"What's this one's name?"
"Daisy." she said.
So I went scratch Daisy on her belly and, lo and behold, ran right into Daisy's enormous dog wang.
"Whoa," I said, "looks like Daisy's got some gender identity issues."
Then Steph said, "No, that's a tumor." And it was. It looked like someone had been keeping their cucumber inside a dog, and now it was desperately trying to escape. Then I noticed my hand was wet.
"Ewwwww. Tumor juice."
"No," Steph said "that's from the other dogs licking it all the time."
Now, I don't normally mind a little dog slobber, but somehow, for some reason, I was overcome with intense and unspeakable disgust. This was the grossest thing I had seen since that leper caught fire in that beauty parlor (and also there were snakes). I think it's because it came off a tumor. Just a guess, but being transfered via tumor makes anything, especially anything already marginally gross, about ten thousand times grosser. Imagine this dialogue:
"Here's some mayonnaise for your sandwhich."
"Thanks. Is there a knife I could use to spread it on my sandwhich."
"No. No knives. But here, here's a tumor."
"Jesus Christ! What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"What, you're too good for mayonnaise now?"
"No. I'm not too good for mayonnaise. I would still enjoy mayonnaise on my sandwhich, but I'm not going to apply it with a tumor, you twisted jackass."
"I cleaned it. It's clean. It's a clean tumor."
"No, dammit!"
"Well shit. Cry me tumor why don't you."
So what did we learn? We learned not to read my blog before you eat. And in summary, always wear gloves, no matter where you are or what you're doing. If people ask questions, just hold your palms towards them and say "Gloves." like that's all the explanation you've got, and they should leave you alone.
6 comments:
#1: This is one of the most disgusting, horrible things I have ever read.
#2: Tell Ellen I'm really sorry to hear that Daisy has an enormous cucumber tumor.
#3: If you ever use the phrase "tumor juice" in my presence we wil no longer be friends.
#4: Bring me an extra pair of gloves if we visit the Freemans this summer.
p.s. Somehow I also posted this comment on your last entry. Whoops-a-daisy!
Believe me, reading about it is as close as you want to get. Chenoa, is our friendship so fragile as to be broken by such a simple thing as tumor juice? I hope not. tumor juice.
God, i'm sorry about that. It's like trying not to shake a christmas present, or trying not to open fresh cans of tennis balls. Only much more horrible. Please don't hold it against me.
I only feel sorry for myself in this situation. Trying eating dinner in a room with a dog that you know has a giant garden vegetable tumor, after recovering from the stomach flu. Gloves could never be enough.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.
Sorry, but that is a whole lot of ookiness right there.
I do like the gloves suggestion though. You can't go wrong with gloves. And then you might get a cool nickname like "Lady Who Wears Gloves" or just "Crazy". Awesome!
I smiled. I cried. I laughed out loud. Then I realized I was on a game show for deaf mutes and I had to remember I was a fake.
But more importantly, this proves that I read your posts.
i can't figure out how else to find you so i gotta leave ths note here...check out www.dooce.com. effin hilarious blog.
Post a Comment