Although some would question the sanity of publishing the following personal detail on the World Wide Web, there are several reasons I now confide to thousands of total strangers that yesterday I came down with a nasty case of breast cancer.
For one thing, I blame the patriarchy for it.
For another thing, I plan to use it as an excuse when I’m too lazy to post to the blog.
For another thing, although this will by no means turn into CancerBlog, it seems unlikely that I will be able to refrain–at least occasionally–from drawing for some excellent patriarchy-blaming on what promises to be months of harrowing and humiliating experiences in the dudely world of Women’s Medicine.
For another thing, one out of seven (or five, or eight, depending on who you talk to) women gets this muthafucka. So go check your boobs, and do it now.
But what about the men???? Don’t worry, fellas! I’ve consulted with the other feminists, and they’ve decided you can get breast cancer, too.
The urgent stupid crap to which I alluded yesterday is the requisite battery of tests to which one reluctantly submits when one inadvertently discovers boobal lumpage. I’ve got’em today. I’ve got’em tomorrow. I’ve got’em next week.
But don’t worry; dudely research suggests there’s an 85% survival rate, and dudes are never wrong! I just wanted yall to know that if my posting becomes somewhat erratic and I fail to effervesce with my usual vim, it’s nothing personal.
And, no, I’m not gonna put a fucking pink ribbon on my car.