CF5

Fuck me!

Writing about one’s illness is about as self-indulgent as you can get—even for a writer whose entire career pretty much is predicated on self-indulgence.

But I figured, if I could make myself laugh about it from time to time, okay, I’ll do it. There’s really only one person that reads my shit anyway, and that’s me when I proofread it.

Or so I thought. I actually have a Facebook friend–who’s actually a friend—who read CF3 and posted a link on Facebook. This is the first confirmed real visitor (spammers don’t count) to my Web site in the, what, three years, four years, five years that I’ve had it up. Six?

As you can see, I haven’t been active on this site much, until a week or so ago when I started Cancer Funnies–which I mainly started ’cause I liked the title.

But please, if you do come here, do me a big favor and subscribe to my examiner.com pages because they actually pay, oh, maybe two-thirds a cent per click. I’ve written close to a thousand pieces there in three years and have almost made a month’s rent.

And you don’t even have to read them–and I don’t much care if you don’t. Just click on them and get everyone you know to click on them. You know how much cancer treatment costs in this country?

Like I said, fuck me!

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