mizry of buddy don: the rong wurds cum out ...

i need to say a few wurds bout the author, witch hes bin so sick fer so long that he dont hardly never go near no keybird, witch that keeps me frum gittin a chants to touch it my ownself.

but tuther day he seen sumthin on the tee vee that made him blush frum the shock of reckugnishun.

twuz that story bout the reporter with the migraine on tee vee name of Serene Branson.

the aura she sufferd is one of the wurst mizries a bidy kin have, speshly one that has to talk on tee vee.

or frum the authors self-centerd point of vue, tiz horrbull fer sumbidy that has to rite.

but on a count a how he generly gits migraines furst thang in the mornin, witch thats when he lacks to rite or even let me git to the keybird, he sum times gits that same aphasick aura that miz Branson had rite thar on tee vee, n seem lack he has dun lost his confidents with wurds or sumthin.

on a counta the rong wurds cum out ...

fack is, he has dun writ this here lil post n lost it three times ...

ach!!

fonly i could git them migraine to scram by pertendin the author has em n i dont! i am so sick of these dam thangs to whar i caint hardly thank strate.

n wurst part is, wurser even than the pain (but not wurser than the vomitin) is whut happend to that pore reporter.

i know jes how she mus feel on a counta i have bin talkin to miz bd a minny a time when i caint do no better. or i call thangs by thar rong names, callin the sink a lake fer egg sample. or i wake her up a'talkin that same kinda gibberish miz Branson wuz talkin, only in my sleep. ye mite egg speck that whenever yer sleepin, but by the time i am trine to talk, i thank i am wide awake n jes caint make miz bd understand whutever i am trine to say on a counta the rong wurds cum out. i git frustratd n angry n hurt n cunfused all at the same time to whar i caint hardly do nuthin. corse whenever it happens thays a world ful of pain on the way.

n too minny times to count i try to rite sumthin n find the rong wurds on the screen whenever i open my eyes up to read whut i writ (or tried to rite).

thang is, i know eggzackly whut tiz i wonta say n the eggzack wurds i wonta say, witch i kin see em in my mind, but thay jes wont cum outta my mouth. or even offn the keybird. how kin that happen? i caint say, but it duz.

n after that, twill be a killer day of pain n mizry.

tiz a sad thang to watch sumbidy go thru such a hard momint lack Serene Branson dun on the tee vee, but tiz the furst time the author or me eethur one ever seen sumthin that shows jes how awe full migraines kin be. i hope the world gits the point that they aint jes lil hed aches. they aint sumthin a bidy kin git thru on will power.

tiz even sadder to know that she has dun started havin migraines n aint no way to stop em cumpleatly, lease not as fur as me or the author has bin able to figger out.

i hate to add mitt, but the author had to git me over to the keybird to talk bout this on a counta he is dun alreddy a'havin to his nex migraine, witch that means i am thar with im (we caint neethur one type with eyes open on a counta the monitors lite stabs the left eye ever chants it gits, witch that means thays a slew of miss takes to fix).

i hope the rite wurds has cum out.