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Invidious Sidelights To Being Terminal

The Ones You Can't See Coming

Ho, Will,
It just occurred to me that I'd forgotten to pass along to you the following narrative about one of those honest-to-God it's true but definitely weird events that seem to pepper so much of my existence. One that I think might be worthy of your eyeballs and time. In fact I've been sitting on this one for so long I'd actually forgotten that it was still here in my "Mail Waiting To Be Sent" file. I guess holding onto the idea that I'd turn it into one of those somewhat longer, more detailed stories I love to cobble together and send along to you, my Main Man when it comes to such things then eventually have 'er slapped up on Theterminalpages as another example of the buku twisted kind of shit a cancer-stricken guy can stumble into as he's chugging down the stretch, heading for, well . . . who knows?
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Mea Culpa

Translation: "Through my fault," and it has been, because I've been MIA for almost a year now faithful readers. And I'd imagine that your patience with my old website -- the one this supercedes -- Sandow's Pen, boiled off long ago. And who could blame you, eh? There was a reason however, a shockingly ugly reason, for the absence. Yep, and you've probably guessed it: the Grim Reaper's at last managed to get his ropes on me and now it's just a question of how long he's going to take with the reeling in.

Of course being a complex entity the Reaper had to lay a handicap, in this case a classic bane, on ol' Sandow to make it interesting, to wit: a somewhat rare cancer of the blood called multiple myeloma. Even worse, but just about what you'd expect from one such as he, it's an incurable cancer and I'm in the final stages of the damned thing. Hence the operative word, "Terminal."

But since there's still some time left on the Big Clock, it occurred to me that we could also have a little fun during that period. I mean why not, what's to lose: he gets upset and like . . . kills moi a wee early? BFD. So what I propose is the following:

Henceforth we'll call this new website "The Terminal Pages." And it will deal, almost exclusively, with all the twisted people, strange places and breathtakingly bizarre predicaments a guy, moi, tumbles onto as he closes in on the grave. Furthermore they're going to be fairly true stories; trust me, you don't need to make up much when you're on this particular ride; nay, because I've discovered that all sorts of mondo depraved shit comes at a guy when he's being slowly eaten alive by some weird chigger of a cancer that's found a new home in his blood, and ofttimes worse, when he's surrounded by people and organizations that are supposed to be helping him.
Next, and I think you'll like this, we've installed a Forum option on the Main Menu -- it's over on the left side there -- which means that you and I can interact, mix it up a little. It means that you can give me your opinion on virtually everything that's put up on this site; and if you've made a good point I'll initiate a change and make sure you get credit for it.

In fact let's give the concept a test right now: how do you feel about The Terminal Pages as the website's name? How's that sound, or more to the point look to you -- do you feel that you've a better title for this thing? To let me know, just click on Forum, follow the directions and have-at-it. I'll be reviewing all the responses when all these various treatments they're putting me through and time permit; and again, if your point's solid, changes will be made.
That's about it for the nonce, although as we go along I'm sure other things -- thoughts, concepts and corrections -- will be occurring to us and added, changed or subtracted; after all that's the nature of life, or in this case death, isn't it?

Welcome aboard the Internet's first terminal website!