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What can I say about myself that hasn’t been said already (behind my back)?
Hmmm … just check out this story ..
I was a 17 lb. baby with 3” fingernails and a thick mass of stainless steel Scouring Pad-like hair. My mother struggled 30 hours in labor, but I wasn’t going to give up the carefree life so easily. Man. It was real comfy in there, warm, secure. And the comforting maternal heartbeat ….. music to my ears. In fact, where do you think I learned to Two-Step?
Eleven months following my conception (“Ugh! Yucky!!”), I decided “enough is enough”; besides, I wanted to know what all those muffled instructions, “breeeath …” and “puushhh …” were all about ‘cos every time someone said those words, I felt tremendous pressure all around me building a desire to poop. And in that dank darkness, I couldn’t even see where I was pooping. (But, to share a little secret, I really didn’t give a damn. He he he …! Must’a left a freakin’ mess in thar’!).
Anyway, I wasn’t gonna make it easy! So only 30 hrs into labor and the chickenshit doctor concedes defeat! He couldn’t evict me in the proper manner thru’ the front door so he decided to cheat! The sly bastard! I was wondering where that “snip, snip” and “rip, rip” was coming from. The next I knew was the ceiling being torn apart … this blinding light … a circle of heads all around the opening like I was the object of some gruesome séance, and a pair of menacing hands reaching in and lifting me right up and away from my sanctuary! Why, the nerve of the guy! “Hey! Who was that masked man?!”
I was too spellbound to object. Then, to add insult to injury, he hangs me upside down and delivers a resounding slap on my precious little buttocks – in front of everybody; no doubt to get even for making him “earn it”! That’s not all, Folks. Listen to this: He proceeds to hold my “thingie” and stretches it. The faggot! It felt good though! And then Nurse Rachet hands him something shiny, metallic ….. Holy Shit! It’s a freaking KNIFE! Hey Doc! The joke’s gone far enough! You’re not serious, are you? Egad! He’s going to cut off my wee-wee! This man is a lunatic! No wonder they’re all in white! HEEELLLPP!! Mooomm. I’m sorry for being such an asshole! Get this clown off’a me. Daaad ….. Why do you all have that sadistic grin on yo… YEAOW …ARRRGHH … You sonnafa …
You’d think that was revenge enough? But, NO! It’s the nurse’s turn to have some fun now! Ooohh .. I should’a known! They weren’t going to let me off just yet. The Sado-nurse broad puts a turban on my “little friend” who’s growing littler by the second– just to bruise his ego some more! Then she sticks cotton Q-Tips deep up my nose and a towel down my esophagus, and rubs my body all over with that same sandpaper-like towel … and sticks a needle 12″ into my butt!! And then …. and then …….
Yup! I was a bit heavy around the middle …
And then … SHE SCREAMS AND PASSES OUT dropping me to the floor! And everyone’s going, “Oh, my God” in unison like a chorus group!
Geez! If this is their idea of a “Welcome Ritual for Newborns”, they can keep it. I want back in! So I start yelling, screaming, kicking away ….
For some reason, no one wants to come close to pick me up! They draw lots. Finally, after an eternity yelling on the cold concrete floor, the sanitation guy carries me over to my mother. So how come he has his face turned sharply away from me muttering, “Oh my God” repeatedly?
Ooohh … There’s my Momma! From a fuzzy distance, I can see that smile of contentment on her face. She looks weak though! Ahhh .. the moment I’ve been waiting for … they told me all about it long before being born …. Yup! They are all gonna hold me, kiss me, pass me around, and say how cute I am, that my nose resembles my Mom’s, my eyes shine like Aunt Kitty’s, my elephant ears come from my grandma, my wee-wee comes from my Dad (but it’s all shriveled up right now. Battle scars, ya know!)….. and then THE FEAST! Look Mom. Let’s just skip the formalities and proceed on to the main course. I’m a little worn out and very hungry. So .. . how ‘bout some boob, eh? Whaddya say?
So this sanitation jerk dumps me beside my mom and heads for the door. My mom, wide eyed, takes one good look at me, lets out a shrill SCREAM AND FAINTS dropping me to the floor (this is getting old, Folks!). My Dad and everyone else bolt for the door leaving me yelling on the cold floor again!
Then it dawned on me: I MUST HAVE BEEN ONE HELLOVANUGLY BABY! With a face not even a mother could love! Harrumph! Some people are too damn constipated to have a sense of humor! And I was thinking I reminded them of God ‘cos I wus so darn “adorable” and “divine”! Well, that put a quick damper on any remaining conceit!
Next thing I know, I find myself floating down the river in a wicker basket! Awwright! I heard all about it, Dudes! It happened eons ago; could happen again! Some pretty princess is going to find me. She’ll adopt me as her son and raise me up to be a king. Cool. It’s good to be king! I could live with that! And then we’ll see who has the balls to call me ugly!
But not so fast! Talk about life handing me a bum hand of cards, Folks. My basket gets caught in the reeds and this stinky, flea infested bitch (Yes. A bitch: y’know, a “female dog”!) carries me in the basket over to this monastery. But why a monastery, Lord? Why not a cathouse? I would have even settled for a convent! Why a freaking monastery where the monks are monks, and the choir is nervous!! Why? Why?
Well, I later learned, ours “is not to question WHY, but to do precisely as the good Fathers command”!
I was lucky, though. I was their official mascot! My job was to guard the gates, feed the dogs, toll the gong… and dance on the roof top on Halloween. It seems the tourists would get a big kick out of it. I was too ugly to do any public appearances required of others.
The monks were good to me. I mean, REALLY! I was fed real good on leftovers, learned personal hygiene, etiquette, martial arts, how to read and write; I learned French, Italian, Arabic, Amharic, and Braille. I learned Philosophy, Logic, Comparative Religion and developed an understanding for other faiths. Hell, I learned theology in Latin and studied the Holy Quraan in Arabic. They even put me thru’ Law School.
I was too “facially challenged” to date so I spent most my time in the library studying or doing my chores at the monastery. I graduated summa cum laude, which simply put means, for a young man in his “prime”, I had more “oomph” in my big head than in my little head. No regrets really. One learns to develop self-discipline, self-respect, and a great deal of gratitude for blessings. Besides, I realized long ago my mission in Life did have to do with procreation, but procreation of civic mindedness and unconditional servitude to Divine Will.
I worked days as an Intern Attorney for a respected firm in San Francisco. I devoted many nights for several worthy causes on a pro bono basis, including some Capital Punishment issues at San Quentin State Prison and Human Rights cases on referral from Amnesty International.
Eventually, I had enough money saved in my little piggy bank to pay for my maxillofacial reconstruction surgery. Mind you, I was always content with the way I looked, totally assured that God does not create anything that’s not perfect or undeserving of love.You see, I was born with an extreme speech impediment, “lisp” (or maybe acquired it thru’ all those intimate encounters with the floor), and Tourette Syndrome and coprolalia, a neurological condition where, quite unawares, I’d use inappropriate words and phrases. My TS episodes aren’t as frequent now as they used to be during pubescence and young adulthood, but my lisping would get me in trouble or I’d become the center of some tasteless jokes – very embarrassing in court!
I never forget to count my blessings. I’ve come a long way from where I started, and I have yet a long way to go. I sometimes find myself in a daze wondering about my parents. What became of them. Whether I have a brother or little sister somewhere. Whether they were born “normal” or if they’ve been told about me. I dwell just long enough on those thoughts to thank Providence for watching over me all these years, for the love and generosity of all who interacted with me, for the privilege of including me in His Mighty Plan and the chance to leave something good and wholesome behind for others.
Being human, fallible, and prone to at least a tiny bit of vanity, I sometimes find myself drifting into the “What If” category of daydreams: What would my fate have been if left to the mercy of the river? Would I have become fish food or would they have bolted for the shore at the sight of me? Would I have become king and had my menacing effigy high on a pyramid to scare away intruders (as well my subjects)? Naaah! The way my luck was going at the time, I would’ve probably ended up in a circus or the Guinness Book as an oddity. But my luck changed for the better, and the rest is history (or “her-story” depending on your gender bias).
Most my work is still pro bono or on a “sliding scale” enough to support myself and champion a few worthwhile causes for the underdog because, you see, I AM AN UNDERDOG; always was. I’ll never be “rich” money-wise, at the rate I’m going but that was never my intention. Nevertheless, one day for sure I hope to be a BILLIONAIRE in the “Karma Bank”: That’s where funds truly matter.
And if you believe that story, I’ve got some Florida swamp land I’d like to sell you, and this godawesome bridge up North: Prime Manhattan real estate. Going really cheap! Whaddya’say?
This entry was posted on Saturday, April 19th, 2008 at 5:56 pm and is filed under About Me. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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