Saturday, November 30, 2013

Recently my doctor suggested a checkup that involved a procedure with a “tiny” camera. He said I needed to be “on empty” when the procedure was performed and informed me that a “cocktail” was waiting at the pharmacy. He said “drink this and find a comfortable place to hang out.” This “cocktail” is an insidious mixture of mineral oil, saline, and some other stuff that makes you feel like a lab rat. You can hear the medical staff saying, “let’s give this to him and see what happens!” After several glasses of this drink from Hades the porcelain “god” began calling my name. Alone in my “castle”, (wife and daughter were mercifully out of town); I gave homage to it every ten minutes and after an exhausting evening I reported to the medical center.

The receptionist recognized me right away. “Sir, she said, the bathroom is just down the hall.” I gave a silent nod and shuffled off for another “sacrifice”. Upon my return I was ushered into a room, crossed my legs and answered questions about myself. Actually, all I was interested in was how long it would take me to get from that room to the “throne” room with the porcelain god, the all-consuming identity with which I had replaced anything else of meaning in my life. Soon I met Dr. “Anal” in another room. He seemed excited that I had made it, non-stop. “TAKE OFF YOUR CLOTHES AND PUT THIS ON…BACKWARDS.” “This cannot be effectively tied in the back, does not resemble anything I have ever worn, and I am an expose’ as I walk into the examination room.

A room with people whose mission in life is to make me feel at home... a daunting task with at least twice as much of “me” hanging out that thing than hanging in. LAY ON THIS COLD TABLE” “What are you going to do with that?” I asked. “YOU MIGHT FEEL SOME PRESSURE” And then, there I was…on TV! “RELAX”. Relax… as though I was about to do some cross-stitching. What else could I do…they had my clothes. The audience oohed and ahhd as each turn of the “tiny” camera exposed hidden treasures of nothing because everything had “left the building” hours ago.

“NOW GET DRESSED AND GO DOWN THE HALL.” “PUT THIS ON” said the attendant. “LIE DOWN ON THIS COLD TABLE”. “RELAX”. “What are you going to do with that” I asked. “YOU MIGHT FEEL SOME PRESSURE” I heard, from behind a screen. Dr. “Anal” has left his prize patient in the hands of an evil scientist, I thought. “TURN OVER” I made the mistake of turning left and there I am…on TV! This time filled with “concrete” expanded with air and asked to do yoga while he picks his fingers behind the screen. “WE ARE NOW GOING TO STAND YOU UP”. There I am, with my rear exposed, of course, hoping the attendant gets whatever he’s doing right the first time. “OOPS” NEED MORE AIR”. Well, I know I am the perfect source for air. “HOLD IT.”

He has obviously forgotten the plug he placed in me several minutes ago. I couldn’t pass a B.B. “WE ARE NOW GOING TO LAY YOU DOWN”. I’m making a vow at this point to never allow another piece of solid food to cross my lips. Suddenly I am somewhere else, and warm salty water is coursing over my body as a group of concerned Californians tries to drag me back into the deep. Once in a while they show beached whales on the Discovery Channel. I never paid any mind to it before but recently I found myself in a trance, writing a check to “save the whales”. “I’M GOING TO UNPLUG YOU”. Suddenly I’m off the beach, and frantically trying to hold my “flippers” together. “CAN YOU MAKE IT TO THE THRONE ROOM?"I did make it and after leaving I almost jumped for joy, realizing that wouldn’t be prudent. The good news is I had more than my fifteen minutes of fame on TV and lost a few pounds.

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