nearosporum

August 20, 2008

the following was an email that i sent to a friend about two years ago; i stumbled across it a few days ago and it gave me a good chuckle:

i had this dream where i was in new york city.  i was in this really fancy piano bar being hit on by multiple divorcees.  i left the bar with one of them for a walk arond town.  on our walk i fell into a storm drain and landed in some neon green ooze.  i transformed, as you may have guessed, into a teenage mutant ninja turtle.  at this point you must be saying “well, wouldn’t it be more like a twenty-something mutant ninja turtle?” the answer is no, because i turned specifically into raphael.  i got into a ninja-off with an exceptionally talented member of the foot clan.  we weren’t fighting, just showing off, chopping boards, twirling swords… you know.  anyways, i won the ninja-off with a spinning back-kick,breaking two terracotta pots suspended overhead just after commenting on how all of the activity was increasing my appetite for pizza. the next morning i awoke with five fingers, no shell, and not a single ounce of karate ability.

two days after that i was hit by a car on the way to work.  i escaped with only minor cuts and not so minor bruises.  my newly replaced front wheel is toast, and so is my fork.  the woman who hit me happily handed over her information.  while walking my bike home i said to myself repeatedly, “1500 dollars. that was probably worth about 1500 dollars.” well, the insurance info was bogus so it wasn’t worth a fucking dime.  if it happens again i’m calling an ambulance.

fast forward to last weekend: i went to the bayhouse with my parents and grandparents.  while my grandfather, dad, and i were in the boat fishing this one point, we saw a giant rainbow far off. a couple more minutes of fishing, and a rain cloud settled right over us.  at this point we were literally at the end of the rainbow… both ends: one on the port stern and the other on the starboard stern. and this was not just some pussy, little  ten-foot halo, this was a giant-skyward-arching-at-any-second-a-pegacorn-is-gonna-fly-through-it
rainbow.  once again– not worth a fucking dime.  no
matter how much you know the pot-of-gold is bullshit,
if you shall ever find yourself in the same situation,
you’d expect one to be there.  

the next day i had the pleasure of meeting this really shithouse lady at a bait camp (go figure).  in response to a simple “how are you?” she replied, “not so good. i just cut myself.” she held a sloppily bandaged finger a few centimeters away from my nose
and brandished her shotty dental work in an ignorant smile as i held onto the pier from the boat.  “iscratched a mosquita bite,” she continued “and i had to stay innuh hospital for six days with that
bacteeral infeckshin.  i cut this one on one o’ them croaker tanks, so i been open it up, pourin’ ackahol in it, an’ puttin’ that nearosporum in it… so…” 
“well, thanks,” i said, taking the pound of dead bait also a few centimeters from my nose my grandfather ordered. “see you later.”

those were good times.

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