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The Stones

Last year when my old Grandpappy died; (I call him that Ďcos he was a 1890ís mid west gold prospector). I took nothing away with me from that 3am November walk home from the hospital other than a few things Iíd fetched to cheer him up and a despondent uncomfortable feeling that a man, who as a child to me was John Wayne, had spent the last two years of a decorated life in operating theatres and hospitals hooked up to clinically coloured machines but still quickly deteriorating until he faded away.

Perhaps in situations like this you canít help but deconstruct your own mortality; but the one thing that always made me uncomfortable when I was sat with him was a device called a catheter; which is a tube inserted up your manhood that sits like a dipstick in your bladder siphoning piss into a bag hung on the end of the hospital bed gently swaying and hovering inches away from you as it slowly trickles full of an alien green liquid.
It also causes your mind to play a trick on you suggesting that you can smell it but actually cannot as you sit there mesmerised pretending not to watch and pondering the barbarity of it.

Well, as most things that I hope never happen to me seem to, this one is no exception, as in a few weeks Iím supposed to have a Ďprocedureí (as they call it), and the use of a catheter on me seems to be a probable.
As a very introverted person and easily out of my comfort zone, the twenty four hour period after getting this news has peeled away all the layers of what little manhood Iíve glued on over the years until I found myself sitting in the car listening to Whitney Houston cupping my cock and balls in fear as they retreat inside my body the same as a sumo wrestlers does.

Even as I sit here in a cold sweat I canít help but imagine the attractive young nurse who comes to fit it and asks me where my penis and testicles have gone as a group of even more attractive interns pass the bed creating some form of Benny Hill fast motion chase sequence as they all pursue me topless around the hospital shaking their fists as I trail a plastic tube from in between my legs like the tail of a friendly lemur leaving an involuntary trail of green liquid.

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I represent the official website of the "V" programme and myself and the writers feel that comparing green urine with Mr. Lizard from "V" is offensive. Please either moderate of remove.
Comment By: John Daggers, 24 Aug 2009, Rating: 5/5

That last bit actually sounds quite good... If that's genuinely the worst case scenario I wouldn't worry too much if I were you. And if it is green, you can pretend you are one of the aliens from V, and put the rest of your time indoors to profitable use by trying to convert the medical staff, and by telling anyone that challenges you "If anyone's converted, it's you", regardless of what the challenge is in relation to.
Comment By: Dermot, 24 Aug 2009, Rating: 5/5

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