You probably didn't hear because I was pretty tight-lipped about it, but I had surgery on Monday to have my gallbladder removed. On Sunday night, I was watching TV with the G-Train, and the latest Planters commercial came on. You know, the one where the 2 guys are fishing on a sailboat, and when they run out of peanuts, the one guy starts to halucinate that the other is Mr. Peanut. The other guy looks at his friend and says,"Dude, you're freaking me out!", and they fight until another can of peanuts is found. It was such a cool line that I told the G-Train that that's what I was going to say when I came out of surgery.
So there I am on Monday all hooked up, ready to be wheeled in. The nurse turned some knobs on my IV, knocking me out. When I came to, the G-Train was there because I was operated on at the hospital where she works, and I said,"Dude, you're freaking me out!" just as promised. I know, I am hilarious!
OK, so here's what really happened, at least according to my wife. When the nurse turned those knobs, I may have lost consciousness, but I unconsciously gave a lengthy and apparently incoherent oration on the history, theory, and philosophy of "Dude, You're Freaking Me Out!" About 5 minutes in, the G-Train asked the nurse to look the other way so she could hit me over the head to shut me the hell up.
Now people snicker behind her back as she walks by them at work, and she wants to move to a place where they haven't heard what a freaking idiot her husband is. Yeah, good luck with that one Honey! For better or for worse, baby - ring a bell?
Like a gigantic hand scraping its fingernails across the chalkboard of West Point’s concrete, the sound of the dodgers in transit was a fluid social stain designed to disrupt with impunity the otherwise perfect and repressed order of the Academy.