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He said "Uvula".
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11/16/2004
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The light bulb went out in my bedroom, and I know the light bulb is out because there is a conspicuous absence of room-filling light when I flip the switch. My room doesn't get much natural light at night, and I swear I have tried the light switch at least eight hundred times- each time thinking, "The filament hasn't regenerated in the past fifteen seconds, you moron. Go buy a bulb."
Like I expect Barry the light bulb changing caribou to come change it while I'm not looking.
In the middle of the night I got up to do something (yes, I tried the lightswitch AGAIN) and then figured that since it's my house and I'm the only one who lives there, chances are no one moved anything while I was asleep. So I strolled into the darkness toward the kitchen like I knew where I was going. My theory was flawed. It turns out that someone moved one of the brick pillars in the living room exactly the width of one pinky toe. My toe hit that pillar so hard that some of the mortar came out from between the bricks on the other side.
The pinky toe has got to be some kind of evolutionary vestige. You can't even move it. Did it used to have a role in reproduction when we were fish or something? Every nerve ending in your body terminates there, and it just hangs off the side of your foot trying to tear itself off on shit.
I no longer needed to light the room because the sparks and fiery brain matter spraying from my eyes was illuminating the place nicely. I also said very loudly "GAHJAMMIT, MY FACKING TOE" so my neighbors could all share in the experience. This was one of those things that hurt so bad that I was afraid to look at it. I knew for a fact that my foot had split lengthwise between my pinky toe and whatever the next toe is called, and that flap of foot and leg bone was hanging off just below my knee, attached only by a strip of skin and some sinew.
It turns out I just have a very active imagination and a low tolerance for pain. (See: pansy)It was bleeding and there were some parts missing, but it was attached.
To better illustrate where stubbed toes fit in the grand scheme, I hereby debut the Intergalactic Scale of Awesomeness. It is very simple. At one end, the antithesis of awesome is represented by former Creed frontman Scott Stapp. I would have used Scott Stapp's vagina, but this is a family publication (and I couldn't find a picture of it). At the other end is the pinnacle of all things awesome, Spaceship One*. In the middle, a goldfish.
The scale above illustrates that stubbing a toe sucks more than a Pontiac Aztek (the trendily spelled name alone smacks of sucklitude on a quantum level), but not quite as much as a klan member. Things like Usama, ninjas, boobs, beer, and jet fighters are placed for reference.
I woke up the next morning and noticed that my uvula was gigantic (unrelated to the stubbing of the toe as far as I know). During the night it had swollen to two times its normal size. I think the uvula's purpose is to hang there in the back of your mouth, so some stimulus caused it to need to hang there twice as much.
A glance in the mirror told me that my hair was officially in the awkward stage of growing out. I no longer own a comb or hairbrush since I have not had hair for two years, so I got into the shower and hoped it would look better after a good scrubbin'.
It didn't, unless you think having a dead marmot on your head is better than something.
Still limping a bit from the previous night's toestubbery, I decided to make a sandwich in case I got hungry while I was at work. I dropped a piece of lettuce on the floor, stepped on it, and made a monumental scientific discovery.
Lettuce on concrete creates a zero-friction surface. I didn't fall down, but one of my feet went straight out in front of me and extended my leg beyond design specs, causing me to flail and curse. In a clumsy effort to regain my balance I knocked over two end tables and a stereo speaker and then hit my knee on the recliner. The mark the lettuce left on the floor looked like something you'd see in the Jolly Green Giant's underwear. Try getting that image out of your head.
This is the point where I should have called in sick to work.
Of course then I'd need a doctors note, and I dreaded what could go wrong there:
"I don't know doc, just make something up. I need a note. Check out my uvula. You could open a welcome center on it."
"Well, let's see...oh...ohhh...mmm hmmm...can you wait here a second?"
"I guess so."
"Well, Mr. Scott, it looks like you have uvular cancer, and your cancer has rabies. In three days it will be so big you'll have to haul it around on a trailer where it will sit and try to attack you. It won't be a problem for long, because you'll be dead in a week. Why did you get out of bed today?"
Just asking myself the same question.
*If another Spaceship One is built with missiles and/or made entirely out of nipples, the original Spaceship One will be replaced.
I'm doing an improv comedy show that's right, beeches. Dad's Garage Theater, Monday night, November 22 at 7 pm you can come see how unfunny I am in person. Click the link below for information and directions to Dad's Garage Theater.
 Dusty
RELATED LINK: http://www.dadsgarage.com
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posted by Dusty at 6:36 AM |
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12 Comments:
Ella
However, then I read the lettuce shit. And realized that no matter what klutzy shit I do, it will never equal yours. I am humbled at your feet.
~GoingLoopy
http://goingloopy.diaryland.com
Let's hope it only takes one.
Green skids, eh? I have a husband and two sons so that's no worse than what I see each laundry day. Green would be an interesting change.
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