me vs. therapy

‘they’re going to cut off my nipple and toss it around the operating room like a frisbee.’

‘well, let’s hope they don’t drop it.’

‘exactly. i mean all it takes is for one lousy tech to miss the pass and then splat, nipple on the floor.’

‘then they pick it up and dust it off and there you go…dirt sewn right into your chest.’

‘i have this mark on my palm, look see…’

‘oh yeah, looks like you got stabbed with a pencil. what happened?’

‘i got stabbed with a pencil.’

‘when?’

‘third grade.’

‘and the graphite is still in there?’

‘yeah, it irritates the shit out of me.  no matter how much i scrub I can’t get it out.’

‘maybe while they’re tossing your nipple around the operating room the surgeon can carve that thing out.’

‘hm, maybe i should mention that.’

‘so besides your nipple flying around the room, are you comfortable with the surgery to come?’

‘i guess. i mean, as surgeries go it’s kind of a breeze.’

‘true, i'd say it’s a pretty basic thing to have a lump removed.’

‘and the milk duct. how long is a milk duct do you think?’

‘i’m not that kind of doctor, angela. but i’m sure it’s small.’

‘really? because i’ve been having this re-occuring dream where they pull it out and the thing is like all the way down to my toes. she just pulls on it and pulls on it and pulls on it and…’

‘angela?’

‘yes.’

‘stop. it’s going to be fine.’

Look over at Satan. Satan holds up five feet of milk duct. Smiles.

Look back at therapist, say: ‘i’m just a little worried she’s going to have a moment and slip and then there goes my implant.’

‘why would she slip?’

‘well, last time i was under, i woke up half-way through, well…half woke up, you know how that shit makes you dopey…well, i woke up and decided to tell a joke.’

‘which joke?’

‘the rooster joke.’

‘i haven’t heard it.’

‘yeah well, the people in the room all laughed. now that i think about it, probably because they couldn’t understand what the hell i was saying….’

‘probably. tell me the joke.’

‘uh, really?’

‘yes, why not?’

‘because you’re like, politically correct and really liberal and easily offended by anything remotely funny.’

‘give it to me.’

‘oh, all right. so this farmer goes to the market to buy a new rooster for his hen pen. he finds a big, virile looking one and brings it home. he throws the young rooster in the hen pen and the young rooster immediately starts strutting around looking at all the chicks. then…he sees an old rooster just lying over in the corner by the barn.’

‘riveting, go on.’

‘well, he struts over to the old rooster and he says; “old man, you gotta go. this in my hen pen and there’s no room for you!” the old rooster looks up tiredly and says back to him “sonny, i’ll make you a bet, we’ll race to the farmhouse  over there. if you tag me before i touch the porch, the hen pen is yours. if i touch the porch before you tag me, you’re out of here. how’s that sound?” well, the young rooster thinks this is a pretty good bet, so he says sure. the old rooster gets up slowly, stretches out his wings then his legs and takes off, at a fairly good clip but he’s old so the going is slow. the young rooster gives him a head start and then the young rooster is off like a lightning bolt and he’s running and he’s running and he’s just about to tag the old rooster when out of a nowhere BLAM! a shotgun shell hits him and he’s dead’.

‘umm…’

‘and just then the farmer walks up to the young, dead rooster and kicks at it with his toe. looking down he shakes his head and says “god damn it. that’s the third gay rooster i bought this month”.’

‘nice angela.’

‘what? it’s funny.’

‘you’re gay.’

‘so?’

‘oh never mind.’

‘you’re going to tell your partner when you get home.’

‘no.’

‘yes.’

‘no.’

‘yes.’

‘good luck on your surgery.’

‘yes.’

‘no. hang in there and tell me all about it when you get back.’

‘ok.'

'and don't tell the joke please.'

'i might tell the blonde joke instead.'

'what color hair does your surgeon have?'

'nevermind.'