"From Out Of Nowhere"
My quest for all the free orange juice I can drink has been completed. I've been grappling with how to obtain a bottomless supply of my citrus juice of choice, and stumbled upon this foolproof plan: have my appendix removed.
It's so simple, yet so brilliant...
Around noon on Thursday, my insides began to constrict, as if some thuggish hitman had his hands inside my abdomen and was squeezing my innards. Over the course of the day, it slowly got worse and at about 5 a.m. Friday, Stacey convinced me to go to the hospital. For the record, I thought I just had stomach cramps that would eventually dissipate. What I didn't know was that my stomach was located closer to my sternum, and not near my right hip bone—the location of my pain. Also, every hospital employee who heard me admit that I didn't know where my stomach was had a nice laugh at my expense.
"You poor, dumb man."
Several hours later, I was lying unconscious on an operating table, my gut filled with gas and an effecient former army surgeon removing the inflamed organ that my body would never need anyway.
Barely 24 hours later, I was back home, three bandages on my lower torso, and plenty sore. The process wasn't all that bad—about as uncomfortable as watching a Brendan Fraser movie... well, maybe not that bad. (Monkeybone? Dudley Do-Right? George of the Jungle?!) But, according to my plan, I had more than my fill of orange juice and crackers. I am a genius!
Today, I can remove the increasingly nasty gauze that's covering the bandages and, more importantly, I can shower. I don't think I smell all that bad, but I'm sure other occupants of this house might beg to differ.
It's so simple, yet so brilliant...
Around noon on Thursday, my insides began to constrict, as if some thuggish hitman had his hands inside my abdomen and was squeezing my innards. Over the course of the day, it slowly got worse and at about 5 a.m. Friday, Stacey convinced me to go to the hospital. For the record, I thought I just had stomach cramps that would eventually dissipate. What I didn't know was that my stomach was located closer to my sternum, and not near my right hip bone—the location of my pain. Also, every hospital employee who heard me admit that I didn't know where my stomach was had a nice laugh at my expense."You poor, dumb man."
Several hours later, I was lying unconscious on an operating table, my gut filled with gas and an effecient former army surgeon removing the inflamed organ that my body would never need anyway.
Barely 24 hours later, I was back home, three bandages on my lower torso, and plenty sore. The process wasn't all that bad—about as uncomfortable as watching a Brendan Fraser movie... well, maybe not that bad. (Monkeybone? Dudley Do-Right? George of the Jungle?!) But, according to my plan, I had more than my fill of orange juice and crackers. I am a genius!
Today, I can remove the increasingly nasty gauze that's covering the bandages and, more importantly, I can shower. I don't think I smell all that bad, but I'm sure other occupants of this house might beg to differ.
posted by Carter at 9:31 AM
1 Comments:
You just missed your chance to get operated on at the great Joan Glancy. Oh yeah, I can smell you over at my house so why don't you get a sponge bath going on or something. Damn...
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