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May 26, 2001
prostate stories: four
I awoke this morning eyelashes crushed against my lavender-scented satin eyepillow. I stumbled out of bed and enjoyed a cup of Jesse's Black Community Coffee, a special blend of coffee beans and collards. After reading the newspaper, I took a long, hot shower. First, I washed my hair with Green Tea and Garlic shampoo (with vitamin E). Then I used a Rosemary and Meat Sauce cream rinse (with fresh mozzarella conditioners). The next step was a briskfacial scrub with Jergen's new Apricot-beurre Blanc Splash (with aloe). Finally, I washed all over with Oil of Olay's soap made with Dead Sea salt and Caspian Sea sturgeon (with vitamin C). I dried off with an Egyptian cotton towel once used by Hosni Mubarak. Thus cleansed, I headed off to a session with my new psychotherapist, Dr. Keller.
Dr. Keller is unusual in that he is deaf. He lip-reads, but not too well. Here is a typical exchange:
Me: My mother wasn't very maternal.
Dr. K (speaking like a male Marlee Matlin): Marginal? How so?
Me: She was cold and demanding.
Dr. K: How goddam old was she?
Me: I had to grow up too fast.
Dr. K: Nausea can be terrible.
When my therapy session was over, I returned home and watched a little television. I caught the tail end of an infomercial selling The Rocket Chef chopping device and featuring a British coke-head and his sycophant, Nancy. What devotion! I switched over to a college basketball game during which I fell asleep. I dreamed I was a 6'9" black man with a 4" tall Afro and a 38" vertical leap. I jumped so high one time I crashed through the gymnasium roof and landed on my bed where I awakened, remote control in one hand, penis in the other. I should probably tell Dr. Keller about that.
© 2001 by the beastmaster