Steven Hunley
03-27-2015, 11:08 PM
The Procedure
The title of Dubrovnik should be Death Stalks Dubrovnik- a mystery/ romance/ adventure.
That’s what I’ve decided, after taking Barb’s suggestions. But by making up titles I’m stalling for time. It’s ten until four and I’m about to take my first dose of, what’s that stuff called?
Pofofil or Prophylactic,? No, that’s not it, I have to go and read the label. Wait a second while I get the box. Oh boy, oh joy, it’s a red white and blue box labeled Prepopik.
I know about the stuff, all but the name, on accounta I can never remember names, and on accounta’ I had some around the third of the month, accidently. Yes, accidently. Freud said there were no accidents, that the conscious and unconscious planned everything. But it is my feeling I had no idea the date of the ‘procedure’ had been changed, and the scene of the crime too.
So I took my medicine, just as I am now, the afternoon before the “procedure”. I got down there the next day as scoured out as a sewer line after the Rotor Rooter man has done his dirty deed. Then I found out about my mistake. I took it for nothing. Barb says I have to get organized about appointments…and everything else.
So now it’s strike two and it’s four so I’m off to the kitchen for 5 oz. of water and the magical mix of sodium picosufate, magnesium oxide, and anhydrous citric acid. It like Kool-Aid, you just add water and they turn into ‘oral solutions,’ ‘oral solutions ’ to your problems! No Kiddin!
I down it with five ounces of water.
Hey, it’s fizzy and this one says it’s Cranberry flavored! Hey, let’s read more of the label, and hey, what’s this?
OMG OMG! Guess what? Something nasty and ominous this way comes. Turns out it’s the manufacture’s name. And it’s real tiny and faint near the bottom; in fact it’s the smallest print on the box.
For: Ferring Pharmaceuticals, Inc.
Parsiperry, NJ, USA.
But right above that it says
Manufactured by Ferring Pharmeceuticals (China) Co. Ltd.
Zhongshan City, Guangdong Province, CHINA
This means it’s possible they got this stuff at the 99 cent store. Most all the stuff at the 99 Cent store is made in China. Chinese workers work for rice and don’t make much per hour. Workers of the World, unite and all. And I mean everybody. Make out-sourcing not worth it. And another reason I’m wondering about the efficacy of the stuff is that two hours have gone by without any evil stirrings from my bowels. Last time it was swallow and zoom! Jackie Gleason’s “And away we go!”
Aye me lads, but now…hey… what’s that?
I feel a sort of rumblin’ sensation below decks. Pirate Girl would understand, her below decks have their odd moments too. Down the Hallway of Mirrors be twenty-two paces, but a straight musket shot. The other girl’s powder room be closer, at thirteen paces, but you have to run it daintily, with a quick left and right, while dodging all the family pictures that be on the walls. Either way, it’s time to dash.
Funny how I think like a pirate when I get nervous. Pirates often used smaller vessels than the ships they overcame, and showed false bravado to ensure success. But the Jolly Roger is me, the toilet desperado, who’s not finished yet. There are more adventures in science and medicine coming, and I’m ready to face them all. Damn the torpedo-like colonoscopy probes and full speed ahead. More than my butt is cheeky.
I’m already giving myself the bronze medal for having the foresight to stack an extra roll of toilet paper on the back of the toilet. Domestic foresighted Barbara would be proud. Time to drink more Java from Java, maybe partay-down with some broth, you know, a "clear liquid". But only after I deal with the first hurdle, a stomach that just won’t quit.
All hell broke loose, and I mean loose.
The stint in the men’s room was really a scream. I grabbed the laptop off the Venetian end table, ran down the Versailles Hall of Mirrors, sat it down on the green wicker clothes hamper made in Bangladesh in the bathroom, and slid it across the tile between my feet. I was prepared to conduct my correspondence from here, and deal with old Delhi Belly at the same time. Like Long John Silver once said, “Let ‘er rip!”
It was horrendous, a shot heard 'round the world'. Fortunately, after a paragraph, it ended.
Whew! How dramatic! What power, what force! Real stinko too. Was that whole chorus of garbanzo beans? What’s wrong with me? Don’t I chew my food?
Barb calls, asks me for an update and tells me she’s going to drop by the store for clear juice. My angel is homeward bound.
We talk over the events of the day and I relate that there was two hours between the first dose and first blast, but now it’s almost time for the second dose. I’m already so hot I’m about to lose the rifling on my poo barrel with the next explosion.
Barb opens a bag of lemon freezer-pops and hands me one. “Here, Thskinny, this will help cool you off.”
It tastes good. Anything cold and wet and lemony tastes good.
Ten comes and goes and my last dose comes and goes…with a vengeance.
This keeps me up until two and costs me three full rolls of Bunny Soft Toilet Paper. Finally, and in a weakened state from the battle of the bowels,
I crash.
To be continued...? I hope not.
©Steven Hunley 2015
The title of Dubrovnik should be Death Stalks Dubrovnik- a mystery/ romance/ adventure.
That’s what I’ve decided, after taking Barb’s suggestions. But by making up titles I’m stalling for time. It’s ten until four and I’m about to take my first dose of, what’s that stuff called?
Pofofil or Prophylactic,? No, that’s not it, I have to go and read the label. Wait a second while I get the box. Oh boy, oh joy, it’s a red white and blue box labeled Prepopik.
I know about the stuff, all but the name, on accounta I can never remember names, and on accounta’ I had some around the third of the month, accidently. Yes, accidently. Freud said there were no accidents, that the conscious and unconscious planned everything. But it is my feeling I had no idea the date of the ‘procedure’ had been changed, and the scene of the crime too.
So I took my medicine, just as I am now, the afternoon before the “procedure”. I got down there the next day as scoured out as a sewer line after the Rotor Rooter man has done his dirty deed. Then I found out about my mistake. I took it for nothing. Barb says I have to get organized about appointments…and everything else.
So now it’s strike two and it’s four so I’m off to the kitchen for 5 oz. of water and the magical mix of sodium picosufate, magnesium oxide, and anhydrous citric acid. It like Kool-Aid, you just add water and they turn into ‘oral solutions,’ ‘oral solutions ’ to your problems! No Kiddin!
I down it with five ounces of water.
Hey, it’s fizzy and this one says it’s Cranberry flavored! Hey, let’s read more of the label, and hey, what’s this?
OMG OMG! Guess what? Something nasty and ominous this way comes. Turns out it’s the manufacture’s name. And it’s real tiny and faint near the bottom; in fact it’s the smallest print on the box.
For: Ferring Pharmaceuticals, Inc.
Parsiperry, NJ, USA.
But right above that it says
Manufactured by Ferring Pharmeceuticals (China) Co. Ltd.
Zhongshan City, Guangdong Province, CHINA
This means it’s possible they got this stuff at the 99 cent store. Most all the stuff at the 99 Cent store is made in China. Chinese workers work for rice and don’t make much per hour. Workers of the World, unite and all. And I mean everybody. Make out-sourcing not worth it. And another reason I’m wondering about the efficacy of the stuff is that two hours have gone by without any evil stirrings from my bowels. Last time it was swallow and zoom! Jackie Gleason’s “And away we go!”
Aye me lads, but now…hey… what’s that?
I feel a sort of rumblin’ sensation below decks. Pirate Girl would understand, her below decks have their odd moments too. Down the Hallway of Mirrors be twenty-two paces, but a straight musket shot. The other girl’s powder room be closer, at thirteen paces, but you have to run it daintily, with a quick left and right, while dodging all the family pictures that be on the walls. Either way, it’s time to dash.
Funny how I think like a pirate when I get nervous. Pirates often used smaller vessels than the ships they overcame, and showed false bravado to ensure success. But the Jolly Roger is me, the toilet desperado, who’s not finished yet. There are more adventures in science and medicine coming, and I’m ready to face them all. Damn the torpedo-like colonoscopy probes and full speed ahead. More than my butt is cheeky.
I’m already giving myself the bronze medal for having the foresight to stack an extra roll of toilet paper on the back of the toilet. Domestic foresighted Barbara would be proud. Time to drink more Java from Java, maybe partay-down with some broth, you know, a "clear liquid". But only after I deal with the first hurdle, a stomach that just won’t quit.
All hell broke loose, and I mean loose.
The stint in the men’s room was really a scream. I grabbed the laptop off the Venetian end table, ran down the Versailles Hall of Mirrors, sat it down on the green wicker clothes hamper made in Bangladesh in the bathroom, and slid it across the tile between my feet. I was prepared to conduct my correspondence from here, and deal with old Delhi Belly at the same time. Like Long John Silver once said, “Let ‘er rip!”
It was horrendous, a shot heard 'round the world'. Fortunately, after a paragraph, it ended.
Whew! How dramatic! What power, what force! Real stinko too. Was that whole chorus of garbanzo beans? What’s wrong with me? Don’t I chew my food?
Barb calls, asks me for an update and tells me she’s going to drop by the store for clear juice. My angel is homeward bound.
We talk over the events of the day and I relate that there was two hours between the first dose and first blast, but now it’s almost time for the second dose. I’m already so hot I’m about to lose the rifling on my poo barrel with the next explosion.
Barb opens a bag of lemon freezer-pops and hands me one. “Here, Thskinny, this will help cool you off.”
It tastes good. Anything cold and wet and lemony tastes good.
Ten comes and goes and my last dose comes and goes…with a vengeance.
This keeps me up until two and costs me three full rolls of Bunny Soft Toilet Paper. Finally, and in a weakened state from the battle of the bowels,
I crash.
To be continued...? I hope not.
©Steven Hunley 2015