Either the chlorine or long walks in cheap polyester glossy swimming pants has done me in.
I've been out of action for days now.
I've tried to get antibiotic cream.
It seems all they have at the big chemists is aloe vera ointment.
It's lousy and burning my skin.
I'm inflamed.
I'm being paid back for pissing in the pool.
Karma is a bitch but I'm copping it sweet. Got a few nice stories out of the pool already. So payback in the form of an inflamed foreskin seems about right.
Normally this shit only happens after a big session on ice fucking a whore in some grotty dive.
Those days are long behind me.
But getting a rash has derailed my exercise routine.
I miss that China sex doll in her white g-string. I miss the one-legged life guard.
I miss the banter and coffees with the Dyak lifeguard.
I miss the walks and talks with 76-year-old Su who says if I don't walk my body will scream for some more.
All of that is on hold.
I found a chemist, a real one, that doesn't sell Wing Wung Chang wonder balm.
Josephine sells antibiotic cream.
'A little oily,' she says. I'm sold. I want a tube.
You don't have any antibiotics love, say Omoxcylin?
'You know in Malaysia you need a prescription for that.'
And it's a load of crock. It only helps the doctors get richer. And if the politicians focused on less looting from public funds then we might agree with their palaver that they are only protecting us from antibiotic abuse.
She was sold. I had struck a chord that resonated deeply with her Chinese soul.
I was eyeing off her stress balls. They'd be good for bouncing off the walls or throwing at people like you would with a plastic spider or snake.
Listen, I've been to every fucking chemist in town, and all they sell is fucking Wing Wung Chang wonder balm.
She was listening.
I went over to the counter and begged.
My rash is clearing up, reached the dry stage, skin is peeling off but I reckon a good hit of antibiotics would do the trick, sending that rash and inflammation back to bacteria hell where it belongs.
'But I might lose my license.'
Any issues, I said, handing over the cash, just tell the authorities to see me at my hotel. I pointed around the corner, in the general direction of my budget hotel.
She handed me one packet of antibiotics.
Make it another one love.
And throw in two of those stress balls.
I've been throwing them at random people all afternoon.
I've been applying the cream.
I'm popping the pills.
And the walking and swimming is one course of antibiotics away.
I've been out of action for days now.
I've tried to get antibiotic cream.
It seems all they have at the big chemists is aloe vera ointment.
It's lousy and burning my skin.
I'm inflamed.
I'm being paid back for pissing in the pool.
Karma is a bitch but I'm copping it sweet. Got a few nice stories out of the pool already. So payback in the form of an inflamed foreskin seems about right.
Normally this shit only happens after a big session on ice fucking a whore in some grotty dive.
Those days are long behind me.
But getting a rash has derailed my exercise routine.
I miss that China sex doll in her white g-string. I miss the one-legged life guard.
I miss the banter and coffees with the Dyak lifeguard.
I miss the walks and talks with 76-year-old Su who says if I don't walk my body will scream for some more.
All of that is on hold.
I found a chemist, a real one, that doesn't sell Wing Wung Chang wonder balm.
Josephine sells antibiotic cream.
'A little oily,' she says. I'm sold. I want a tube.
You don't have any antibiotics love, say Omoxcylin?
'You know in Malaysia you need a prescription for that.'
And it's a load of crock. It only helps the doctors get richer. And if the politicians focused on less looting from public funds then we might agree with their palaver that they are only protecting us from antibiotic abuse.
She was sold. I had struck a chord that resonated deeply with her Chinese soul.
I was eyeing off her stress balls. They'd be good for bouncing off the walls or throwing at people like you would with a plastic spider or snake.
Listen, I've been to every fucking chemist in town, and all they sell is fucking Wing Wung Chang wonder balm.
She was listening.
I went over to the counter and begged.
My rash is clearing up, reached the dry stage, skin is peeling off but I reckon a good hit of antibiotics would do the trick, sending that rash and inflammation back to bacteria hell where it belongs.
'But I might lose my license.'
Any issues, I said, handing over the cash, just tell the authorities to see me at my hotel. I pointed around the corner, in the general direction of my budget hotel.
She handed me one packet of antibiotics.
Make it another one love.
And throw in two of those stress balls.
I've been throwing them at random people all afternoon.
I've been applying the cream.
I'm popping the pills.
And the walking and swimming is one course of antibiotics away.
