Well I was determined to get my pasty white ass out onto the Florida beaches yesterday. And, it only took the followings conditions to make that a reality: purchase a $139 – 10’x10’ Mighty Blocker sun tent; purchase a $49 Outdoorsman (cloth) camp chair with awning; purchase a $12 bottle of Coppertone #30 coconut scented facial sun screen; purchase a $9 can of Publix brand #50 spray-on sun blocker; purchase a $198 pair of Ray Ban sunglasses; purchase two $14 battery operated, chair mountable clip on fans; purchase an $18 case of Bud Light; purchase a $36 Coleman cooler with wheels; purchase a $4 bag of ice; purchase a $19 - 32 ounce jug of Aloe in case any or all of the above fail. But I really do have to admit what got me out the door was the free weather report calling for clouds, rain, and wind. Now that’s my kind of weather!
As you can see, the Ray Ban’s and beer worked; everything else failed, including that shitty weather reporter.
This is the part where Chip says he wasn’t scared.
She said “leave him alone, how would you like it if I told everyone about some of the idiotic shit you do?” I was like, what have I ever done that was idiotic? Sue, who prefers to be called Suzanne, reminded me that while Tighe was fishing last year, I was at home having issues of my own. Since the person who professed to love, honor, and cherish me, has now vowed to go public with the “Marble Organ Story,” I figure I should do what any spineless politician would do; go public and get ahead of the story……..So here goes.
Maybe this is a bad example.
First, I should let everyone know that I have Crohn ‘s Disease; which I should point out, is a sometimes-debilitating gastrointestinal condition that (unbeknownst to many of you) has required me to take a dump at your house. Perhaps the best way to describe it would be to say that having Crohn’s is like having Tourette’s Syndrome, only all the crazy uncontrollable shit comes out of your ass, not out of your mouth.
Anyhow, while Chip was fishing in Canada, I had a Crohn’s flare up that sent me racing to my bathroom. After I flushed and was leaving, I noticed what I could only describe as 9 big black marbles, floating in the toilet. At this time I am certain that I just crapped life sustaining internal organs out of my body. Not that Chip Tighe is a real doctor, but I realized that in a pinch, our little podiatrist would have to do. I want him to come over and look at these marbles and tell me what the hell I just did to myself, perhaps give me some idea of how much longer I had to live before the rest of my organs began shutting down.
They may look friendly, but I learned never to judge a book by its cover.
Obviously Tighe is gone, and as it turns out, my wife was out of town as well. So it will be up to me to either solve this or protect the specimens until I can get a reasonable medical opinion from someone. I decide that while I wait for Chip to get home, I will remove my marble like internal organs from the toilet with a spoon and set them on a towel on the bathroom vanity.
For the record, I did put this through the dishwasher twice before putting it back in sugar bin.
Once on the towel, I felt compelled to analyze them. They are all very firm, probably filled with blood, or pancreatic tissue, they definitely had a pulse, and they had to be something necessary for human survival. I squeeze them, I roll them, I measure them, and I document my findings and head to the internet. I didn’t find any answers on line, I only had more questions; would the doctors be able to reattach them, should I put them in the freezer like some kind of cryogenics experiment, should I drive myself to the emergency room, should I call 911 and have the paramedics transport me and my 9 heartbeats to the hospital.
I am usually pretty good at laboratory research and locating things on the internet, but this one had me stumped.
I must have had an anxiety attack and passed out, because the next thing I remember was me waking up on the kitchen floor with the refrigerator door open and my 9 marbles on the butter dish next to a gallon of milk. I start to freak a little and grab the marbles and run back to the bathroom. I can’t take the anguish anymore, so I throw them in the toilet and flush. They wouldn’t go down; clearly this was a sign from god, so I spoon them back out and back onto the towel. All I can do now is wait for Tighe to return.
The minutes seemed like hours, the hours seemed like days. I would check on them continually over the next 36 hours, until I fell asleep from exhaustion. When I awoke and ran to inspect the marbles, something was clearly wrong. No longer did they look strong, lively, and powerful. Now they appeared weak, listless, and frail. But as I stared at them, and the blood-purple stained towel, they also appeared to look like something else. Their wrinkled little lifeless bodies struck a remarkable similarity to a raisin. A raisin, not unlike the raisins found in the Raisin Bran cereal I had eaten not two days ago.
Well, at least I saved the co-pay, and deductible.
Yes it was traumatic, but I realized that I would live another day, Ole Martin V. may just live-forever, and yes, my power of prayer is enormous.
I don’t want to come across as being special, but, I is what I is.
Marty Lynch
The King Pin
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