Sunday, January 21, 2007

The Guinea Pigging Continues



The woman on The Weather Channel looked particularly fetching that day
and that, combined with the semi-clothed woman in the issue of Good
Housekeeping, caused quite the buildup and then quite the explosion when
I had no choice but to give in and release.

So great was this release that I lost total control. My hand became
paralyzed and could no longer perform its grasping duties and my legs
kicked as if I'd been tasered. Next thing I knew, my back clenched and I
felt myself leaning backwards way, way too much in the recliner.

Then the chair tipped back and I slid out, conking my head on the coffee

When I came to, I heard a slow, steady drip. From whence it came I soon
found, for it was some of my passion pudding slowly dripping from the
ceiling. Remembering how I got in that current position, I quickly
pulled up my pants and got slowly to my feet, trying to ignore the sharp
pain coming from the back of my head.

Looking around, it seemed like someone had thrown a balloon filled with
a white, milky substance into the room. This substance was not only on
the ceiling, but also spattered on the walls, the windows, the picture
of Granny Johnson and her dachshunds, the television, the barely used
piano and piano bench, the sheet of stamps I figured was my entry into
the world of stamp collecting, the ceiling fan (which was luckily turned
off), the entertainment center, the "Gone With the Wind" poster which
was being used to hide the speaker wire coming out of the wall, the
letter from the third world child we were considering sponsoring, the
bowl of ranch flavored Doritos I was going to eat when my test was done,
the cigarettes, the beer and the light switch.

I was ecstatic since the pills actually worked. I danced a little jig in
the middle of the room, careful to steer clear of the dripping puddle on
the ceiling, then went to the garage to have a refreshing smoke after
making sure that I had grabbed a cigarette that was clean of any thick,
liquidy residue.

As I smoked and revelled in my glorious purchase, a thought suddenly
came to me:

Cats like milk, and that stuff sorta looks like milk, so wouldn't they
be in the living room right then lic.....

I threw the cigarette down and ran towards the door.

Then the garage opened.

Back from her weekly book club was the woman, while inside the house
there were cats possibly fighting over a released part of me that was
coating a good part of the living room.

What to do?

COMING NEXT: Is the experiment embarrassingly over?


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