“Alright everyone, that’ll do. Have a great weekend, and as always, BE SAFE!”
The classroom empties. I erase the blackboard, walk over to my desk, pull out the chair to my desk, sit down, wipe the sweat off my brow, and sigh. Why must experience be a requisite of the wise?
It’s hot. Damn hot. I reach over and grab Fasheed’s homework off the top of the homework pile, unbutton the top two buttons of my plaid, Cherokee (ain’t nothing else touch this skin, baby) short-sleeved, collared shirt, and wipe my armpits dry. Thanks Fasheed, how’s a C for ya?
I pack up my shit, turn off the lights, evacuate the room, close the door, and head for the exit.
And then a voice calls my name.
“Mr. Kimble.”
Shee-it. It’s the principal.
“Dr. ***, what’s up?”
“Are you not coming to the faculty meeting this afternoon?” she asks in female, American Geico gecko sort of way.
Dang, am I confused or what? “You didn’t get my notice?” There most certainly was no notice. “I’m sorry, but I’m not going to be able to make it. I just got a call a few hours ago. My dog got picked up by the pound again. Loitering. BS, I know, but if I don’t go and get him now, he’ll have to spend the weekend.” I shrug. Sorry boss, I’ve got no choice.
Dr. *** stutters, “Alright. Well catch up with Charles or someone later. We’re going to be going over summer school placement.”
“You got it, I will absolutely do that.” High five to myself. Mr. Kimble, you are so fucking smooth it’s retarded.
I swing open the door, walk down the steps, put on my shades, check my watch, trip over my shoelace, pretend like I didn’t, say “whooo” from the heat, hock a loogie, and sigh. A teenage couple canoodles by the fire hydrant. An ambulance with flashy lights and honking horns whizzes by. An African-American bum wearing an ‘Everyone Loves a Jewish Boy’ t-shirt asks me for $2.16, so he can get a cheeseburger, he says. I spot him a buck and tell him to hit up the dollar menu. Beggars can’t be choosers.
The world is carrying on, just like it always does. I continue on my way, pass my favorite taco joint, and wave hello to my favorite taco manufacturer, Juan Carlos. He returns the salutation, and with a stroke reminiscent of an early Monet, salsa is applied to the canvas. What a lucky customer. The bus approaches, and while everyone happily goes about their business, I head to CVS to buy a home freeze-off kit to cryogenically remove the genital wart that six months ago decided to garnish my penis shaft.
Mother fucker. Why must responsibility be a requisite of the STD-free?
Kubler-Ross was a clever lady. First, there was denial:
“Thaaat’s not a wart. Not all cauliflower looking growths of the genitalia are warts, you know. These sorts of things don’t happen to me. It’s probably just a bit of heat rash. Sure you can, all guys get heat rash in the winter. So, how about that pile driver?”
And then there was anger:
“Mother fucking cock sucker bitch ass bitttccchhhh!! Who was it, huh, was it Liz? Amy? I’ll break their fucking vaginas open. Alright, so how the fuck do you get rid of this thing? Can’t!? Forever!? Oh no, someone’s going down.”
Followed by a bit of bargaining:
“Com’n, I wanted to use protection, really, I did. It’s just the price of condoms is so high these days. And, well, I was a bit inebriated. I was in the heat of the moment. Who could remember such meticulous protocol? But, ok, ok, I understand. Wear protection. I get it now. Sure, I deserve discipline, but warts!!?? Jesus, a bit harsh, don’t you think? How about this thing falls off tomorrow …fine, next week? That’s like a month – well fair punishment for the crime, I reckon. I won’t do it again, scout’s honor.”
Depression then ensued:
“Who’s going to want me now? Surely, no one without an STD. Sigh. I’ll never get to have unprotected sex again. Sometimes, I just wonder what the point is.”
And finally, it was accepted:
“So, this is it, amigo? You’re here to stay? Ain’t nothing I can do to convince you otherwise, huh? Well, fine then. You just mind your own business, and I’ll mind mine. But seeing that you barged in as you did – all uninvited and whatnot – let me bring you up to speed. This ain’t no spring break, got it? I run a tight ship, and I don’t like me no surprises. There will be no growing, no spreading, no itching, no burning. There will be no inflaming, no reddening, no bleeding, no scabbing. I understand you like to cause cancer. There will be none of that. If you’re going to live on my cock, you’re going to play by my rules. You got a problem with that, well, then packy your bags. You’re free to go anytime. But if I catch you so much as thinking about mutiny, so help me God, I will burn you to smithereens. Tempt me, I dare you.”
The bus approaches, and while everyone happily goes about their business, I head to CVS to buy a home freeze-off kit to cryogenically remove the genital wart that six months ago decided to garnish my penis shaft.
Have you ever noticed that really good things tend to directly precede really bad things? (Take the other day, for instance. Necessitating the services of the toilet, I sat down to take a crap …fine, a diarrhea. Immediately, a shiver shoots through my body as I feel my scrotum dip into the cold, calm, refreshing toilet water. Hell yeah! I boast, reveling in the overnight enlargement of my testicles. I do a little celebratory jiggle. And then I realize the toilet is clogged. ) Well, getting a seat on the bus during rush hour is a really good thing. It was a window seat next to some metrosexual looking dude, but a seat nonetheless. I shimmied in, and off we went.
It’s hard to enjoy anything when you know that soon, you will be experimenting with liquid nitrogen and your penis. But as much as was possible, the ride was enjoyed. Until, that is, our friend the metrosexual decided to be a gentleman. Figures he’d be a Brit.
“Good day there, luv. Care to rest the pins?”
The crippled, old, bitch obliges. Seats are exchanged and Grandma gets comfortable. Way too fucking close to this guy. She uncorks a sneeze and green mucous shoots out of her nose like web out of Spiderman’s wrists. The residue is wiped on her moo-moo, and her melanoma then scratched. Epidermis flutters into my lap. She looks to be well over 156, but olfactory analysis reveals that she died in 1998. Fuck that limey bastard.
A grueling 18 minutes follow.
And then my destination presents itself. HPV, prepare to meet your doom.
I exit the bus, walk across the street, pick up a quarter on the ground, squeak out a fart, and then enter CVS. Aisle one – the “I forgot my son’s birthday present” aisle – is perused with nonchalance. No, no, I’m not looking for anything in particular. Well, now that you mention it, I could use one of those do-it-yourself wart freeze off kits. Aisle seven? Great, thanks.
There it is. Right next to the pokey, dental hook tools. I take a moment to reflect on my astonishment that they actually allow people to purchase such instruments. Having a layman prod their gobs with a sharp metal hook just seems to me a tad reckless. Then I realize that in less than an hour, I will be burning my cock with a frozen wand. Alright, maybe metal hooks aren’t so bad.
I grab the box off the shelf. …30 dollars!! Jesus, you’ve got to be kidding me. Brain calls for a huddle.
Conscience 1: “30 bucks, is it worth it? I mean, they say they’ll go away on their own eventually.”
Conscience 2: “Eventually!!?? It’s already been six months. What are you crazy? You spent thirty bucks on potato salad yesterday. This is your penis you’re talking about. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Conscience 1: “Well, but what if I get some ass this weekend. I don’t want my shaft to be all scabby. It’s not that big, and it might go away soon, really.”
Conscience 2: “Scabby shaft!? It’s better than a warty shaft. Man, you’re retarded. Get rid of this thing NOW!”
Alright, I’ll get it.
I turn the box over and read the back label. …Fuck! My greatest fear is affirmed. Dr. Scholl’s Freeze Away Wart Remover is not to be used for warts of the genital persuasion. Brain calls for a huddle.
Conscience 1: “What do you think?”
Conscience 2: “I don’t know. I mean, it’s probably a good idea to heed their warning. But then again, Columbus didn’t discover America by playing it safe. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Conscience 1: “Well, your penis could fall off, for one.”
Conscience 2: “No it can’t.”
Conscience 1: “Alright well maybe not off, but you could burn yourself a nice, little hole. It says right there, as blatant as can be, DO NOT USE ON GENITAL WARTS!”
Conscience 2: “Yeah, but I really want to get rid of this thing. Ughh, and I don’t feel like going to a doctor. That’s just a hassle. Com’n, it’s not like it’s acid we’re dealing with. Just be careful. We’ll get lucky.”
Conscience 1: “Lucky!? You want me to bet my penis on luck?”
Conscience 2: “Yeah. Com’n, these sorts of things don’t happen to us.”
Alright, I’ll get it.
Dr. Scholl’s Freeze Away Wart Remover kit is purchased. Band-Aids, gauze, and Neosporin, too. We rendezvous in my bathroom.
Conscience 1: “I can’t do this.”
Conscience 2: “What do you mean? I thought we already agreed it’s for the best?”
Conscience 1: “I’m just not feeling comfortable, ok. Look, it’s staring you right in the face – DO NOT USE ON GENITAL WARTS!”
Conscience 2: Sigh, “So, what then? You want to give up now? You already bought this here kit. 30 smackers, that’s a lot of bread, brotha.”
Conscience 1: “Ughh. Alright, well do a little more research then.”
Conscience 2: “How you want me to do that?”
Conscience 1: “Go on the internet or something.”
Conscience 2: “Fine.”
32 minutes later:
Conscience 1: “There is not one smidgen of evidence suggesting that this is in any way not the most retarded idea ever created. Absolutely 100 percent of information gathered recommends we see both a dermatologist and a shrink. Your call brother.”
Conscience 2: “Fuck it. We’ll get lucky.”
I open the box and pull out the directions. “Soak wart in warm water for five minutes.”
I plug the sink, turn the tap, and douse my wang. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. I pull it out and examine. You know, all saturated like this, it sort of looks more like a pimple than a wart.
The mushroom of mystery is surrounded by thumbnail. A jolt of pressure is applied.
Well, I’ll be damned.
Nota bene:
Genital warts is a serious and highly contagious sexually transmitted infection that is not to be taken lightly. Simply using protection can virtually abolish your chances of contracting the virus. Please, be safe.
I hate you.
get real