As I was trussed in the Hannibal Lector mask and chest weights and shoved into the tiny white tunnel, I thought to myself,

“Lying in an MRI machine for 1 and 1/2 hours is like going to a really expensive and loud Philip Glass concert performed by a giant woodpecker.”

I have a bad feeling.

Hopefully it’s just because last time I was hit in the back of  the head with the cancer shovel and this is my brain’s way of coping.

I will know more tomorrow.

(fatty necrosis fatty necrosis fatty necrosis.)

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