Friday, January 22, 2010
Breaking Up Is Hard To Do: The Tumor Speaks
For months she’s been going on about me, and, finally, I get my say. It’s about freakin' time. Ever been the victim of online character assassination? Well that’s what’s been happening on this blog and I’m pissed off. But then, you’d be pissed off, too, if you had spent years curled up against a kidney. You know what they talk about, back and forth, the pair of them? Urine. Absofreakinlutely boring. All pissing and moaning and urea. Guess it could have been worse. I might have been curled up with the lower intestines. There’s absolute crap conversation, if you get my drift.
Well, chick, I’m gone and you got your wish, though soon you’re gonna wish you hadn’t, 'cause now all your parts are bouncing around, not knowing what to do. Who do you think kept them in line all these years? Your spleen and stomach? Constantly going at it. Constantly. It was like having that middle-aged couple next door to your apartment screaming and yelling and breaking things, then getting pissed off at you when you called the cops. I’m the one who kept them from tearing each other apart. You thought I was on an extended vaca down there? I was working on keeping your digestive and excretory systems from getting on your ass. Literally. Think it’s easy being squashed this way and that? Think you know what it’s like to be uncomfortable? Try having the whole mass of you sitting on your head. It’s no picnic.
I’m done. I’m so done. Gone. Outta there and not going back. Play the parts referee yourself, girl. These days I’m a lot happier, in a jar, floating around -- got a view, finally, even if it is from a lab shelf. Yeah, the formaldehyde smells, but let me tell you, sitting by the kidneys was no bed of roses, if you get my meaning. This is like perfume in comparison. Hmm, think I’m ready for lunch. Where do I call for room service?