Didn’t She Do Well?
The radio was on in the cab as I was going to work this morning. It’s GCSE results day and young people were being interviewed about how well they’d done. Several hours later I ticced my own results:
“I have a GCSE in lungs.”…
The radio was on in the cab as I was going to work this morning. It’s GCSE results day and young people were being interviewed about how well they’d done. Several hours later I ticced my own results:
“I have a GCSE in lungs.”…
Fat Sister and I had dinner with our mum this evening. I knew none of my more offensive tics would be a problem because she’s heard them all before, but her seventeen-year-old dog died last week and I wasn’t sure she’d be emotionally ready for my new “Mummy killed the dog” tic.…
I’ve been feeling fed up about my tics over the last few days so I’ve decided to remind myself about why they make me a Superhero by choosing my personal favourites.
Reading through them was enjoyable and I found it hard to pick the best ones because so many are entwined with particular times, places or people.…
Here’s my version of I’d do Anything from the musical Oliver. It came from nowhere this evening and is presented here (almost) verbatim:
“I’d do anything for fucking mums, bitches and dog poo tits.
I’d do anything for a caged monkey in Peru.…
Fat Sister and I did more yoga this morning with Giedre. During the session I discovered some of the contents from the piñata we’d had at the party on Saturday lurking under the sofa:
“I see Smarties.”
“I see two Smarties.”…
Shopkeeper: “Are you disturbed?”
TH: “No, I have Tourettes Syndrome. I’m not disturbed.”
Shopkeeper: “What about your hair?”
I was coming home with Fat Sister, King Russell and Harry after an evening out, when Harry asked, “Is that our dog?” There was no dog. She’d meant to say ‘Bus stop’. King Russell remarked, “See, I always said that Tourettes was infectious.”…
The long-weekend got off to a relaxing start this evening when I had dinner with Leftwing Idiot and our friend Keir. The meal was interrupted for a moment when I tipped a glass of water over my head. Later Fat Sister and a drunk King Russell joined us.…
TH: Knock knock.
Leftwing Idiot: Who’s there?
TH: God.
Leftwing Idiot: God who?
TH: Your fucking God of poached eggs.
My tics fall into three broad categories. First, the regular tics I say hundreds of times every day. Second, the occasional tics that I’ll say only once or a handful of times. These two categories have already been discussed. I haven’t yet talked about the third type that are intense explosions of themed tics which come out over a short period of time with fearsome force.…
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