I’ve seen on other cancer patient’s blogs that they have a name for their cancer. Some people call it Mr. C, others call it the Big C, like that TV show I guess but I can’t bring myself to name this bastard.
I’ve named all of my cars, I’ve nicknamed my drone, the household Roomba is named “Chupitos” which is Spanish for little sucker. I’ve got names for some of my tools that I used to use in the garage, back when I had the energy to work on things in the garage.
I have not named this fucking cancer because I have no fondness towards it.
See, to me, when I give something a name, it’s out of affection and I have no affection for this thing. Whence no name for the son of a bitch.
I call it the mother fucker, this piece of shit cancer, this motherfucking thing but I will not give it a name. It knows when I’m referring to it or talking about it by the tone of my voice.
My cancer can go eat a bag of dicks for all I care. Just as long as it doesn’t take me with it.
Fuck you cancer, eat a bag of dicks.