To be honest, I don't have much gas left in the tank this week. Sorry about that--work has been, well, hellish, and next week I have to go to Kansas Fucking City for work. This would be great (if disturbing for my wife) if "fucking" really was part of the Kansas City equation, but it is not. I'm pretty sure that an oncology consortium will be largely fucking-free. Especially for anyone who gets treated to the penile cancer slide shows that I've heard so much about.

"Here's a horizontal cross-section of a diseased penis. And now our lunchbreak!"

Anyway. I myself happily do not have to attend any graphic penile cancer presentations, so I'll have to content myself with whatever varied joys the lymphoma and melanoma folks have concocted. If I'm really lucky, someone will have some good splenomegaly films.

So posts are going to be here and there for a couple weeks, just so you know. I had a conversation recently with cancer about this:

Skot: "So, cancer, why be a dick? It's hard to work around you sometimes. I have a crappy blog to maintain."

Cancer: "Yeah, well."

Skot: "That's not even an answer."

Cancer: "Sorry. I wasn't paying attention. There was this guy in Montana."

Skot: "What the fuck? Now what? Eye cancer?"

Cancer: "It's an expansion market."

Like I say, I'm out of gas. And it's just going to get worse once I have to leave town. I hate being away from my girl, and it makes me behave erratically.

Actually, I've already started. Tonight:

[The theme to "Law & Order" begins. Skot adopts a cruciform pose and begins wriggling his hips. This is horribly unfunky.]

Wife: What are you doing?

Skot: [still gyrating] I AM THE DISCO CHRIST! I DO WHAT I WANT!

This is the Disco Christ, signing off for a while.