With this eczema, I think I might know how The Incredible Hulk feels when he hulks out and grows in size – or at least his shirt. I want to say pants because it’s funnier, but his pants never seem to burst.

My eczema is mostly on the knuckles of my right hand, and when it flares up badly, I can feel my skin stretch tight over them. And by feel, I mean pain. I feel like if I grip a pen too tightly, my hand will explode right out of its skin.

A funnier take on this whole pain thing though, my hands can look somethin’ awful bad with splits and cuts, and a general redness on the affected area. It’s as if I could start some shit with some toughs and they’d take one look at my hands and back off. “No way man, you’re a bare-knuckle boxer. No pussy’s hands look like that, and I’m not risking getting my ass kicked over this. We out. Peace.”

This story highlights what a dork I am and the way I think tough guys talk. Also I called them toughs.

Late.

Turkish: Well, do you want to do it?
Mickey: That depends.
Turkish: On what?
Mickey: On you buying this caravan. Not the rouge one, the rose.
Turkish: It’s not the same caravan.
Mickey: It’s not the same fight.
Turkish: It’s twice the fucking size of the last one.
Mickey: Turkish, the fight is twice the size. And me ma still needs a caravan. I like to look after me ma. It’s a fair deal. Take it.