Day 5 Post-op





There are drugs out there that will make you happy as your penis is being knawed off by a raccoon. I take them every night at approximately eleven o'clock.

You see, I was attacked with a potato peeler. A mugger stabbed me with the peeler directly into the umbilicus. He did not remove the peeler. NO.

This is what happened:

First, like I said, he stabbed me. And, like any typical human, he felt bad (or at least he pretended to) and apologized. For my pain, he politely offered me a fast acting roofie. I swallowed it with gusto. Once I was asleep, he twisted the peeler several times -- around...and around...and around.

He dropped the peeler.

With both hands he pulled my wound apart and peered inside to make sure everything was good and fucked up.

"Great!" he exclaimed, "The poo is mixing with his blood sppplendedlyyy!. Hurry, let's close him up before he awakens!"

Three punches to the gut: one delivered by a middle-aged meteorologist from Portland, Oregon, one from a gay Bolivian sportswriter, the last from a depressive wood nymph.




And I woke up.

Happy.

Happy.

"What warm hands you have, pretty Eithiopian nurse."

I could stuff a puffer fish into my urethra -- type of happy.