out the other end.
My general theory here was to burn and sweat this flu out of me, or collapse in a sweltering pile of bubbling toxic waste in the surf. After terrifying anyone I passed on the beach and making it about a mile, I fell face first into the sand and horked up most of the "recipe" through my nose, although the only thing I really noticed was the hot sauce and the grain alcohol.
Now fate, or symbolic gestures, can often have a way of pointing out errors in judgment, so to top off everything else a seagull decided to float by and shit on my cheek. So, yes, OK, maybe this was not my most brilliant plan.
A woman from the neighborhood and her girlfriend then appeared as if a mirage from the fog and stood over me, saying nothing. They didn't seem surprised, or even mildly curious as to why this huge sweaty fucker was covered in garbage bags, duct tape, sea gull shit, and what had to look like strings of blood hanging out my nose.
This may be more an indicator of my past behavior and other notorious habits, or they were just bored and wanted to see what would happen next. I tried to tell them to help me up or tear the bags off me before my temperature hit 110 degrees, but my throat felt like lava and I only gurgled. Finally the girlfriend began laughing as big red snot bubbles formed around my nose when I started coughing.
"Uh...Cyc, just what the fuck are you up to now?" the woman said, bending down to get a closer look. "You look like a Gimp that tried mating with a shark; I'd say the shark won".
Real funny, asshole, I tried to respond, only managing to blow out another stream of red snotty bubbles. "Helppp. Me. Uppp." I finally gurgled at them.
"Help you up? Are you fucking high? You damn sure smell drunk. We can't lift you up, you're like Andre the goddamn Giant laying there."
"Then...get these...bags off me."
So they began tearing the bags open as pints of sweat spilled out across the sand. The air felt good and I started trying to hock-up all that goop out of my nose and throat. The girlfriend must have thought I was having a convulsion or bloody ulcer attack and started hopping around and screaming like a damn idiot.
Once the woman yelled at her to shut the fuck up about ten times, the girlfriend finally calmed down. By this point my head was throbbing and I just wanted to either get in the ocean, or collapse in my bed. I chose the ocean. It was closer, cooler and I still had sea gull shit oozing down my chest along with all the "recipe" sludge.
But here's the thing, once I did get home, the fever had broke, the headache was much less, and I felt...well, I was going to say refreshed, but I'm still sick, so either I went about it the wrong way, or I got granny's cure-all wrong somehow.
But the fucker is already ebbing even as I write this post, and most people I know that's had this flu has been in agony for over a week. So, to granny, I lift my glass to your old school wisdom--you were a tough ol' bird and miss you I do.
Humor Blogs
Posts
