Wine versus wart remover—a confusing antithesis unless you live at LBHQ

Although I didn’t officially label it, yesterday was Day One of my involuntary dry-out. Today is Day Two of darkness, horror, and hopelessness.

When you’re alcohol-less and forlorn, it’s very hard to look outside yourself and find anything of interest. My on-again-off-again girlfriend Dolly pointed this out.

When my mum read yesterday’s post she agreed. She said it was unimaginably self-centered to make a quiz intended for public health all about oneself without providing any additional value to readers. She said I was bad for blogging and worse for addicts seeking actual information.

If I’d had a buzz this would have killed it. I didn’t have one, so I found some wart remover and started sniffing it.

“Do not recommend that to your followers,” my mum said.

“My followers are intelligent. I don’t have to tell them not to inhale wart remover.”

“So why do I need to tell you?”

“You don’t. It’s obviously only something one does when one doesn’t have a good bottle of wine,” I said. “Here, I’ll look it up. That way you don’t have to feel bad about not teaching me previously of the dangers.”

I like the way, right under the warning about that very wide trajectory from headaches to death, there are friendly wart-remover ads. Nice!

Cha-Cha links to related questions too, mostly for the judgment-challenged.

I like knowing that there are other people out there doing the same stupid shit I do—just usually not on purpose.

Wart removers contain salicylates and other acids that, when inhaled copiously, can:

  • arrest breathing
  • irritate the eyes, ears, and throat
  • cause the kidneys to fail
  • give you a rash
  • make you puke
  • make you dizzy, drowsy, convulsive, hyperactive and feverish; and—for those who succeed in gaining nirvana this way—cause hallucinations.

If you present in ER after huffing your Dr. Scholl’s, expect a battery of detox protocols, including intubation. OMG!

Luckily my mum had already used up most of the (no-name) wart remover on a hideous-looking middle-finger wart that had persisted for three years and is threatening to make a comeback. I didn’t have any sort of party on the fumes. I just felt forlorn afterwards.

And that’s my public service announcement for today: Day Two of the Dry-Out. No huffing wart remover. It won’t solve any problems.

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