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post #238
bio: chris
perma-link
6/28/2006
15:58

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Previous Posts
On Sting (and other crap)
Things I Say to My Dad, Because (like myself) He Thinks, Irrationally, He's Going to Die Soon
Why Hipstamatic Was Invented
Happy Mother's Day, Y'all
Black Pear Tree (Guest Post from John Darnielle)
Serendipity






Still Fully Functional
"Let me tell you about a dream I had the other night.

*groan*

The amount of users clicking to another page or site at the mention of "let me tell you about my dreams" would boggle your mind."

--Rich Robot

Let me tell you about a dream I had the other night.

The time is the not-too-distant future. I am living in a basement apartment with four friends of mine and a middle aged man named Rusty Trombone. The big news at the time is that Tom Cruise has been outed in George Michaeleqsue fashion, pissing off Scientology leaders. As a symbol of his devotion to the Church, Cruise has elected to have his penis surgically removed, so that he would be better able to stave off the temptations of the flesh and focus on serving his Thetan.

Around the same time, I came down with a case of appendicitis and had to be rushed to the emergency room to have an Appendectomy.

The dream starts with me rolling out of bed, recuperating in my PJ's. (For some reason, I had been discharged from the hospital while I was still anaesthetized, and woke up from the surgery in the comfort of my own bed.) I walk out of my room into the living room, where my friends are watching Baywatch on a giant plasma screen hi-def TV. The sight of jiggling boobies on a giant plasma screen does nothing for me. But whatever. I think nothing of it, chalking it up to the fact that the Baywatch-type girls just don't do it for me, and go about my business. I fix myself a bowl on cereal and sit down with the rest of the folks on the couch.

"Hi Honky. How you feelin'?"

"Eh. Groggy. But OK, I guess."

"Everything OK?"

"Yeah. I think so."

At this moment I feel the need to pee. Badly. So I get up, put my cereal down and head into the bathroom. I proceed to carry out my normal pre-gotta-go-pee activities i.e., pulling down PJ's, blah blah blah, you get the picture...

And then I notice that something is terribly, terribly wrong.

I exit the bathroom.

"Hey, uh, any of you guys seen my penis?"

"Oh yeah..." one of my friends says... "About that..."See, here's the thing. You were taken to the same hospital as Tom Cruise, and there was some kind of a mix-up... they removed your penis instead of Tom Cruise's."

"Oh... See, the thing is, I really have to pee. Really badly. How am I supposed to pee?"

"There's a tube. See that little button thingy on your hip?"

"Yeah?"

"Press it."

I give it a couple of good hits, and urine shoots from a bloody hump between my legs and onto the floor. (I hadn't pulled my pants up at that point.)

"Yeah. There ya go."

"So, let me get this straight. The hospital confuses me with Tom Cruise, removes my penis, and sends me home sans-wang. This is a problem. The problem can be solved if I can just get my penis back. Anyone have any idea how I can go about this?"

"I think you should call the hospital."

I, of course do this, and explain the situation to the Hospital Customer Service Agent.

"Well, unfortunately sir, there's nothing we can do about that at this time."

"Excuse me."

"As you can probably imagine, we totally fucked up. In addition to accidentally removing your penis, we also mistakenly removed Mr. Cruise's appendix."

"I don't see what this..."

"After we realized what we had done, we realized that Mr. Cruise would not take kindly having his appendix removed from his body, as apparently such a thing is against his religion. So we took some bits of your penis and fashioned a makeshift appendix out of it. So, of course, we are unable to return your penis to you."

"You what?"

"Please, PLEASE don't tell Mr. Cruise about this. If he found out, he would be terribly upset. "

"Well what about Mr. Cruise's penis? He doesn't want it. Can I have that one?"

"Nope. He ate it."

Great. Just fucking great.

At that point, Rusty Trombone walks in. He's carrying some sort of take-out meat dish in a Styrofoam container, sits down, and starts too eat this.

"Brahh, I can't eat this," he says disgustedly.

"Can I have it?" I ask. "I'm awfully hungry."

"You can't eat red meat," he tells me. "You don't have a penis."

End scene.

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