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wot u up 2 dylan?
not much
wot u doing?
in the bath
who with? lol
yer maw. lol
i saw reservoir dogs earlier
and?
cool as
so u up for it?
u bet
brill, im mr blue then
im mr orange so
u have a suit?
my dad has one. wot about u?
Dad has funeral one i can blag
ties?
funeral ties. mine and Dads so i can give u one.
itz gonna be fabby dylan
i no
u gonna try pork MM at it?
dont know . . . prob not amir . . . prob not
u cood try pauline mcstay??
not even with urs. lol.
any word from the docs?
no, y?
just sometimes they have these mad cures for things
no cures for tourettes amir
sorry just thinking
better go, been a mad bonkers day and cream crackered
i hear u captain
wot u up 2?
in the bath as well
who with, yer da? Lol
yer maw. lol
see u the morra
OK best bud
by
by
When we stopped texting I jumped out of the bath, dried myself, and thought how berserk towels were, because towels, when they dry, actually get wet.
Life!
But the reason for jumping out of the bath was because the bold Amir had planted a mega seed in the old napper: cures. I went online and googled “cures for Tourette’s,” and there were, like, forty trillion pages all about Tourette’s. I checked about nine of them, but they all said the same thing, that there was NO CURE. NOTHING. NADA. NIENTE. BUGGER ALL. Some guy in America (always bloody America) became paralyzed because he ticced so much that he damaged his spine. Now he had to suck hamburgers up through a straw and surf the net using a glockenspiel stick attached to his head. Some of his no-hands paintings were online too, which would have gotten a D in our art class. Then there was this woman who couldn’t eat or walk in a straight line because her Tourette’s was so bad. She was covered in bumps and bruises because she kept falling over. She’d broken her arms, her hip, her collarbone, and her knees.
Christ on a cracker!
It wasn’t those people’s problems that scared the Jimmys out of me, no siree—it was them saying that when they were my age their Tourette’s was “manageable and low-level.” So maybe it was a good thing that March was almost five months away, as I sure as shit didn’t want to be painting pictures with my head or being wonky donkey on my feet.
I read that some head-smart docs wanted to drill holes into people’s brains and insert teeny-weeny electrical things in there that would help stop tics and jerks. No effing chance was I letting some doc drill holes into my napper. Did these docs think they worked on a building site or something?
Too many pages.
No Cure. No Cure. No Cure. No Cure. No Cure. No Cure. No Cure. No Cure. No Cure. No Cure. No Cure. No Cure. No Cure. No Cure. No Cure. No Cure. No Cure. No Cure. No Cure. No Cure. No Cure. No Cure. No Cure. No Cure. No Cure.
When I closed my eyes in bed that night, I could see NO in my left eye and CURE in my right eye.
Life!