We Also Has a Migraine

Ancient and not-so-ancient people the world over drilled holes in their heads from time to time (or hacked good-sized chunks out of their own skulls with stone knives), and after the past 24 hours that is starting to make more and more sense to me.





















This might have helped yesterday.

They always hit in the wee hours of a weekend morning, like 3:30 wee, which severely limits my chances of getting a Torodol shot from my doctor's office. Can it ever be during regular business hours? Heavens no.

Figure VIII is the ticket.

Would you like to be Boltgirl for a day? Find an icepick. Draw an imaginary line connecting your left and right temples. Hold the icepick horizontally and place the point at the intersection of this imaginary line with the outside of your left temple. Have a friend drive the icepick into your head along this line, preferably with a four-pound crackhammer, until the point of the pick is lodged directly behind your left eyeball. Leave it there for 48 hours. Maybe tie a weight to the handle of the pick so it wiggles every time you move your head. There, wasn't that easy?

In other news, the Super Bowl is today and I sincerely hope my head stops exploding long enough for me to drink enough beer to make it explode in different ways. Chez Bolt is not rooting for the Cardinals, despite being located in the same state. The girlfriend grew up outside Pittsburgh and the Steelers have always been my AFC team of choice, and, besides, Bill Bidwell is slimy, the Cards never made much of an effort to be friendly to Baja Arizona, and all the taxpayer money that went to build their very strange looking stadium in Glendale opened the gates to an ongoing flood of public funds to that godawful municipality, which has since sucked more than the lion's share of resources to west Phoenix and left Tucson more and more in the dust.

And thus ends the bitchfest for this weekend.