Saturday, March 26, 2011

Speed-talking and Buff... uh... parts

This is about two conversations. They have absolutely nothing to do with each other, but they happened within days of each other.

The first one- speed talking. Sort of. Since the stroke, the Disabled Guy doesn't speak as fast as normal people. Not all the time. Sometimes, he gets on a roll and he can rattle just like the rest of us. He keeps a conversational pace, but he doesn't talk fast.

So, the other morning, I was upstairs after I showered and dressed, watching the end of the Daily Show when DG came into our room. He was excited.

DG: "Did you know that guy was in Street Fighter?"

Me: "Jon Stewart was not in Street Fighter!"

DG: "No, not him. That guy. You know that guy?"

Me: "Yeah, I always know that guy..."

DG: "That guy, he was in Geronimo? You know, Geronimo? He was in Geronimo. You know who that guy is? In Geronimo?"

Me: "Which guy? There are lots of guys in Geronimo."

DG: "That guy you like." and he paused and repeated: "In Geronimo. I said Geronimo, right? With that guy?"

I started to chuckle, I couldn't stop myself. He repeated "Geronimo" so many times and so quickly it just started to sound funny. I replied, "Yeah, you said Geronimo."

Then he hollered it like he was jumping from an airplane, including fading his voice out at the end.

I made an assumption- "Are you talking about the guy who was in Last of the Mohicans?"

DG: "Yes!"

Me: "One of the good guys? One of the bad guys?"

DG: "Not that one but the other one you like."

Me: "Wes Studi?"

DG: "Yeah! That's him. He's in Street Fighter."

And now onto the "buff... parts"...

DG is watching NASCAR. And the stations show their share of ridiculous and sport-related commercials. One of those commercials is the Jimmy Johnson "Extenze" ads. DG exclaimed, "I need that."

I don't watch NASCAR and most of the time, I'll have headphones on while the race is on. So I asked, "What do you need?"

DG: "That stuff... see..."

Me: "You don't need Extenze!"

DG: "Yes, I do! What does it do?"

So I told him what they meant by "natural male enhancement" and because it's the Disabled Guy, I had to be blunt about it. "They say it'll make your penis bigger... and uh... stronger."

DG: "I totally need that."

He doesn't. Okay? Everything he's got works just fine and there's nothing wrong with... uh... his parts. And I said so. Because, good gravy, what the hell?

DG: "I could take it and then make it STRONG!" and he flexed his arm in front of him. "I could make it do push-ups! MAKE IT BUFF!"

Me: "You're going to do push-ups with your dick?"

DG: "You don't know because you just don't have a penis. But a strong penis... STRONG!"

Me: "That shit doesn't work."

DG: "You don't know that!"

Me: "What would you do if it did work?"

DG: "I don't know if it works."

Me: "Let's just say it DOES work... would you make it run up and down stairs?"

DG: "Yes! PT! PT! PT! I'd make it SWEAT!" (PT, for those not in the know, is short for "Physical Training" and they do it almost every morning in the military).

Me: "You'd make your dick sweat?"

DG: "Only if that stuff works. Hey, you're not typing this are you?"

Me: "No... I was just wondering what you'd do with your penis if you had that stuff."

DG: "I think you're typing this. Well, he's got to do PT and he's got to do it on his own. I don't know, he comes with me when I go on my walk. You know it's true."

Me: "What?"

DG: "Are you typing this?"

Me: "A little."

DG: "I kinda figured that. You're telling the world about my little penis."

Me: "It's not little. You're fine."

DG: "You know it is... *holds up his pinky* I know most guys wouldn't say that about their penis."

Me: "So why are you saying it?"

DG: "I know I got a small one. You might as well have fun with it. They can't laugh at you if you make the joke first. *his tone dropped* You don't even know, do you?"

Me: "Are you still talking to me?"

DG: "No, I'm talking to myself."

Friday, March 11, 2011

A topic of a "delicate" nature...

The disabled guy has decided to start walking for exercise. What annoys me is that I walked for years (four miles a day, every day, rain/snow/cold/hot) and I know how far many of the intersections are from our house. Obviously, I can't walk as far as he does anymore (I will be, eventually). So I have told him, "X-street and Y-street are exactly a half mile from here, then you turn on Y-street and go to Z-street and that's another half mile..." and I've told him several routes that are not only all sidewalk or bike path, but also well-lit (he goes right before the sun comes up).

Leave it to him to zig-zag his gimpy ass all over the place. I told him he needs to pick a route and stay with it (or pick a few different ones and use only those) because if something happens and he has to call for a ride, I'm going to need to know where he is... and his phone call of, "I dunno, I'm near a blue house..." isn't quite going to cut it.

But I digress... on to the "delicate nature" promised in the title.

Here's a fact about the disabled guy you don't want to know. He goes commando. That is, he doesn't wear underwear. Once in a while he will, but not under normal, everyday circumstances. The other day, he was getting undressed for a shower after his walk and I said, with some surprise, that he was wearing underwear.

He said he had to. I asked why.

DG: "Because it gets hot. And nobody likes it when it gets hot like that."

Me: "Hot? It's 24° outside." (that's Fahrenheit).

DG: "Not that kind of hot. But you know..." *waves his hand in the general delicate area* "Hot."

Me: "Ohhhh, ohhh, I see. That area gets hot... and... underwear helps that?"

DG: *sigh* "It gets all hot and then it falls out the bottom."

Now, I'm quite shocked. I'm not sure we're talking about the same delicate area. So, I ask directly: "Your balls get hot and fall out the bottom... of what?"

DG: "Yes, my balls! What else would I be talking about?"

Me: "How do your balls fall out the bottom of anything? Of what are your balls falling from?"

DG: "Not falling out of! That's ridiculous! They fall down and get hot, like in NASCAR, the bottom just falls out and..." *wiggles fingers upwards while making a crackling sound* "Like fire! HOT!"

Me: "Your balls catch on fire from friction?"

DG: "Almost! And there's PAIN!" *more fire noise*

So, what I understand is that when he's walking all willy-nilly around the neighborhood, if he's not wearing underwear, his delicate man-parts get rubbed the wrong way and apparently burst into flames.

Then he said, "Plus, if I get hit by a car, it would be embarrassing not to have any drawers on!"

(for the record, when he had the stroke fifteen years ago, he was not wearing underwear. He sometimes still brings it up and says he's glad he was unconscious when they undressed him. I told him not to worry, the ER staff sees a lot worse than a guy without underwear).

Thursday, March 3, 2011

Squirrel Hitman and the Squirrel Witness Protection Program-

I'll skip the long-ish backstory that led up to DG going with me today, but I will say that because I had to wait on him, we didn't leave the house for two and a half hours later than I wanted. But I'll digress and get straight to the story.

I had a couple things to do today and mistakenly asked if he wanted to go along to get some fabric for the new sofa. Burlap or something to put under the cushions, over the springs. He said he did and that's how we ended up on the other side of town. To get home from that part of town, we have to turn down a one-way street. And if you live in any kind of town, you know how some squirrels seem suicidal. They'll dart out in front of oncoming vehicles only to dart back or they'll wait till the last moment and dash across the street.

We had one do just that as we turned onto the one-way street. I was going slow enough that if I had to stop, I could have. But Mister Squirrel ran, diagonally, across the street and dashed up a tree on the side of the road. He stopped halfway up the tree and glared at us in that squirrelly way. You know the look. The one that says, "HA! I did it! You stupid humans! You'll rue the day you tried to run me down when we take over the world! But I've said too much! Look, I'll twitch my nose and you'll forget what I just said!"

Yeah. That look.

When he darted out in front of us, we both said the same thing: "Wow! Look at that fat squirrel!" And he was quite portly. He probably needed the exercise of running across the street.

DG: "He ate another squirrel. That's how he got so fat."

Me: "Why is everything fat that way because they ate another one of their kind? I'm fat and I haven't eaten another human."

DG: "Animals are different!"

Me: "So the squirrel in the tree outside our house that only has a stub of a tail- he got that way because another squirrel tried to eat him and he got away?"

DG: "Yeah, this squirrel went over there and tried to eat him."

Me: "Why would a squirrel go all the way across town to eat another squirrel when there are plenty of squirrels in their own neighborhood."

DG: "I don't have any idea. I'm not a squirrel."

Me: "How would a squirrel get all the way across town and across the river to get to a squirrel that lives in our tree?"

DG: "I don't know. He's a hitman and it was his job."

Me: "The fat squirrel is a hitman for the squirrelly mafia and he went all the way across town- which is like going to Florida for us- to kill another squirrel because it was his job."

DG: "Of course."

Me: "But he failed. He's still alive but he has a stump tail."

DG: "He was the one that got away."

We approached the stoplight where the huge bridge is that takes us back to our side of the river. As we started up and over the bridge, I asked again how a squirrel would get across the bridge. "Did he walk or did he run along the railing?"

DG: "I don't know the squirrel's story. You're the one saying all this shit."

Me: "No, you're the one saying it. And like any good listener, I'm asking pertinent follow-up questions about the subject matter."

DG sighed. There was a moment or two of silence. Then he said: "The squirrel with the stumpy tail... he's the one that got away. And they had to put him in protective custody."

Me: "You're saying he's in the squirrel protection program?"

DG: "I don't know, but yes."

Me: "Wouldn't he be easy to recognize with just a stump tail or is his tail stumped as an attempt to alter his appearance? So the hitman squirrel sees him and says, 'Hey, you look like that squirrel I was supposed to kill- oh, wait, your tail is stumped, you must not be him.' Like that?"

DG: "I told you that I don't know the whole story."

Me: "Oh, you don't know the whole story about the squirrels, but you know all about the Rats and their Nike shoes. And squirrels are just rats with fluffy tails."

DG seemed shocked! His jaw fell open and he exclaimed: "They are not! Rats are weird, pinchy-faced ugly things and squirrels are all cute with their little noses and faces."

As we got closer to home, the stumpy-tailed squirrel ran out in front of us to the trees alongside our house. I said, "There he goes."

DG hollered (with the windows rolled up, no less): "You better run! We saw your hitman!"