Got a thing on my driver’s license. Says they can take out my guts and give em away if there’s anything left of me when I die (you never know, I might trip and fall into a vat of anti-matter, if they find a way to produce and store anti-matter, and I somehow find myself connected with it). Most of my organs are in pretty good shape for their age. They say we only use 10% of our brains and I have at least 40% left of mine, so a few long-divisions left in it yet. My spleen is immaculate.
A girl once told me I had nice ears. I can only take her word for it, they just look like ears to me, but I suppose somebody might like them after I’m gone. You could make a nice gift pack, two ears, two eyes and a nose. No lips though, Angelina Jolie would have bought all those up and had them sewn together into a super, or Gondwana Lip. After she died the Gondwana Lip would divide into smaller lipettes which would drift and cool. Eventually green plants would take hold and monkeys would form. Odd little lip monkeys the likes of which we can hardly imagine. I can barley imagine them now. All I see is fangs and bowler hats and the word monkey. Wait… no, that’s all.
I did see a documentary once about hand transplants. That was really creepy. One guy got hands that were three times too big for him. He was a little short guy with these long hands hanging at the ends of his wrists. The skin was off by four or five shades and they looked like melted soggy yellow rubber dishwashing gloves tapering down to gnarled brown, pointed, fingernail-like growths. The man said the hands were making him depressed. This is understandable. He said he sometimes felt suicidal. Not inconceivable. He said the left hand was trying to kill him. Yikes. Said it kept picking up knives and scissors and stabbing him, grabbing the steering wheel when he drove and veering the car into traffic. He was afraid the right hand would join the left and then what would he do? He wanted the hands removed but the doctors would not remove them for they had tried very hard to make the big rubber hands fit his pudgy wrists and they wanted to see what would happen next.
That guy should build a foot-operated hand chopping machine. But he better wear gloves while he builds it so the hands don’t know what’s afoot.
A girl once told me I had nice ears. I can only take her word for it, they just look like ears to me, but I suppose somebody might like them after I’m gone. You could make a nice gift pack, two ears, two eyes and a nose. No lips though, Angelina Jolie would have bought all those up and had them sewn together into a super, or Gondwana Lip. After she died the Gondwana Lip would divide into smaller lipettes which would drift and cool. Eventually green plants would take hold and monkeys would form. Odd little lip monkeys the likes of which we can hardly imagine. I can barley imagine them now. All I see is fangs and bowler hats and the word monkey. Wait… no, that’s all.
I did see a documentary once about hand transplants. That was really creepy. One guy got hands that were three times too big for him. He was a little short guy with these long hands hanging at the ends of his wrists. The skin was off by four or five shades and they looked like melted soggy yellow rubber dishwashing gloves tapering down to gnarled brown, pointed, fingernail-like growths. The man said the hands were making him depressed. This is understandable. He said he sometimes felt suicidal. Not inconceivable. He said the left hand was trying to kill him. Yikes. Said it kept picking up knives and scissors and stabbing him, grabbing the steering wheel when he drove and veering the car into traffic. He was afraid the right hand would join the left and then what would he do? He wanted the hands removed but the doctors would not remove them for they had tried very hard to make the big rubber hands fit his pudgy wrists and they wanted to see what would happen next.
That guy should build a foot-operated hand chopping machine. But he better wear gloves while he builds it so the hands don’t know what’s afoot.
3 comments:
"My spleen is immaculate."
I like it a lot. The writing, I mean; I can't quite see your spleen.
How does one diagnose an immaculate spleen? How do I know if mine is still a pretty, white virgin?
G'day Doctor Blade, nice to see you. I'll show it to you later. I have it in a box.
I wasn't thinking so much 'immaculate' in the conceptual sort of way, Exxy, more along the lines of 'roomy liver, second kidney, immacculate spleen, freshly painted lungs'
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