A Coupla Sore Knees Talkin'

As you have read here, my long-afflicted right knee has been joined in the Brotherhood of Arthritis by my left knee.  The recent six-week flare-up made me think what these two joints have been yakking about in light of my new hobbleness.  The right knee is "RK."  The left knee is "LK." 

RK:  Nah nah nah nah nah.  If I had a tongue, I'd stick it out at ya.

LK:  Hold on, I'm overdue giving another sharp jab.  Ah, there we go.  Another crack of bone where cartilege used to be.  God, I love being the center of attention for a change.

RK:  Don't you think you're being a little extreme?  You've never given our guy any trouble before.

LK:  Yeah, well, I've been holding up the whole body for decades.  You checked out when this schmuck was in high school.  For years, I had to do everything while you lumbered along, giving him a little creak and some swelling every now and then.  It's my turn now, baby.

RK:  Hey, it wasn't my choice to screw up this clown's life all this time.  Nobody told him to do that deep knee bend in gym class. 

LK:  Yeah, but he did and I had no say in the matter.  I was the one all these years.  Slaving to help him walk.  Down the stairs at Dodger Stadium.   Up the hill at the Hollywood Bowl.  And what thanks did I get?  Bupkus.

RK:  You're a little angry right now.

LK:  So he starts up with a personal trainer to do what?  Strengthen the muscles on your side.  Did he give one single thought to my end of the body?  But, no!!!!!  I have to work even harder with those fucking stretches and squats.  P.S., no knee likes to deal with somebody who does squat exercises.  I'm just sayin'.

RK:  Tell me about it.  That's what did me in.

LK:  Wah, wah, wah.  Cry me a river.  Stop singing the blues.  You've had it easy.  In a few years, you'll get yourself some new metal parts and be as right as rain.  Me?  I'll still have to pick up the slack.  I'm not doing it anymore.  That's why I hooked up with Mr. Arthur Writus.

RK:  Arthur Writus?

LK:  That's what the guy's grandmother used to call it.  Like it was some idiot who lived in the apartment building across the street.  Well, he's no month-to-month tenant over here.  He's settling in with me like he just bought a two-bedroom condo.

RK:  So this is what how you react?   You screw this guy over all of a sudden? 

LK:  I'm going at it big time.  Nothing's working.  That Chinese guy with the needles?  Puh-leze!  That cute little personal trainer with the happy hands and all that massage?  Next. 

RK:  Isn't he taking some medication now?  I'm getting that word over here on my side.

LK:  Yeah, Celebrex, Schmelebrex.  I let him think it was working.  But, then on Super Bowl Sunday, I sent a big ole message.  I'm still here.  Take that, Stupid!

RK:  Twice over the years, I took in some cortisone.

LK:  He better not bring that shit over here.

RK:  That'll really be the police invading your riot.  That will kill your Occupy days for a while.

LK:  Oh, yeah.  Maybe for a while.  But I'll be back.  I ain't never going away completely. 

RK:  You're a real asshole.

LK:  No, that's the dude in the back.  He's fine.

Dinner last night:  Ravioli at Maria's Italian Kitchen.