The daily, heart breaking diary of a blogger, suffering bravely with the terminal condition, Stephacockaliticus.
I decided today to do a bit more research into Stephacockaliticus, a disease which has become synonymous with a whole raft of recent celebrity deaths. So, it’s not a disease completely without merit.
It’s very important, when faced with something as life threatening as Stephacockaliticus, that you find out as much as you possibly can about it.
And besides, if I want that juicy book deal, or, be still my beating heart, a daily newspaper column, I’ll need to provide some kind of educational content, other than the usual, this hurts and that’s fallen off.
I started my research straight after I bled the sores. The first site I came to was called;
Stephacockaliticus: You’re gonna die…painfully.
I ended the day’s research right there.
FAMILY
It’s the little things that hit you the hardest when you have been diagnosed with Stephacockaliticus.
The first of course is getting used to saying it. It ain’t easy, try it – Steph – a – cock – a - lit- i – cus.
Of course Stephacockaliticus is less formally known as ‘Mung’s Disease’, named after the German Scientist, Gustav Mung, who first discovered the condition in his tabby cat, ‘Lord Minky Mung the 3rd’, way back in July 1956.
You will know that it’s not terribly PC to refer to it now as Mung’s Disease. I think this is because it can easily get confused with ‘Mong’, which is a quite different thing.
In fact, I had a conversation with my sister, Saratoga, earlier today, in which that mistake was made.
Incidentally, I am now recording all the conversations I have so they can be preserved and passed down to my offspring once I am gone.
This will show the little one how painful and degrading the closing chapter of my life was. I hope that this will teach the little sod something about me. Such as what a brave and handsome father I was.
Oh, and that I was a good person and all that bollocks.
I don’t currently have any offspring, which is something else I need to look into before I bite the big one. Perhaps I should write a list of things to do before I die, thus ensuring I utilise what little time I have left to me. As I face the end with such uncertainly, the one thing I do know is that each second is precious.
On the other hand, I can’t really be arsed right now, perhaps I’ll do it tomorrow.
Anyway, here is the conversation I had earlier with my sister, in which I tell her for the first time that her beloved little brother has contracted Stephacockaliticus.
Me: Hi Sara it’s me.
Sara: Who?
Me: Me, Herge.
Sara: Oh right, what do you want? I’m busy.
Me: I went to the doctors on Monday because of how I’ve been feeling.
Sara: What… ‘cause you’ve been feeling like a self centred, egotistical, lying cheating bastard?
Me: No.
Sara: Just as well because that’s not just a feeling, that’s what you are.
Me: Listen Sara, it’s important.
Sara: Oh right… so you want to borrow some more money do you because I told you last time…
Me: No, I have Mung’s Disease.
Sara: What?
Me: I have Mung’s Disease.
Sara: Well I know you’re a bit slow but…
Me: No, I’m not a Mong…
Sara: Well strictly speaking…
Me: No, it’s Mung’s Disease Sara, Stephacockaliticus.
Sara: Stephacockaliticus?
Me: Yes.
Sara: I see. CLICK.
Me: Sara?… Sara?… Sara?
It’s important at a time of crisis like this to know that your family will always be there to support you.
Or in my case, cut me off and refuse to have anything more to do with me.
As I say, it’s the little things that hit hardest…
Previous Stephacockaliticus diary entries;
Day 1
Day 2
Send your comments
3 comments:
Just letting you know I've had blogging/posting troubles. Think it's all sorted now. Have replied to a few of your comments on my blog and catching up with yours and cakesniffers!
Great stuff by the way!
I think maybe it's time for a charity telethon to raise awareness of your terrible plight. Actually, I guess that's going to be difficult what with the continuing viral culling of television celebrities. It's a quandary and no mistake.... Perhaps televised death bed pleas from the likes of Bernie Clifton and The Chuckle Brothers would raise a few quid? Stephacockaliticus: don't die of mispronunciation.
Trillion
Hey Sam! Good to have you back!! I've had a couple of problems with blogging/posting myself - it's the damndest thing, everytime I put a blog up it turns out far less funny than it was when it was in my head!
Hey Trillion, Glad to see you're becoming a regular - God knows I can use more regulars, gets awfully quiet here.
And I am totally gonna steal the 'Don't Die of Mispronunciation line' for a later diary entry.
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