Nov. 20, 2003 - 7:39 a.m.

I am not going to jump on the whole Michael Jackson Jumping On Kids bandwagon for two reasons: 1. unclebob AND his son have already done the perfect vivisection (read today's and yesterday's). And 2: fit me for a hood and call me "Grand Dragon", but I don't think it's in good taste to make fun of white women.

So NewWifey(tm) got a gander at yesterday's entry. Her reaction was somewhat muted by her ongoing inability to articulate sound, but she made some unmistakeable hand gestures that indicated her displeasure. She ended up writing me a note:

"Fuck you if you don't think I'm a perfect patient. Why don't you tell them how far YOU stooped when YOU got sick, huh tough guy?"

Fair enough.

Two years ago, a couple months after getting hitched, I had knee surgery. I typed this up during my recovery, and if you've ever typed something while mired in the grip of a Percoset jag you'll excuse the Special Olympics style of writing. I'm not re-writing it either, since that would take effort. But it nonetheless shows you what measures I'll stoop to to alleviate pain.

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(It's now 2001)

I went and had surgery a couple of weeks ago. What happened was, some years ago I blew my knee out. Totally seperated the ACL from the rest of my anatomy. Back then, they didn't have the technology to fix it - just told me to wear a brace whenever I competed from then on. Now however, medicine has limped forward enough that a fix was not only possible, but recommended. So under the knife I went, to recieve an ACL implant from some dead guy or gal. I mean, I assume they were dead. Do desperate living people donate these things for cash? If so - "Thanks, Rummy!"

The surgery itself was pretty straitforward, but lemme tell ya - the recovery SUCKS. I mean, I'm used to pain - I dated women for years after all. On top of that, I've been batted around the ring as an amature boxer for at least a decade, and I've been stabbed probably a million times as a swashbuckling fencer in my college days. Plus racing motorcycles non-stop since I was in single digits, suffering innumerable spectacular crashes - and 3 previous minor knee operations from them over the years. But NOTHING rivaled getting a 4 inch length of bone and ligament rammed into my knee socket.

This was an outpatient procedure, at a hospital about an hour and a half from my home. When they wheeled me out to the car I was blissfully ignorant of any danger lurking ahead, thanks to the lingering effects of the epidural and a fistful of Industrial Percoset. However by the time we pulled into the driveway at the Glorious Dangerspouse abode, all heck was starting to break loose in my body. The anaesthetic was rapidly wearing off, and with it my will to live. You have to ascend a flight of stairs to get to my front door, and halfway up, hopping on my good foot, balanced between crutches, the pain of the jolts was so bad I just started vomiting. Right at the doorstep it was finally too much and I blacked out, staying lucid just long enough to let my crutches fall to the side instead of under me. When I came too, NewWifey(tm) was trying to pull my 6 foot, 220 pound bulk across the rug to the sofa.

This is all preamble to the main, sordid tale.

Finally I was ensconced safely in my recliner, there to stay for the next 20 days. Sponge bath, urinal, the whole humiliating bit. And LOTS of Percoset. Lots. For the first three days though, if so much as a piece of lint landed on my leg I'd be racked with spasms of agony. I still can't believe how bad it was.

What was also bad was that the day I came home our cat went into heat. She's only a kitten, really. NewWifey(tm) brought her home a few months ago along with an alarmingly cute Welsh Corgi puppy. They're best friends now, taking turns chasing each other around the house, sleeping together, etc. They're even the same color and, almost, size. But anyway, the kitten decides to go into heat. And whom does she cast her eye of desire on? That's right - Daddy Tom. I guess I was a natural for her; immobile, familiar, and reeking of feline masculinity. She would try to claw up to my elevated leg and hump it - normally an activity I welcome. But not this time. I got the full treatment; face away from me, head down between her paws, rump up, tail to the side, kneading with front claws and yowling at the top of her lungs. Just like NewWifey(tm)!

So...frantic from pain when NewWifey(tm) was at work and kitty wouldn't stay off me, I finally just grabbed her and...

...fucked her with a Q-Tip.

I know, I know. It's really disgusting, and the ASPCA would probably tack my likeness up in Post Offices everywhere. But it did the trick - she rolled around on the floor purring like mad for 15 minutes, then fell into a deep sleep for the rest of the day. Damn I'm good! Trouble was, when she woke up she expected this treatment on a regular basis. I had to keep putting out if I wanted any rest at all for the next 3 days. Do I have to make the NewWifey(tm) analogy again? Yup....

Obviously she has an appointment to be spayed so this doesn't happen again (although I have mixed feelings about that, now that I've honed my technique). And yes, I sent her flowers the next morning, and no, I didn't ignore her phone calls from then on. I'm a gentleman after all, no matter what pussy we're talking about.

So waddaya think? Is this a case of justifiable bestiality (not to mention pedophelia)? Or am I just another sick, desperate pervert who is using the excuse of pain-induced delerium to justify a reprehensible act?

Oh I should mention NewWifey(tm) found it in her heart to forgive me, although she makes sure to voice pointed comments whenever the cat's around, like, "My, she's put on weight", and "I don't think she bathes herself frequently enough".

Well, time for another Percoset. (Woo Hoo!) Give my regards to the Shelter.

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Hmmmm....so maybe I shouldn't make fun of Michael Jackson because of that whole "Glass Houses" thing.....