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, ____, ( 08/09/01 anada426 ,
/ \ ,_____ (--|_\_,,_, _ _| _ __________ ,-.______ _,---._ __ _/ \
/ \+------ _| ) | |(_|(_|(_|_ .net------/ )----.-' `./-/ \
/ / ( |__, ( ( ,' `/ /|
\ / \ `-" \'\ / |
\ / "Self Surgery" `. , \ \ / |
Y-------- ----------/`. ,'-`----Y |
/ by Flack ( ; mEoW!@/| '
i________________________________________________| ,-. ,-'_______/ | /
| | | ( * | /
|____________________ Anada is cat-friendly! __) |__\ `.___________|/
`--' `--'
Getting old is a wonderful thing. There's no manual, no book, no
master sage (save for one's parents) to prepare you for the body changes you
have in store for you over the upcoming years. I'm in my mid 20's. When I
was a kid dad told me all about sex, but neglected to inform me about
hemorrhoids. I could have figured out how my dick worked on my own, but to
have an itchy butthole all of a sudden for no reason was quite the shocker.
The same goes for ear hair. When the hell did I get ear hair? I'm driving
to work one day when I look in the rear view mirror and see this lone hair
whipping in the breeze. When I went to pull it, it was attached to my
friggin' EAR! And while I'm complaining about body hair, I was aware I had
nose hairs, but the day I actually saw one hanging down out of my nostril
was enjoyable. Advice from a guy who's been there -- never, EVER pull a
nose hair out while driving. First of all, chances are you're not grabbing
one, but two or three. Second of all, it's a lot like setting fire to the
inside lining of your schnoz. Somehow in between the tear-filled eyes and
the screaming I was able to pull my car over to the side of the road until
the pain passed.
Another body change that has come along is the addition of Mr. Wart.
Where he came from I don't know. One day I picked up a piece of paper at
work and felt it rub my finger in a strange way. When I took a close look
at my finger, there was Mr. Wart, conveniently located on the inside of the
middle finger of my right hand, right next to my palm. I was prepared for
hair to grow there eventually, but not warts.
Sometimes when telling a story you have to think way back to decide,
"when exactly did that sound like a good idea?" In retrospect, performing
surgery on myself seems pretty odd, but at the time it made sense. Of
course, when sipping on Jack and Cokes, lots of things that probably
*aren't* good ideas sound like good ideas at the time.
So there I was, Jack and Coke in one hand, and Mr. Wart in the other.
I was BS'ing with a friend of mine when I mentioned that I had developed a
wart on my hand. My friend proceeded to tell me that all the wart medicine
on the market was "bullshit," and the only way to permanently remove a wart
is to "dig it out." He also informed me that I'd have to "get the seed" or
it would grow back.
After hanging up the phone, I set my drink down on the table and
saw... fingernail clippers. Some people are talkers when they drink, some
are fighters, some are lovers... me, I'm McGuyver all of a sudden. I'm
going to operate on my hand, with fingernail clippers.
After a little poking and prodding around, I found out that Mr. Wart
wasn't very sensative. I could poke it, pull it, and mess with it with
pretty much no pain. The wart had somewhat split down the middle, so I
jammed one end of the clippers down in the middle and the other end on the
side, and went to work.
Maybe warts aren't that sensative, or maybe the Jack Daniels worked
as a sedative -- I don't know. I'm not a wart expert for god's sake, I've
just operated on one -- give me a break! Part of the wart fell away, and
much to my surprise, there was no pain! I quickly began pruning the rest of
my little friend. As I got closer to the actual skin on my finger, I began
to feel a little pain, but there was no going back.
In the middle of my little trimming exercise, I saw something black
down there in the middle. Aha, I thought to myself, the seed! I dug the
clippers WAY down in there, and I must've been poking around on a nerve or
something, because my finger just started twitching the harder I pushed the
clippers down in there. I positioned them the best I could with my left
hand, and squeezed.
WELL MOTHER FUCKER that probably wasn't the smartest move. If you
have ever actually seen blood "spurt" out of something, it's a very
entertaining scene. There's no wonder why many great comedy skits have been
written around that gag alone. A stream of blood shot out of my finger and
across the room. Once the wonder of seeing my bodily fluid spread around
the room wore off, I felt pain. I'm not sure what I cut, but this was right
around the point where, in hindsight of course, self-surgery begins to not
sound like a good idea.
Why ice is an instant healer I'm not sure. Whether you're bruised,
cut, burned, or dying, ice on a wound will bring instant relief. I guess
about the only thing ice isn't good for is frostbite. Anyway... my gut
reaction as a big dumb guy is, "finger hurt, need ice." In front of me was
a glass, and I plunged my finger in.
I can't really tell you if it was the Coke or the Jack Daniels which
filled the wart cavity, but something set me immediately on fire. After
screaming a few select expletives and spilling my drink, I ran to the sink
to run cold water on my finger. Unfortunately, even cold water hurt when
running over my new wound. Not knowing what else to do, I went to the
kitchen drawer and got a band-aid. Of course, at this point it kind of
looks like I've either severed an artery or cut half of my finger off, and
pretty soon the band-aid is covered in blood as well.
I eventually just wrapped my hand in a cold wash rag and it quit
bleeding at some point in the night. It's funny how pain cuts right through
any alcohol-induced buzz one might have. I remember lucidly thinking, "ok,
that was a bad idea."
A couple of days later, Mr. Wart was back. Apparently I had not got
"the seed." Here's where the story gets really silly. The wart actually
came back bigger than before, as if to taunt me a second time. So while AT
WORK, I open my desk drawer and by sheer coincidence, I end up with a pair
of scissors in my hand... Hmmm, I think to myself. Nah...
Yeah...
There I go again. I'm not into self-mutilation. I've never cut
myself. I've never tattooed myself. I've never pierced myself. But I can
tell you one thing. This fucker's gotta go.
Turns out, didn't even have to cut as deep as I did last time to
bring the blood on. Blood spurted everywhere -- all over my papers,
keyboard, mouse... everywhere more or less. No band-aids at work, but I did
have some Taco Bell (c) napkins left over from lunch that I was able to
apply long enough to make it stop bleeding. Enough wart work for one day.
I figured after it healed, I'd have time to replan my attack.
A couple of weeks later, I was having lunch with my friend who had
given me my original "wart advice." He asked to see the wart, and when I
turned my hand over... it was gone! I don't know if I got the seed or if it
went away or what, but it was just gone!
And so, chapter one of the story has ended. I have lowered my guard
to Wart-con 4. None have had the bravery to show their warty little heads
on my skin lately. But when they do... oh when they do... I'll be ready for
them. Armed with scissors and fingernail clippers, I'll be ready...
(Neither the author of this file nor Anada condone the act of
operating on yourself.)
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`-.^.-' (c) 2001 Anada e'zine by Flack `-.^.-'
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