Exactly one year ago, in the midst of my greatest existential crisis (to date),
My balls literally went from blissful paradise to panicked peril in a matter of minutes.
I blame that skank's hurricane tongue, those overlarge (if sensual) lips.
Maybe the copious amount of whiskey and amphetamines, keeping me in the dark and out of the race, dulling me to the pain.
That agony. A creeping thing that would make itself increasingly relevant as Christmas Eve/Christmas Day 2004 wore on, drove on behind a train of hellhounds
Like some sort of endless fucking nightmare ride, with Daniel Day Whomsoever holding the reins.
A name's a name of course. But is the Butcher's Apron really necessary? Seems to kind of fly in the face of an "America for Americans" yeah?
Well Tangential, but I make no apologies.
Just let it be a lesson.
Though enthusiastic blowjobs may look good on film, in the cinema verite that is the real deal, they can indeed land a body in the emergency room at 2am on Christmas Eve, vomiting into a well used bed-pan, cursing every Tom, Dick and Harry around because you're forced to wait 30 minutes despite the irrefutable fact that it's Christmas morning and you're the only miserable fuck in the waiting room. God knows ya lonely soul.
Pain so thorough it leaves no opportunity to consider an end, a resolution. No escape. Only the solace of a deep enmity towards all who aren't you in that moment. Own it. Nurture it. Be it.
All these fucking degrees and the best you can come up with is a kidneystone? Word? Keep in mind that this scumbag-criminal-manipulator-genius-crackhead-walking emergency-sage writhing in agony before you is a tender 19 years of age.
Sink to the subterranean and succumb to "scans" of all sorts. Let the Indian Professional ultrasound that black sack, cos' kid's all doped up on commercial grade pain-murdering-pulsates, so it's not gay or nothin'. Doesn't feel the sensuality that's filling that tiny room second by second.
We're goin' in.
Because you see, the man who stands by and does nothing in the face of the commission of evil... Well that would make him a sinner all the same.
And for all intents and purposes (nee, "all intensive purposes"), our man's right testicle trying to strangle his left testicle qualifies as evil in this context. Without emergency surgery, the execution would be complete and amputation of said testicle would be necessary.
But as there are two colors in my head, so to speak, I'm here to assure the curious heart that everything worked out rather well. Made it in for surgery, in time, got a nifty gauze diaper thing, and came away with a pretty sweet (if short lived) hydrocodone prescription (a thing of note as it was preceded months before by some rather dangerous OxyContin experimentation). Though, to be truthful, their medicine, so-called, only detached me for a few days before it became utterly and painfully ineffectual.
Making the shit interesting is even harderer. Your best is all we can ask for.