The Hierarchy of Suck and a Two Headed Duck (that rhymes and you know it does)…

“You’re one of the good ones…[insert name]”

       Ren, the comically cantankerous cartoon Chihuahua

Very broadly, there are three types of people – 1. People who suck, 2. People who don’t suck, and 3. The good ones.

The first two are pretty self explanatory – people who don’t rack the 270lbs they just squatted from the Smith machine (seriously you guys, that’s three 45lb plates on each side) are the suckiest of what I will call the “undistinguished suckfaces” – those who suck, but not at a professional, Kathy Griffin level. So that I don’t digress on the sub-hierarchy of suck, I’ll just say that the “undistinguished suckfaces” are but a drop in the bucket of suck (or “sucket” if you will). The middle genus in my criminally simplistic taxonomy of human temperament are those who don’t suck.

The beauty of this type of class of person is that you don’t have to do much to get in, just NOT suck. I’ll put it to you like this, dear readers-

Roughly 3.14 kajillion times a day, we are faced with some choice. It could be as simple as choosing breakfast – Cheerios or leftover Chinese? Or as complex as pressing a button to test a missile, thereby risking the lives of millions of people (if you’re Kim Jong-Un).

In simplest terms, each example contains two or more broad paths. Each path is quite broad with a dizzying circuitry of tributaries and “roads less traveled”. Each path, no matter how broad or narrow, trodden or smooth will do one of two things – 1. Suck , or 2.Not suck. When you reach the threshold of these paths, ask yourself one simple question, will the result of my decision to take this path cause suck for me or anyone else? If the answer is no, go forth onto that path that you won’t suck.

If the answer is yes, ask yourself a follow-up question– will the suck of my decision outweigh the potential positives? If the answer is no, go forth onto that path that you won’t suck.

If the answer is yes, ask yourself a follow-up question– will this decision place the brunt of the suck on someone else? If the answer is no, go forth onto that path that you won’t suck. If the answer is yes, ask yourself a follow-up question– must I take this path to achieve my ends? If the answer is no, go forth onto that path that you won’t suck. If the answer is yes, ask yourself a follow-up ques….

Actually, at that point, it’s best just to forget about your ends and NOT make that decision.

This leads me to the upper echelon of the quality ‘o people structure.

I’ve adopted the term “one of the good ones” to describe these people.  Such people go beyond the requirements of NOT sucking and make things less sucky for others. In short, they suck the sucking out of things that suck. They redeem the ever growing population of the “sucket”.

I’d like to tell you, Internet, about one of the good ones as I rank her. Her name is Kay, this is her likeness as of Christmas 2016 (I think).

20160104_181217

I met Kay when she commissioned me to convert some home video tapes (Hi8, I believe) to DVD.

Turns out, Kay and her husband, Dan, are pretty neat, what with their family of ducks, old jukeboxes and antique Japanese gambling machines. To honor her uniqueness, I’m officially declaring her “one of the good ones”, and, like I did with Dr. Shearer HERE, I’m going to conjure an origin story. That is, the story you are about to read is entirely fictitious and any similarity to actual people, places or mystical ducks is purely coincidental (and frickin awesome!). Here we go –

Like horns upon a goat they lay.

High atop Mount Fløyfjellet

Storhorn and Lillehorn sit,

Keeping watch over the islands of Norway.

 

The village elders often say

That between the spires is a connection

To another dimension,

Where mystical creatures live and play.

 

It happened upon a day

There arose a great upset

When village was met

By a bundle so fey.

 

In the mild month of May,

The people of Austvågøya did find

A basket seemingly left behind

Floating in the bay.

 

To their dismay,

A baby they found within;

How could it have been

That a baby should come this way?

 

The village elders did carefully assay

The coming of this child

As if from the wild;

But none could say…

 

… whence her home might lay,

Until Sigurd stood forth,

Pointed to the north

And opened his mouth to say…

 

… “I know from whither this child did stray,

By some folly she was let…

…Out the doorway atop Fløyfjellet

From thither did she come this way.”

 

This he did convey

To the villagers there assembled.

Oh how they stirred and trembled

At the thought of a mystical doorway.

 

With intent to allay,

Sigurd boldly spake,

“On the morrow I shall take…

…this child back that way.”

 

The people thought him fey,

But in his words they found relief

In the face of the belief

A ransom for the child they’d have to pay.

 

And so the next day,

Sigurd set forth

On a journey to the north

That he might defray…

 

… any cost for this child gone astray

And so he climbed high, then higher

To reach the twin spire;

The frame of the dimensional doorway

 

Facing the columns he did say,

An enchantment to lay bare,

Any charm hidden there

And thus show him the way.

 

At that moment darkness overtook day

A glowing portal did appear.

So Sigurd buried his fear

Set on returning the little girl, come what may.

 

So, valiantly he passed through the array;

Like in vacuum his ears did pop,

He spun and wrenched and twisted non-stop.

It felt like the kneading of clay.

 

He peered hither and thither to assay

A scene before him so queer,

Sound but a hollow din, sight but a chromatic smear.

He held aloft the child gone astray…

 

… then opened his mouth to say,

“Behold, I bare a child of your domain,

And I would parley to ease any disdain,

And enmity towards my village by the bay”

 

At that, Sigurd’s eyes met with a curious display;

The sounds of his voice were as ripples on a pond,

Wrinkling and warping the air beyond.

In reply, a surly voice squawked “who are they?”

wp-1499003794572.

 

The words seemed an aural melee

Attacking sight and sound with such force,

Sigurd gleaned the sound’s source

He spied an abomination heading his way.

 

Of all the oddities Sigurd saw that day,

None were so queer as this.

A creature common enough, but grotesquely amiss.

Hark the full tale, ere you gainsay –

 

The creature on its way

Was a duck I tell you,

Not with one head, but with two!

The two heads conversed in a manner so fey…

 

… gouging and pecking away

At the neighboring head

While squawking so loudly as to raise the dead;

Sigurd knew not which head held sway

 

Ere the squawking and pecking would belay

Sigurd spoke this query,

“I’ve wandered far, and am weary.

What of this child, a ward gone astray?”

 

The left head squawked, “SWORD GONE AWAY!?!”

The right head pecked and squawked with derision,

“ NO, YOU DOLT. THAT IS NOT THE QUESTION!”

It squawked what was surely a mainstay…

 

… of the conversation most every day

For it was, the loud squawking and jeering

Resulted in loss of hearing;

Making any message difficult to convey.

 

Sigurd feared there would be no end to the fray,

That his quest had been for nought;

That this child, the realm had already forgot.

He resolved to leave without delay.

 

Sigurd sighed, overcome by dismay.

As before, sounds he made

Were given shape, and in physical form, did pervade

And ripple the air like water in a bay.

 

Upon reaching the creature, the head of gray

Began a raucous declaration,

Squawking “We feel a queer sensation!”

In a manner so fey.

 

The creature’s voice like a woman so gay,

With the occasional raucous “quack”;

Considering the creature, Sigurd turned back…

as he thought Why’d I come this way?

 

Then something happened, he decided to stay,

Just as if he had voiced that question

“I have a suggestion”

Quacked the head of grey.

 

Sigurd’s mind fell into disarray.

It came to Sigurd

That this beastly bird

He should here and now slay.

 

Through some diabolical relay,

They heard the thoughts in Sigurd’s head;

That he would see them dead

Ere they’d had their say.

 

For then they did display,

A visage of death

With fiery breath

And razor sharp talons to flay.

 

Deliver me from this beast I pray

Thought he in desperation

“Leave the child for obliteration?”

Said the beast to Sigurd’s inner mislay

 

“Creature, how is it that you can say

Answers to questions in my head

And to thoughts I haven’t said?

Tell me true, and do not play.”

 

Grey head spoke without delay,

“You know nought of your location,

We know much of your vocation”

Spoke the duck with the head so grey.

 

At this, Sigurd did display…

…a countenance of dither

That he should come hither

And be subject to such play.

 

After some delay,

Sigurd, with his mind clear,

Queried, “what know you of my vocation here?

I ask of you, if I may.”

 

This answer, to Sigurd, they did purvey –

“You seek the repatriation,

Of the youth in your possession.”

They know of the child found by the bay…

Bzzzzzzy

BeeJert Typewriter Classroom Full

Listen, I’m usually juggling two jobs, two or more reading projects, this blog, writing a book, cleaning, dadding, and I be strippin in the evenins. In a word, I’m uber busy (that was two words, but you get the idea.)

I sat in contemplation about my dizzying to do list. Right then and there, despite the objections of all 157 kajillion molecules in my body hell bent on figuring out some way to return the mayo to the fridge and throw away a cheese wrapper simultaneously, thereby saving 4.3 seconds – time which can be applied to some more purposeful activity later, inspiration bade that I conjure a verse to chronicle my raging reality.

 

What follows is the offspring of that bit of whimsy and my brain’s inclination to swaddle such whimsy in cozy, tender words –

 

On Monday, where are you going to be?

I’m subbing for Mrs. Brown,

I never turn an English job down.

Never slow down. Gotta stay busy.

 

Hey, it’s Friday. Let’s go to a movie.

Can’t. I’m working all nite,

Teaching online until the morning lite.

Sleeping is overrated. Gotta stay busy.

 

All work and no play for Jarrett Lee?

Being productive is my joy,

That make me a dull boy?

Well “HERE’S JOHNNY!” Gotta stay busy.

 

Daughter: “Dad, spend some time with me.”

Gladly, my dear, let me finish this text

Then we’ll play on the X…

…box. Make time for Quinn, but gotta stay busy.

 

What? I’ve a moment free,

That can’t be true!

Oh look, there’s some mail that I need to view.

I only thought I wouldn’t stay busy

 

I haven’t blogged lately,

Yes that is true,

I use any spare time to…

… write a book, cuz I gotta stay busy

 

OOH! A book! May I see?

There’s not much to show,

I regret that the word count is so low,

Because I gotta stay busy…

 

… and boost productivity,

By engaging in tasks that might improve my station,

Leading to a situation

Where I gotta stay busy…

 

…but do so gainfully.

Oh, I wish I may, I wish I might,

Someday get paid to write,

And break this mold of busy tizzy

 

FIN

@JarrettLWilson

Rhyme Time: Get a Job(s)

slide2
Teaching aboard the Millennium Falcon. Obi-Wan isn’t pictured, he had to go to the bathroom. The sign with the rooster reads “this isn’t the rooster you’re looking for”

My injourney

has led me

To many

Ways to make a penny.

 

My preservation,

Indeed, my continuation,

Rests on many a vocation.

A patched together living in summation

 

The latest of these

I do with ease,

Lounging in my jammies

Teaching English to Chinese…

 

…Children. Thanks to the internet,

I don’t get wet,

Or take a jet.

I Haven’t even been to China, yet.

 

Pronunciation and grammar are my trade;

American dollars are what I’m paid.

Fortunately, I don’t have to grade…

…Papers, and the lessons are already made.

 

I simply report to the designated digital place

With a smile on my face,

Speak at a slow pace,

And keep a clean workspace

 

“No, not ‘parsent’

“It’s pronounced ‘parent’

Don’t worry about your accent

I know what you meant

 

This pedagogical enterprise

Supplements my daytime guise

Where I mesmerize

Teach and civilize…

 

…local students at the secondary age

In order to engage

Them with sage

Advice for life on the world’s stage.

 

These jobs offer little remuneration,

But, keep in mind, monetization

Isn’t the only form of “job well done” dispensation,

Much of my efforts are met with adulation.

 

Indeed, the compensation is sufficient

For spiritual nourishment,

But the commercial payment

Won’t even cover rent.

 

Such is the way

I earn my pay

Allowing me to stay

Productive and bizzay (busy)

 

Life doesn’t stop because of brain injury.

I’ve still got to get out and feed the monkey.

I just never imagined I’d be

So busy…

 

FIN

@JarrettLWilson

On Teaching English

I’ve been commissioned to produce a rhyme,

Thing is, I’ve not had an original thought in a long time.

That being the case,

The proceeding space

Will showcase

How the BookFace

Is responsible for these words.

I’ve just now decided that rhyme schemes are for nerds.

I’ll rhyme how and when I want,

I assure you I’m no poetic savant

I just know what I…want

Ok, enough about the mechanics of this poem,

Let me tell you the muse for this work, you might know him.

He is certainly more pleasant than an itchy, puss-filled rash

I speak, of course, of the charmingly urbane Charles Nash.

In response to a call for conscription

Into my recent pedagogical vocation,

At that request he did commission,

For me to produce a poetic vision

Of great jubilation.

You are now reading the fruit of that request,

Question is, what to do with the rest…

Of this limerick?

What about a quick…

Rundown of the previously mentioned “pedagogical vocation”?

As a supplementary source of remuneration

Through the interwebs I travel to China,

To serve as an instructor of English elocution.

Working at home suits me just fine-uh.

Detracting from total mirth

Is that our opposing locations on the earth

Mean they are awake while I would snooze,

Causing me to lose

Precious sleep that humans require.

Indeed, I wish the body wouldn’t tire,

That being the case, I’d teach all night,

Helping Chinese kids speak English, the way an American might.

Scratch that, Americans have terrible grammar,

It’s only one step above incomprehensible yammer.

The worst example of this grammatical blathering

Is to answer “I didn’t do nothing”

Which is really testifying

That you, indeed, did something.

Equally bad is ending

A sentence with “at”

Thereby offending

Anyone that

Knows it’s a grammatical transgression,

To end a sentence with a preposition.

OMG, I’m all over the place,

To avoid confusion,

And end with grace,

This sentence is my conclusion.

 

FIN

@JarrettLWilson

 

 

So Close, Yet So Far

WP Cover PicThe prezi found here: https://prezi.com/0mvptvuqyviu/ is a synopsis, in a way, of a book I’ve been writing about my experience with a brain injury. It contains excerpts from the book, but guides the viewer with a whimsical poem. I’m gonna go ahead and blame my Ahab like compulsion to write this book for my absence from blogging of late. I made this to show agents and such at a writer’s conference. I was hoping I had enough to get the ball rolling. Turns out, I’m less than halfway done. But, as Ahab got the whale so shall I finish this book – hopefully, it doesn’t do me in, though.

Me

I wrote a new intro – I thought it turned out pretty awesome (if I do say so myself, which I do), so I’m making it an official entry to make it easier to share, I ripped off “Eldorado” by Edgar Allan Poe –

 

   Before 2009,

I was fine,

Then,oh the pain,

It felt as though,

I’d taken a mighty blow,

Directly to the brain.

Got in the car,

Drove to the ER —

With the doctor, I explain

The symptoms that led me here,

And my growing fear,

That something was wrong with my brain.

The Dr announced his plan

For a CT scan,

In order to attain,

Information from my head,

Then I was led

To a machine to take pictures of my brain.

 


Turns out, a flood

Of my own blood,

Had loosed upon, and slain,

Neurons nestled so snug,

Snug as a bug,

In the stem of my brain

 

Since that day,

I have to say,

Several difficulties remain.

I would fill you in,

But then again,

Just read through this blog about my brain.

 

Is this the only topic?

A literary biopic,

Of how I maintain,

My composure despite

This neurological spite?

My interests do stretch beyond the brain.

 

I write on topics mild,

Like my only child,

Quinn is that beautiful girl’s name,

And read on friend,

Until the end,

You’ll find so much more than the brain.

 

You will see,

I ❤ technology,

And compose the occasional refrain

About this and that,

Like, how I can’t stand “Where’s [noun] at?”

But it all started with my brain.

.

 

FIN

 

@JarrettLWilson

Fun with Acronyms vol. 2 and Rhyme Time

Today (or tomorrow, or the next day, and so on until the breakdown of civilization; whenever you might read this), I’d like to tell you about a little mom and pop grocery chain called Wal-mart.
If you are reading this in the distant future and Wal-mart isn’t the hub of shopping activity in your borough, civilization is, indeed, on the verge of collapse.
As of now, 1:47pm CST on January 28th, 2016, Wally World, as it is known in contemporary parlance, is a yardstick…perhaps THE yardstick of American culture. The annals will have it that ours is the age of the of the localized globe, where the world is at your fingertips – literally. This summation contains several omissions (hmmm…’contain omissions’, not sure about that one, but I’ll go with it).
Notably left out of this description is the Vietnam War veteran door greeter who looks at everyone scornfully because they don’t truly appreciate freedom.
Let’s not forget the family of seven with one cart full of essentials (food, clothes, hygiene products) to be purchased with government funds, and another cart full of beer and cigarettes paid for with a crisp $100.
On a more light hearted note, there’s the 200lb woman wearing shorts made for an average sized 14 year old…
I’m getting carried away. The acronym for Wal-mart is Where Ambling, Languid Mortals Acquire Routine Trifles.
Listen, nobody at Wal-mart wants to be there. Hell, they’re not there – that’s where the “Ambling, Languid” descriptors come in. Ambling = meandering about oh so leisurely, languid = lazy, lethargic.
I’d say stop and look around at how people become oblivious, uncaring zombies at Wal-mart, but you (like me) will be one of those oblivious, uncaring zombies. Instead of brains, you’re motivated by being done and leaving.
“Routine Trifles” would be anything, and I mean EVERYTHING that you might need and plenty of crap that you don’t. Stop by the pharmacy to get a blood pressure machine to take your BP after eating one of the varieties of Spam. You’ll want to pick up some toilet paper for when that comes blasting out the other end. Pick up a goldfish while you’re there (the fish tanks are right next to the toiletries at my Walmart – bit of a cruel joke, no?).
It’s a few days later, after writing everything above I wanted to wrap it up, but something kept telling me I needed more. I didn’t understand what more I could do. I felt that I had adequately regurgitated my point onto the page, but the word bile and grammar chunklets on the page beckoned me to await further inspiration. I was listening to the audiobook of When Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris and I got to a part where he writes a poem about a hobo. It was then that I realized why my prose swill bade that I tarry – I must compose a poem. That’s right, people – it’s rhyme time –
I awoke one morning and hungered for cereal with soy milk,
But reached the fridge only to find a small amount of Silk.
I felt a sinking in my heart,
This meant a trip to Wal-mart.
I started making a list of what I needed at the store,
Milk, bread, lunch meat and light bulbs, nothing more.
The first challenge was to find a parking space,
I circled the lot for what seemed like days.
Upon entering the store, I grabbed a cart,
Looked at my list and contemplated a place to start.
I’ve found that, no matter where you begin,
You’ll purchase more items than you intend.
For example, on my way to the lunch meat,
I saw a deal on hot dogs that couldn’t be beat.
This meant, of course, that I had to get buns,
On the way, I saw some Capri Suns.
My daughter has them with her lunch to drink,
I’m never going to leave, I start to think.
I commit to gathering the last few items, then go,
There are so many conveniences to be had, though.
With my cart nearly full, I head to the checkout,
Careful not to look at items that might cause doubt…
…that I have all that I need for now,
If I missed something, I’ll manage, somehow.
Checking my list as I walk out the door,
I started with a short list, but ended up with so much more.

I’ll call this limerick “Jarrett’s “short” list for Wal-mart”.

I’ve enjoyed writing this entry – leave me some comments about your Wal-mart experiences.

Next time, S.T.A.R.B.U.C.K.S.

FIN

@JarrettLWilson

“Emotions” pt. 2(ish)

This is the next part in my controversial “emotions” series. I can’t call it part two because I’m going to discuss two emotions. Why not call it parts two and three you ask?

I can’t call it that because that name is boring. A better name that I’ve in this moment conceived is “part threwo”, which is a combination of the words two and three. Combining numbers two and three, gives us five; I’ll go with that – “Emotions, pt. 5”

You see, in this installment – in what can only be explained as blue flaming overachievement – I’m going to talk about TWO emotions that I have felt recently.

The first emotion can be summed up with the following picture –

Jarrett = A sad panda
Jarrett = A sad panda

Don’t be fooled by the smiley face. About a month ago, ice raineth from the sky such that my car door got frozen shut.

Being as tough as I am, I tugged and tugged until the door came off. I managed to get the door back on, but the handle stuck out. That part about ripping the door off and putting it back on is a lie.

Furthermore, I can only assume that this is unrelated to the door handle and speculate that it has to do with Satan, Cher or some other foul beast – my car keeps dying. Here is a little poem to describe the situation –

Oh car, I exited the highway, then you died

I pulled into a parking space at home, them you quit

Then, you stalled out in the Petco parking lot, dammit

Up to now you’ve been such a dependable ride.

You got me to McKinney,

Then you decided not to run.

Being stuck in the middle of the road isn’t fun.

I had to have a wrecker drive 30 miles to get me.

The cost to fix you has been high.

More than that, it’s been a big pain in the ass!

Oh car, why does your fuel pump stop pumping gas?

Please please please get better before I cry!

The mechanic can’t determine where the problem lies;

The Buick service dept. seems bumfuzzled too,

Here’s what I’ve decided to do –

Rent a car from Enterprise.

This should give the mechanic time to fix you,

And while he does, I don’t have to be without transportation

Calling for rides is a real agitation

With any luck, you’ll be back on the road in a few.

This broken car business has been quite an ordeal – I don’t wish to comment on it any further.

Instead, I’ll turn to happy business. I know I’ve already covered that “emotion”, so I’ll take it one step further and describe it more fullyer.

A few months ago, I told you about a PRESENTATION I gave to the seventh reading classes at the school where I work. The reading teachers had the kids make flyers as if I was coming to speak.

That's right! An entire wall at the school is all about me!
That’s right! An entire wall at the school is all about me!

Close up of my wall #2

Creative kids, no?
Creative kids, no?

To be the object of an entire grades’ learning is quite a privilege; I felt very important. I don’t know if there’s a name for this “emotion” (or if it can even be called that). Whatever the case, I propose to call this “emotion” improrteged, or perhaps primporileged. Either way, I was greatly honored to be a vehicle to help transport young minds to learning.

That wraps it up for the 23rd (threword)/5th/2nd  installment of my revolutionary “emotions” series.

Toodles!

FIN

@JarrettLWilson

Medical Vernacular Spectacular!

Part of having a condition like mine is learning a lot of big words. I like big words and I like to write silly poems – seems reasonable to assume that I would double like a poem about big words. I haven’t written the poem yet, but I’m sure I’ll like like it. To that end, I’ll quit introducing and start writing the poem you’re about to read. One last note – I’m going to stick to a simple AABBCC rhyme scheme – Shakespeare I amn’t. I’m going to italicize the terms to set them apart.

The medical field uses words that are big and complex,

For instance, raising you for at the able is called dorsiflex(ion) :).

The above word is one of the many that end with I-O-N,

Proprioception is a word that I use often;

It’s a big word for knowing where your limbs are in space.

Circumduction is another I-O-N, it affects walking pace.

When the knee doesn’t want to bend, the leg swings;

If I’m not careful, I’ll start to kick things.

Yet another I-O-N is ambulation;

Or you could say “walking”, if you value concision

Walking is made more difficult by the symptoms of spasticity.

Incontinence is when you have trouble going pee-pee,

“Pee-pee” is a silly word for releasing fluid that is pent.

The fancy term for pooping is “bowel movement”.

There is also a tube for moving pee-pee and other fluids hither and thither,

The fancy word for this tube is catheter.

There’s an intrathecal catheter delivering medicine to my spine ,

The catheter carries medicine from a baclofen pump to help me feel fine.

At first, the needle caused my spine to leak,

But thanks to a blood patch twas fixed in about a week.

To get the blood for the blood patch, the nurses set a Mid line,

The needle went so deep into my arm, I felt like dying.

Medtronic is the company that makes my pump.

Ataxia, or loss of balance, makes it difficult to jump.

Seeing two of something is called double vision or diplopia.

Seeing two of something is called double vision or diplopia.

Dysphagia is one of the fanciest medical terms I know,

It’s easier just to say “it’s hard to swallow”.

Let’s not forget the word for constant muscle contraction,

Hypertonicity is the word given to this action

I owe this list of words to the Pons region of the brainstem,

Without having a major hemorrhage there. I wouldn’t have learned them

This concludes the list

Did you get the gist?

I know I left some off, but I’m happy with this list, short as it may be. I think I explained the meaning of the words pretty well, but here’s a list with definitions just in case –

Dorsiflexion: This is when a door opens – I jest. Quite simply, it’s bending your ankle so that your foot/toes goes up

Proprioception: Obviously this describes a professional at “priocepting”, and as we all know (right?), prioception is the ability to perceive of a Toyota Prius. Actually, it’s your perception of the relative position of some body part.

Circumduction: The Romans came up with this one. Circ is Latin for “Pringles” (they’ve been around for a while). Um is Latin (and every other language ever for “WTF?”). Duction translates to “talking with one’s mouth full”. In essence, when in Rome, it’s not cool to talk with a mouth full of Pringles. Truthfully, it’s when the leg swings outward because the knee won’t bend enough to clear the ground.

Ambulation: Walking

Spasticity: Tremors caused by constant muscle activity

Incontinence: When you’re not on a continent. Examples – swimming in the ocean, flying on a plane or exploring outer space. A less awesome and more truer answer is when you can’t pee

Bowel movement: Pooping (heh, poop)

Catheter: This one was adequately covered above – it’s just a tube

Baclofen pump: A hockey puck shaped machine that delivers sweet, sweet baclofen (muscle relaxer) to the spine

Blood patch: The use of blood to patch a leak in the spine. I asked them if they could just use tape. They laughed derisively and said we could, but then we won’t get to set a…

…Mid line; thereby IMPALING my right bicep to harvest blood from a deep vein

Medtronic: A science fictiony name for a company that makes baclofen pumps

Ataxia: The IRS’s answer to whether or not there’s a tax for some object. E.g. “Is there a tax for asking stupid questions?” IRS reply: “A tax, yeah.” That, or loss of balance.

Diplopia: This one means double vision, I don’t get it. When I think of the word “plop” I think of poop splashing into the toilet.

Dysphagia: Saying disparaging remarks to some named “Phagia” – she(?) will punch you in the throat and make it difficult to swallow.

Hypertonicity: Similar to “spasticity” – constant muscle contractions.

Pons: Latin for bridge due to its position between the cerebellum and the cerebrum on the brainstem (that sounded pretty scientifical, eh?)

Hemorrhage: Internal bleeding, which, when paired with the term above, can create everything above that. Basically, it’s at the bottom of everything (symbolic, no?)

FIN

@JarrettLWilson

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