You may want to sit down for this...
I recently had a disturbing dream—so disturbing in fact, that I feel it needs to be shared with the rest of the group…For therapeutic purposes of course…
The Dream Begins—>> I’m in a hospital room full of short, chubby doctors, one Canadian obstetrician and several tall, big-breasted nurses (who keep checking me out)—there’s a lady I’ve never seen before who’s lying on the hospital bed, she’s in labor…
I suddenly realize that this must be my wife—not my real wife, as I’m unmarried—but my dreamland-wife…Since I’m such a great dreamland-husband, I rush to her side and begin to feed her ice-chips and Little Debbie’s double-decker oatmeal pies while the medical staff diligently works on the delivery…
After several agonizing hours of labor and a whole case of oatmeal pies later, the obstetrician finally announces, “Yee-Haaaaw! I can see this kid’s frackin’ head!”
As all of the nurses begin eagerly high-fiving one another while simultaneously grabbing my near perfect ass, our merrymaking is interrupted by the obstetrician—who’s now shrieking loudly in horror!
I turn to look and there he stands, holding only the baby’s head in his hands—nothing more…Oddly enough, the head is crying obnoxiously just as a normal baby’s noggin would be doing—and I’m thinking that maybe this is a good sign…
Before any of us have time to react, a foot pops out of my wife—then a bicep—a thigh—a lower back—both hands and so on and so forth until we’re all staring at this big pile of baby body parts—all of which seem to be perfectly healthy, just unattached to one another…
“Maybe some assembly instructions will come out of there too,” I chirp, taking a big swig of my ice-cold Fresca.
Naturally, I’m right…Seconds later, a sizable 125-page hard-cover manual detailing the instructions of the child-assembly appears—along with a small bag of screws and a set of Allen wrenches…
However, the instructions are in Spanish—nobody in the hospital speaks Spanish…This is a problem…
“Listen up you nincompoop,” the doc says to me—“Our lunch break is in about 45-minutes, none of us speak Spanish and it could take me days to get a translator over here—do you mind if we just do the best we can on this kid—and then go grab a bite?”
“Have you tried that new Thai place around the corner?” I ask.
*The medical staff proceeds to hastily assemble our child in less than 15-minutes, which leads to the following conversation with the obstetrician…
Doc—OK Mr. Strouteau, we fixed your kid—sorta.
Me—How’d it go?
Doc—Not well—this kid is flat-out fucked.
Me—Spare me the fancy medical jargon, doc—give it to me straight.
Doc—Mr. Strouteau—your kid is a damn whack-job—what don’t you understand?
Me—Hmmm—can I sue you?
Doc—No. It’s just a dream, you dumb-ass.
Me—What’s the bottom-line here?
Doc—There will be some long-term repercussions of today’s delivery and the assembly debacle which ensued afterward.
Me—Repercussions? Can you be more pacific?
Doc—You mean—specific?
Me–What did I say?
Doc—You said—pacific.
Me—No I didn’t.
Doc—Yes you did.
(We proceed to argue over this point for several minutes)
Me—OK Doogie—you win…I said pacific—Now what’s going to happen with this kid?
Doc—For starters, he’ll most likely never get laid.
Me—No shit, what else?
Doc—He’ll possess the ability to jump extremely fucking high—He’ll also have a strong tendency to sleep standing up—In addition to this, he’ll be able to run backwards at 35-mph on his hands, but will most likely get his chin stuck in his ass if he tries to eat corn on the cob…
This is precisely the moment in which I woke up from this horrid dream…
I showered, ironically ate a bowl of Corn-Pops and then headed off to work—trying to make sense of it all…
-Ron
PS—I’m willing to pay dearly for answers…
Summer is soon to give way to Fall, before undoubtedly succumbing to a long hot Winter…Let’s talk it over…
Repeat visitors are noticing that our site looks different. “Who gives a shit?” you’re saying. “Exactly”, is what we’re saying…
