Low Calorie Coffee Cakes

At World's End is coming ...

(2 renal failure: the road to hell ... I correct: to Ecatepec)

Just as I climbed into a taxi in Indios Verdes station (after searching diligently certain route to San Pedro-Drums-which no one knew or knew me give a reason) to go to the clinic where my buddy Israel (and where I attended the "breakdown" of the past three weeks), came a call from my tocayazo: the Carleon.

did not know whether to tell the taxi route, talk to the tocayazo or get carried away by hallucinations (having fever since early Pacheco saw things well mixed with what happened in the supposed reality).

never knew what I said or what I said to my namesake, but all I could understand was something apocalyptic

-I case.

For more fever, stiffness, fatigue, among other symptoms (one more beautiful than the other then I explain that it was first detected renal failure and the long hours I had a plate with needles and other shock therapy) that battered me, I respond:

- Against whom?

"Well, with the bold, who else would be left?

alone If I was buried turnip (not gamble), the surprise I was dizzy. Just when it wrote down the address where the wedding and with very little awareness that I still remained sensed that perhaps it was a bad joke:

"But not Zummo ... Is it a bar? "That's the back pachanga?

"No dude, that's the wedding.

preferred to be a little more conscious to speak on the matter, so I left as I could and then I realized that the taxi driver took me nowhere.

had encountered, not the most stupid driver in the world, but the known universe (and unknown). As I recall and what was the exact address, I said: "To the north," and for some reason and went on Insurgentes way south. I called my buddy Israel to ask where was the mentioned shells clinic for hours before I was able to explain well the location, it gave me "the path to get there (in combination!) From the Indios Verdes." As I found route or the vans or anything that I had described, I resorted to the only transport that has taken me anywhere from 15 years ago, taxi. When I said it's street, city and county (which had not mentioned), then more fool the Medal of the universe gave me the driver: Ecatepec.

Of course not arrive there in a taxi (they are forbidden to cross state boundaries) and I took the metro Deportivo March 18-once-Basilica, where once again redirecting to Indios Verdes (the deja vu more bad fart ever happened to me) and look for the path of the egg combis pinches: the same as an hour before anyone sounded familiar and offended someone else, they thought it was me the sapwood. I think I found more by chance that have followed the instructions, I got in and immediately felt the severity of the looks from other passengers where they could almost read subtitles: "What time throws us all and drops dead this idiot?"

I tried to look for on the "benchmarks" to reach the clinic happy, but rather than stretch his neck was impossible to see through the tiny windows, carrying packages covered by other passengers (I always wondered why so many things are in those big plastic bags that are used to put bodies). So when I started seeing a plain, earthy, no-future bleak ("Gray monstrous", which my buddy poem catastrophic Josémilio) got off and stopped a taxi (this and the State of Mexico): a VW Beetle bouncing uncut stench of gasoline up to the steering wheel and gushing a ball of rags. "For if I had every reason to malviajarme" I thought. I told him the address, "concerning" close (a winery Aurrerá-thought had disappeared for years, and a pharmacy) and headed in the opposite direction. Suddenly the engine stopped and stood in the middle of nowhere. It is no exaggeration: in fact there was no path taken, but a dusty lane that did not seem to carry any side: one side was a cliff and the other a vacant lot with high tufts of grass. Then began a whirlwind western movie, only missed it started rolling these tufts of dry branches (but does not meet the fate Ingrimar whims). Fortunately an empty taxi passed and got the third in the afternoon.

I'll spare you the description of the last tortuous journey, that did not end there (I cagoteó the driver, because I said only cars to be addressed with red squares: "The others are pirates and secure the assault"): but I still had to travel a convoluted streets on foot (full pallet backs of trucks and dismounting the lights and sound equipment, for she would later party at the neighborhood) to finally find the mentioned clinic.

occurred at the corner last straw: I wanted to buy a bottle of water in a small shop (which was part of a house) and as the lady had no change, and sleeve cuffs gave me a chewing gum brand I had never seen and still have, because when I tried the texture and taste seemed candle wax: deplorable. Same

I reserve the description of the treatment (what need is there to wallow in suffering), as this is only mere preamble to tell what "prencepal": signs that portend the end of the world. Of course, in another post.

First

Cancer Headset Cartoon Brain Tumor

failure "what?

to see how long I survive (or stupidity as I can) to attest to these lurid affairs.

failure "what?
-Renal
repeated the doctor (UNAM gown), while interesting I applied a questionnaire about my family.
Of course I had understood at first, but was of the few times I wanted to confirm my suspicions, as before gathering the strength to go for a checkup, I gave myself the task of finding what possible condition affected me looking for symptoms of Internet medical sites.

When I was in "centuries-and-famous-magazine-nona-that in-spite-of-this-continuous-is-the-most-read-the-world" (ay, "Nah, you think ... ?) good Mario taught me how to identify reliable medical sites that are supported by academic institutions (such as the UNAM), research (such as the UNAM) or decentralized agencies that specialize in gathering opinions from experts around the world (such as the UNAM), in addition to comparing the translation of them (almost all published research patents first in English ... Why is that?) with famosérrimo "filthy book," better known in the underworld as "Mosby." I do not know which of the two adjectives most frightening sound, but the illustrations contained in this hellspawn reiterate my view that something must have damaged doctors in their nature to bear the consequences of each emetic and unspeakable disease, syndrome or disorder (not are not synonymous: it is not the same as do the same) which I only vaguely remember gnash their teeth and I began to close one eye by repeated lapses.

Flash, flash: due to the severe damage it has caused tremendous recall horror this post needs to be liberated in some way, so not having anyone around who vilify or increase its mauser, here's: A Brief

(but no less traumatic) description of "Mosby."

Published by McGraw-Hill (the same company where I have called no one, not two, but three times to serve as editor, and I always leave with the pretext that I should be entitled to hire me, then no understand why I called the second-and worst, I can not understand why I agreed to go on the third occasion, whether it was predictable ... descenlace what the morbid, the hell- if from the first they knew that a title is not obtained in less than a year ... unless you last name is Fox), the Mosby's almost a catalog of the various tortures that we could expect when fate sends us-to-hell (if the theory of Salvador Elizondo on Hell is true.) At first, this is a man septum unmanageable, even with both hands. Is when you see the utility to ... Does anyone know how you call those wooden utensils (or other) where you can leave a big book open for reference without the rush that is inversely proportional to the weight? I would write "stand", but that is where they put their scores musicians, and are quite fragile and light, and nothing to do with the gentlemen mazacote walls that can hold with those who bring down a ahuehuete sure to print each one.

For no getting around the issue (já, dear reader, sorry to the clerk, but some symptoms are delusions and disorientation treatment) in a magazine that reviewed articles or sections with a fervent desire not to see this horror.

I'm almost convinced that the real editors of that book were George A. Romero and Vincent Price (pss, under a pseudonym, to egg), but in this case with good special effects: all kinds of deformities, mutations, cancers, degenerative diseases and examples "tumorísticos" (Or as you type) presented in the most explicit and ill that can exist. If you are fond of decaying offal and delights in the suffering of others (or you only have to make grotesque images to see the "gore" as a chemistry set My Allergy dedazo -not: but "propositorio "-), why wait, go by Mosby!

Finally all was not so bad with that book, because thanks to him I learned the difference between "trach" and "tracheostomy", or something as basic and recurring as "immune", "immune" or "immune" among other buzzwords that seem simple, but so far I have never seen used correctly to any physician (not to mention the translations of the crossbeam, with the programs "specialized" on Channel 22 on Science or Dr. House, one moves from anger to laughter in the amount of inconsistencies in a recalcitrant repeat those in charge of dubbing style sounds mucus).

Fair on Saturday, leaving the treatment that brought me some mobility and prolonged my suffering on this earth, my buddy Israel began a discussion on such terminajo. Only think I could out of his folly and confirm my observation Mosby going to ... I preferred him out. I forwarded it to enjoy the trip from Ecatepec. I bought joy in the metro Hidalgo. And everybody's happy.

(To be continued .. as they say in my people: "If Dear God gives me license", "yes, lower case, because I do not deserve any respect that God vengeful, spiteful and rather contradictory.)