See you at the Bitter End
"Since we're feeling so anaesthetised, in our comfort zone...." "We're running out of alibis, from the Second of May...."
"See you at the Bitter End.."
I forget how bloody good Placebo are. And this song just seems right for now. And Brian Molko is so gorgeous, in a feminine, androgynous way. But still gorgeous none-the-less. So I am blogging, listening to "The Bitter End" and other Placebo tracks. And Muse. And Fall Out Boy. And Radiohead. And Bring Me The Horizon. And Pink Floyd. And lots of other hardcore, kicking butt, rock down and party music. In anticipation of tomorrow.
Round 3. And this time, we are getting serious. So I am going to be off-line for a bit. I am going rogue. Black Ops. You're ain't seen me, right?
Early tomorrow morning, I will be prepped - in my surgical gown, with my surgical stockings on and covered in a foil blanket (no photos please - not a good look!). I shall be ready to do battle, with my Baco-foil armour on, warpaint on, I shall go in with an Amazonian battle-cry. And I will be surrounded by my fellow warriors. My "Prince of Persia" will be battle-ready, scalpel in hand, ready to decapitate the evil boob and cut out the black, devil, son-of-a-bitch cancer. Now that's a way to get bad-ass. The injunctions we took out on my stalker obviously did not work, so we are going hardcore now. You are going to be toast, sucker! And my PS shall start at the other end, slicing me from hip-to-hip (I shall have to wear some sexy knickers as he will be zooming in on that area!), moving all the tissue out and up and detaching the main artery for the blood supply. He will take a piece of rib out (probably breaking a few more in the process - I have been warned this can happen unfortunately) and reattach the nerves and blood supply here. He will make me a new belly button. And a new boob. It wiill be magnicient. Bionic. Nipple-less, but magnificent, none-the-less.
And while I sleep, courtsey of my lovely anaesthetist, I shall think of my family. And my hubbie. And I shall dream that I am at Wembley. With Jeremy Renner on one arm. And Daniel Craig on the other. Watching all my favourite bands , singing my favourite songs. Linkin Park with Chester in his fine tartan trousers and with his mohawk singing Papercut. And Fall Out Boy with Patrick in his hat singing EVERY SINGLE FOB SONG. And Muse, with Matt Bellamy rocking that guitar and the whole stadium singing "I feel good". I could go on, and on. But I think you get the picture.
And today started well. Jess has been tweeted by Patrick again. She is happy. And life is good. So let's get it on. Time to rock and roll. Lock and load.
"You don't have long, I am on to you. The time has come to destry your supremacy." Yeah, that's right, cancer, you scumbag, son-of-a-bitch shit, your days are numbered. So long sucker, you shall be no more. And I shall beat you. Like an Amazon, I will rise, like a Phoenix. Emma version 2.0.
