Adam Piggott

Gentleman adventurer

Beer and cigars.

I’ve been sick for the past week. Apparently when you kill a bunch of nasty parasites that you got from rafting in Uganda they don’t just magically disappear. They sit inside you and rot. Until your body goes, “Hang on a minute. I say, old boy, this isn’t so good, eh what? Looks like we’ll have to sort these buggers out and give them what for. Time to collapse our immune system so they can be expelled. Tally-ho!”

That was last Tuesday. Today is Monday. I’m getting better but that’s like someone with leprosy saying that they didn’t lose any digits the day before. My whole left side of the body’s immune system is screwed. Lymph nodes out of whack, you name it, and all on the left side. The good doc reckons that the little buggers were either in my bowels or in my bladder. He gave me a bunch of stuff to take but also told me this:

“Drink beer. Beer is really good for clearing out your insides. Particularly if the little nasties were in your bladder.”

I’ve been following his advice to the letter. It’s not too often that you return home from a visit to the doctor with a carton of piss on your shoulder. The wife raised an eyebrow while I got to work getting better.

The nice thing about this is the look on people’s faces when you tell them that you’re presently engaged in combating a bunch of dead parasites that you picked up while whitewater adventuring on the cataracts of the White Nile. First I tell them how they get into you by burrowing into your unsuspecting feet. That usually gives them the shivers. Then I mention how they can go anywhere in your body, wherever it is that takes their fancy. So they might go into your spine and you risk being paralyzed. Or they could go into your eyes and you’ll go blind. Or they could make their way into your brain and then you’d turn into a woman.

I spoke to my brother on the phone yesterday. He asked me how I was. Sick, I told him. He instantly launched into an account of how he’s been sick for the past week. I interrupted him. Not poofter sick, proper sick. The brotherly competition immediately surfaced which I knocked for six when I gave him the parasite story. Had to back right down, didn’t he. You just can’t compete with horrible African parasites. In many ways when you think about it.

I’ve missed almost two weeks in the gym which is the worst thing about this as far as I’m concerned. Monday is one of my gym days but I’m not going today either. I had a hard time getting to sleep last night as I begin coughing when I lie down. This morning I coughed up some really impressive bits of phlegm. If I had a camera I would have stuck them on instagram. That’s what you do on instagram, right?

The doctor said that your lungs are also a big part of the immune system. So yesterday I smoked two cigars. What the hell, if you’re going to check out you may as well do it in style. The wife got a big smile when she saw me light up the first stogie. She reckoned that it was a sign that I was on the mend. Beer and cigars, that’s what I’m taking to get better. There’s a song in there I reckon.




Best Clint Eastwood pickup lines.


Openly racist.


  1. Gravedigger

    Do you really expect me to believe that a bunch of Hillary supporters burrowed in through your feet? They usually enter via your arse or your ears.

  2. Johann

    Get well soon, have another beer and a Stogie.

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