So I’m back from the dead (chillin’ at the beaches down at Club Med.)

Actually I was all tip top by Friday. Went out for sushi and everything. Sorry to all the people who canceled their Memorial day weekend plans in order to attend the all-night vigils on my honor- I didn’t even want to look at a computer after spending a week and a half wanting to die in front of it.

I don’t feel an obligation to constantly update my blog. It’s a hobby for vain people, not a paying gig.

Anyway, the backstory is a hoot. As it turned out, the fever, chills and rash that my Dr. kept telling me was the natural progression of my ills- they were all caused by my antibiotics. Another Dr. told me to quit taking them & immediately I got better. Oh, the laughs I had over that one. I think I laughed so hard I cried. More of a sobbing really.

So after lobbing a few maltov coctails over my (former) Doctor’s porch, I headed down the to my favorite all-you-can-eat sushi place to throw down a little fish & sake discipline on the old gut. He took it like a champ. That’s my boy.

BarBQ-ed up near Lake Tahoe with Heidi’s family. That was great.

Saw Star Wars yesterday. For the most part it was entertaining. Even with the low standards I have for George Lucas, I still had a bit of trouble with the flimsy excuse that idiot skywalker had for turning to the dark side so quickly. I didn’t even know they had rock paper scissors a long time ago in a galaxy far far away.

Can I take a minute to say that Deadwood will be considered by future generations our Shakespeare? I’m convinced.

In honor of Memorial Day we watched South Korea’s Saving Private Ryan, Brotherhood of War. It was the most moving thing I’ve seen in a while. If you’re on Netflix, do yourself a favor and check it out. Korea is a major up-n-comer.

Also, the rest of you should pretty much pack it in and forget ever having any more Kids. Paige has reached a point of cuteness that’s lethal. Six people died looking directly at her this weekend when we took her out. One was in critical condition with something called “My kid is so frickin cute his eyes exploded” or something. Just before he slipped into a coma he said it was worth it.

I went back to work today.

For about an hour and a half.

That’s when the mutations started. I quickly developed a rash over most of my body. Seriously, the guy who invented the andromeda strain must live next door to my house.

I now have red dots everywhere and everything above my ankles feels a mixture of itchy and pins & needles. Really bad case too.

Whoever bought the tall goofy voodoo doll with the goatee please stop burning it. Enough already.

If you’re still assembling your submission for the death pool, I might be a safe pick.

Monster Planet started on Monday!

And just what is Monster Planet, you ask?

It’s the third in a series.

A series OF ZOMBIE NOVELS!!!!

Posted on the web chapter by chapter, in blog format.

I’ve been obsessed by these novels since I first found them last year- unfortunately right in the middle of studying for finals. Believe me, reading two novels when you’re supposed to be cramming is not easy.

Monster Island
Monster Nation
Monster Planet

See a theme? I totally suggest you start with the first one. If you’re like me, you’ll devour all of them like the warm, still steaming spleen of an unsuspecting victim.

All masterfully written every Monday, Wednesday and Friday by David Wellington.

If you consider yourself any kind of zombie fan and you haven’t read his stuff, well, you should be ashamed of yourself. Even more ashamed than if you enjoyed Resident Evil 2.

Basically, I’m falling apart.

I don’t get to find out what the problem is for 4 more weeks. That’s when they’re gonna stick a camera up my ass. Apparently the treatment for most gastro-intestinal problems is utter humiliation. Not only do they shove a Polaroid up there, but I hear they snip off a souvenir.

Nice.

It gets better though. In the week I’ve been home, my “problem” (they think either number one or number two) has graduated into full-on Mr. Captain Tripps (way to go copygodd- pick on a sick man.) Either a virus has caused this (my hope- then i have neither) or I have some super-flu on top of it. My temperature keeps popping up near 103, then down sub-98. I get so cold I layer all the blankets we have on me, and then i get so hot I sweat so much the couch looks like a kiddie pool.

On the upside, daytime television has made me feel a little better that I work 9 to 5.

You know some people with problem one actually get part of their colon removed? I guess that would leave them with a semicolon! HA! A little GI humor for you kids. I’ll be here all week!

Anyway, I know you’re jealous, what with my steady diet of oranges and oatmeal, the hot sweats and the chills. No worries. I don’t think I can give this to anyone unless we like rub colons or something. My gawd I am gross. Blame it on the vicodin.

For all of you anxiously awaiting every post here at EADC, you’ll have to wait for the next time I’m this conscious. From all of us here at EADC, take care of your pooper, America.

So the Doctor thinks I’ll be OK, but I have to stay off my colon for a few days.

After feeling all day that I was growing an evil twin in my small intestine, I spent the better part of last night in the ER.

It started out innocent enough- a little indigestion after dinner. But then the pressure started building in my gut. You know, that slow gassy buildup where your stomach keeps threatening you with gurgles similar to the last things the citizens of Pompeii ever heard? Once the pressure meets critical mass, it can only end in you doing that crampy zombie-shuffle to the crapper where you promptly go into violent labor, finally creating a Jackson Pollock piece in your toilet?

I just wish it went down like that.

Instead, we took the family to a field trip to urgent care. They sent us to the ER because they “didn’t have the right equipment” to diagnose me. That’s medical-speak for “we close in a half an hour- go somewhere else.” See, Jolene? Sweeping up at Haircutts Express DOES have some similarities to working in medicine.

Off to the hospital.

They gave me a little open-backed number when I got there, but I’ve gotta say whoever picked it out has horrible taste b/c it did nothing for my figure. (/Stewie voice)

You know how people catch even worse diseases IN hospitals? Like they go in with a sore throat and get pneumonia and die? Well, if there wasn’t already something horribly wrong with me already then it was watching the series finale of Smallville while waiting to be treated that severely irritated my bowels.

The upside to all the waiting? I had my first taste of Morphine. The downside? They wouldn’t let me take any home.

Apparently I either have something that will go away in a few days with antibiotics or get much, much worse. It was like having my mechanic say “oh yeah i think i fixed it, but drive it around a few days. If it explodes, bring it back.”

But then, even knowing that my innards were irritated, they still attempted to sodomize me on the way out. “Oh yeah, your insurance only pays 30% at Emergency Rooms.” Eh? Come again?

“Had you gone to urgent care your co-pay would be 40 bucks, but since you came here your bill is… (adding machine tics away) $248.00.” Thanks Urgent Care- you guys are super.

It gets better- the grand total including CAT scan, meds, and doctor’s bill will top off at nearly $1,500.00. Yes, we cried. It may double if the anti-biotics don’t work and my gut explodes.

But that’s not all! If it turns out that I have the Big Bad, I may never get to eat spicy foods again and have to cut back on meat.

Meat.

Spicy.

Kill me.

So, enough about me, how was your day?

I survived GraduationFest 2005 and all I got was… every damn thing I think I’ve ever asked for.

Man, I am spoilt.

Unfortuantely by the time the party started I lacked both the dexterity and concentration needed to post to the moblog, but I’m confident that the earlier posts left you enough for your imaginations.

Three other MBA grad buds of mine and I hosted a shin-dig in the back yard of a local college bar. The beer, it flowed like water. The water, though, flowed like rain a few times. Of course with nearly a cumulative decade of classes, papers, finals and massive amounts of BS to drink off you have to throw more than rain at us.

Lots of friends came. This guy even showed up looking for free beer and wings, so I felt obligated to let him in.

Heidi’s Dad got to meet Paige! He’d just gotten back from a long stint in the Middle East, so he and his wife visited our place before the party.

Anyway, you guys just want to hear about the booty, I’m sure.

Boy, did I get booty. So much booty I was nearly overloaded. Naturally, Heidi provided the best of it- and a few of my buds joined in too.

…and I am talking about pirate treasure, you dirty, dirty little boys and girls.

Heidi and a few of my close friends chipped in to SEND ME TO AUSTIN CITY LIMITS. That kicks butt. Hard. It’s sure to leave a mark. Quick- get an MBA and maybe someone will send you too!

I also received a box of Cuesta Rey cigars (and someone brought a few cubans for the party! holla!), a bottle of Patron Anejo, 24 Season 1, a cool bamboo thingy, and Paige scored her first pair of chucks.

Then as if that wasn’t enough, I woke up Saturday at 8:30AM after drinking 15 hours straight- SANS HANGOVER. It was as if beer itself was giving me a graduation present.

Yes, children, I live a life I most certainly do not deserve.

Thank you to everyone who sent well-wishes and gifts. Big thanks ESPECIALLY to Heidi, the love of my life, for putting up with me for three years of hectic schedules, cramming for finals and excuses that schoolwork left no for household chores. (; I love you.

I’ve got a new hoodie.

graduation is in a half hour.

Right now it’s all about the dogfish head. 21 percent abv baby.

Let the games begin.

I’ll do my best to provide play-by-play.

Next up – “the pre-party.”

“It’s either She goes or our family falls apart Ed. You have to end it.”

“How did you even know Helen and I were spending so much time together?”

“How could I not? You talk about her all the time, and anytime someone saw you they saw her too.”

“Man, I had no idea.”

“It’s really sad she could even drive a wedge between us. Besides, who even names their DVR, anyway?”

A few weeks ago it became obvious that with as many projects as we’re involved in and as much social stuff we do, if anything was going to get done around Casa de Adkins then cable would have to go.

Believe me, we labored over the idea for quite a while. If it were a movie they’d show a montage of us in all these scenes, each time in different clothes and looking more and more disheveled, desperately trying to re-budget our time to fit TV in. The music would be really intense too- just to show how hard of a decision it was.

It the last one I’d be wearing a wrinkled dress shirt- no tie- with the sleeves rolled up and my hair would be all greasy and messy and I’d be gripping a wrinkled piece of paper, shaking it into the air in defeat. Then the camera would start spinning on my face and fade to the scene earlier today when the cable guy came to take the DVR box.

I was with her till the bitter end. I held her in my lap till the connection finally faded. She didn’t deserve to die alone.

At her last sputter of life, she managed to flash a bunch of scenes from 24, Scrubs, Huff, Rescue Me, House, Family Guy and the whole Adult Swim lineup- all the shows still worth watching.

Then it was over. The dude handed me a release form to sign and I handed her over. “So you really got rid of Cable so you could read more?”

“Yeah man. It’s kind of scary facing the future without it, though. I’m not sure what to do next…

…You think you could just hang out a bit- I don’t want to be alone.”

“Sure man.”

“I’ll get a couple beers and some books. Fiction or non?”

ED: Have a great day at work bun.

HEIDI: You too.

*smoochy smooch*

ED: If we weren’t married I would soooo have to stalk the hell out of you.

HEIDI: *feigned swoon* You are so romantic.

As usual, the delighfully disturbing comic Wulffmorgenthaler hits a home run, or whatever the big deal is in baseball. If you’ve ever changed a diaper- check this comic out.

It reminds me of a whole slew of “what sex really leads to” posts I’m preparing to frighten the crap out of expectant fathers. Parenthood is a thing for which I believe no one has a healthy enough fear of.

If you’re not already an avid reader of Wulffmorgenthaler, I think we both know you’re a failure as a human being. Hurry up and gets to reading. There may still be hope for you.

I’m sure there’s a few of you out there who remember “The Red Balloon.” (info)

We had to watch it like every year in elementary school. Boy finds a balloon, the balloon displays the ability to make a conscious decision to follow him around, they become best friends (or perhaps more? wink wink) and then bullies beat the crap out of him and pop the balloon.

It doesn’t end there though. Moved by the unique relationship between the boy and his red rubber friend, balloons from across the land converge on the boy and sweep him into the air as a testament to his fallen friend and the latex love they shared.

It’s deep.

I guess it had some fruity message about friendship or bullying or alternative lifestyles- I dunno. I do know whenever I saw the end with all those balloons carrying him into he sky I was all, “good luck” cause even at that young age I knew one thing- you never, ever turn your back to a balloon. They were gonna drop that kid first chance they got. Dirty balloons.

Anyway- I just stumbled upon what just may be the find of the century. The Revenge Of The Red Balloon. It’s a short film chronicling the red balloon’s comeback 40 years after his untimely demise as he tracks down and eliminates the bullies who popped him.

Classic. If you saw the original you owe it to yourself to check it out at Atom Films.

Uncle Eddie has an assignment for you kids.

Ready?

Go get a baseball bat. Wooden preferably. We don’t want anyone getting killed here or losing an eye. Unless you simply have to hear that satisfying little “ting.”

Got it? Nice.

Now take that bat and hide out in a local public restroom. Check the stall after each person does their business.

Not to worry, I don’t want you doing anything sick. I’m not here to have you compromise your morals- you don’t even have to look into the bowl.

We’re hunting here. Hunting down the OCD nutjobs who leave behind their nasty toilet paper nests on public toilet seats. Apparently their asses are far too valuble to touch a public toilet, but it’s a privelage for us to have to remove it when they’re done? Ohhhh I long for the day when we will exact sweet, sweet vengance.

Simply: they. must. be. stopped.

And I envision a day- A glorious day when the people rise up to rid the land of their scourge.

“Hide In a Public Restroom Stall With a Louisville Slugger Day.”

Do you hear it? Do you hear the countless generations who came before us calling out for us to avenge them? Do you hear the hum of our collective anger finally reaching critical mass? It can all end with a flush and a thud- or a ting, of course, if you insist.

I’m thinking if we all go to our bosses with the idea we could get it off with pay.

Who’s with me?