Stress, man. Let’s take a look at that and see how we’re doing. Long story short, I went to the Doctor. The Doctor decided that since I’m getting old and not the best at doing things like eating right or exercising, and add to that a couple of Grandfathers who had final heart issues… maybe I should take a couple of tests. Cholesterol results tell us that I should probably do a bunch of things… like eat a lot of fiber, quit smoking and start taking some Lipitor or something similar.
Let’s also get on the treadmill and see how that goes. I’m waiting for those results. For those of you who have not done this yet, here’s the info: You are going to get a workout. First, a bear-like man – the electrician – asks you a few questions like “why are you here?” You respond by telling a story about a Snow-blowing over exertion episode in January. Might have been February. Since you told this to your Doctor, she scheduled a stress test. The, the bear-man takes you to the other side of the room where he asks you to remove your shirts (yes, shirts… which I could not understand. It’s near 80 and muggy as hell outside. Why would I wear “shirts” – plural?).
Once you have removed your “shirts”, the bear-man shaves you a little. Since I am NOT much of a bear-man myself, this was not a big deal. You then get swabbed with some cleaner/de-greaser stuff and then the bear-man sands your body down (because you know, I’m one smooth motherfucker) using green Scotchbrite pads. Then, the electrodes are attached. You take your place on the treadmill and wait for the Exercise woman to come in.
She asks why I am there. Holy fuck, really? Again? I painfully re-speak all of the fucking words I shared with the bear-man. She tells me what’s going to happen… that we will start slow and then increase the speed and pitch of the treadmill. There are a couple of “difficulty” charts on the wall and later she will ask me how difficult I think the test is going.
We start. My blood pressure is taken a few times during the test. I’m asked to not grip the handle too tightly as it is somehow throwing off readings for bear-man. I loosen my grip. Eventually, they want my heart rate at 141. Once there, the rest of the test was up to me – I could quit whenever. I did. I was handed a water and sat down for a bit so they could read me coming down. Bear-man seemed surprised that “with me” regulated breathing techniques seemed to work very well for dropping my numbers. Oh, bear-man, you kill me.
I was done, drove home and ate a “nail in the coffin sausage” with some horse-radish infused mashed potatoes for lunch. My stress seemed not a big issue and I would continue on to work.
Then, I happened upon this:
So much for my stress. Really? You call that a fucking signature? Every one of your teachers should have been strung up for allowing you to never learn how to fucking read and/or write. Tell me exactly what character or letter that is supposed to represent… is it a J? An I? A 2? Maybe a backwards, upside down lower cased e? Walker, you lazy piece of shit… I can only assume that if you expect us to believe that this is your signature, you’ll also expect us to believe all of the campaign bullshit you spin every day. And… to top that off, someone might actually pay for this garbage on Ebay. Oh… stay away from those idiots.