Good News: It's not ass-cancer.
Bad News: It still hurts like a world champion bitch, even with lashings of the very best painkillers and antibiotics modern medicine can provide.
Tomorrow I consult with a surgeon, and we'll see what ensues from that. Pending that, I'm afraid I'm not much good for anything but lying on my side on the sofa, watching rented movies and quietly flicking my lower lip with an idle finger: bi-bi-bi-bi-bi-bi-bi-bi....
In other news, ho-lee Kazoosis, what a huge influx of traffic I got in last night from people Googling Freda Sorce! Like, Wolcottian numbers. I'm sure it was as a result of Mike Sorce's (Don Geronimo's) solo return to the air yesterday afternoon, which was as affecting a piece of radio as I've ever heard. The sort of thing that makes you want to run inside and give everybody you love a big hug and never let go, because there's absolutely nothing to prevent their sudden disappearance tomorrow.
Like, if they got ass-cancer or something.