Tuesday, March 22, 2011

My Mumps, My Mumps

The other day I woke up and my face was swollen like an engorged sack. I had massively buff muscles where my cheeks once lay. It looked like Lord Jeebus had stuck a fat man's head on the body of smaller man. Or someone had squeezed me really hard around the stomach (probably for saying something hilarious in the supermarket) and all my fluids had oozed up into my head. In short, I looked like I was going to die from anaphylaxis.

I thought I must have had an allergic reaction. My dad gave me some organic bug spray containing olive oil, soap and garlic. I'd used that last night on my lime tree and some got on my skin. It smelt like dog hormones. Maybe the inert components in the spray had melded to form a super toxin. Maybe my dad knew this. Maybe he was getting me back for years of borrowing stuff and not returning. A dead kid can't take your tools. Cold blooded kill.

I shrugged it off and figured I'd left a pretty massive impact on the word already. If I was to pass it would only ensure my stocks would rise higher and my already impressive reputation would only grow like genetically modified yoghurt culture. I mean look what happened when Michael Jordan died. Everyone knows who he is now. He was on a Pepsi commercial or something and we all think about it.

I woke up at one in the morning the next day and my face was even bigger. It was like Akira. Have you seen Akira? It's this Japanese movie, Mungaaaah or whatever they call it, and this kid swells up and fights a motorbike. They're going to remake it with Leonardo Di Caprio. I look forward to that. Hollywood has a knack for making foreign films more palatable and easy for guys like me (and probably you) to understand. I'll be first in line with a bottle of Pepsi in remembrance of my favourite singer and a notepad so I can write the quotes, memorise them, and then repeat to anyone who asks me if I've seen the film, "Akira, Akira!" I will yell and then grab my crotch and do the moon walk just as Michael Jordan did.

So I get my girlfriend to drive me to the hospital. She's a doctor and she doesn't know what I have. I am sure my time's up. I'm wondering if they'll give me a special roast on the country TV station in the town I grew up in. Probably drag out my old hockey coach and he'll say 'He wasn't much of a player, in fact he probably should have pursued another sport" and then a local hoodlum will recreate the time I ollied the infamous High School three step. Shit will be all time.

Chubby nurse looks at my face and says "Oh my!" but in a Kiwi accent so more like "Oh my!" And I'm in. I'm a sick enigma. I sit on a bed and wait for the doctor. He walks in and says "You've got mumps!" and I say "No I don't". And he says "Mumps! You don't see these to often anymore. But guys you're age seem to get them, something to do with the vaccination or something". And I'm not dying anymore.  But he said "There's a risk of pancreatitis and you're goolies might get really sore".

My goolies? So it turns out I  get another shot at life (time to make a comeback album. Bit of a voice-over eulogy at the start and then a screech and I come out of the grave and say " ROUND TWO BITCH FACES!" and the beat kicks in harder than hard and I go on to describe how many jewels are in my key ring and how I have some whisky from France or somewhere) but my nuts might swell just like my face. Hard boiled eggs! This scares me and I make a pact with the godman that I'll stop my perversions if he can skip that part. It's a worse -case scenario though. Ai yai yai.

Other bad things include : meningitis, deafness, encephalitis. But the balls thing sound the worst. Anyway, the nurse gave me a blood test. Then she talked about working on the mines and how I should do that if I can't get a job soon.  She hecka bruised my arm. It's cool. I look like a smacky. Figure it will probably lift my street cred a couple of notches down at the local library. Mrs Grimball will bloody well get her web searches done pronto when I walk in. No more waiting for her to flick through pages and pages of dewy decimal waffle. Nup, she'll look up her book on tappestry and take off, I'll be able to sit down and start looking to see if there's anymore sex books or erotic fiction in the catalogue.

I'm in quarantine for a week or so. Pretty contagious. I was even vaccinated twice. Crazy.


the truth is out there said...

IT'S THE MISSUS!!.Bored fire fighters starting fires,need i say more.rig up your webcam to record while your sleeping,u can't be to careful.

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potential two star midday movie in the offing here!
"selma Hayek plays the sociopathic de facto M.D who keeps her artistic virtuoso boyfriend on deaths door so he won't leave her and share his rare gift with the world"."mildly entertaining" says BUNBURY MAIL

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