The Disabled Guy and paper underpants

Last month sometime, we got a packet of forms from the State of Wisconsin. That makes it a bit convenient since we live in Wisconsin. The forms were long and a little complicated. I told DG about it, since we'd have to do them together (some of it required knowing how he felt at that particular moment and such). Then we sort of forgot. A week later, we got a reminder letter, gently nudging us to send the forms back.

Instead, I called the number they included so I could ask some questions before we dove into the ridiculous mess. I dialed the number, then at the prompt, the extension. Then I got the voicemail message of the person who sent the letter, stating the typical "can't take your call because I'm on another line or away from my desk"... I left the appropriate message with both our land line and my mobile numbers. Nothing. They never called back.

A week later, they sent another packet of papers, this one stating we had a doctor appointment- and when I say "we", obviously I mean him- for May 20th. I had to fill out a form saying that DG would go to that appointment. I sent that form back. Days later, I got another form telling me that I had accepted the appointment and that I should return this form to them upon completion of said appointment and they'd send us a check for $11.68. Then the doctor's office sent us a bunch of paperwork that I had to fill out.

All so we could see if the Disabled Guy was still disabled.

A quick run-down: April 13, 1995 a 28-year-old man suffered a massive stroke. The result of said stroke left him paralyzed on his right side. He has no use of his right hand or arm, eventually he started to walk, but with a significant limp. He also had to re-learn how to speak and even now, 16 years later, still has trouble with that part. Within six months of the stroke, he was approved for SSI (Supplemental Security Income) and a couple months later, he was approved for SSD (Social Security Disability). He has never had to go to a doctor appointment to determine his disability that wasn't related to the veteran's hospital. So, he's been receiving disability on a monthly basis, since late 1995. And now, in 2011, they decide he needs an exam by a doctor that is not his own, to determine if he's disabled.

The doctor, after explanation as to why we were even there, asked, "Why are you even here?" then after I said I didn't know, he shrugged and said, "Oh well..."

Before the doctor came in, though, we had to do the usual with the nurse. Blood pressure, weight, height... you know the drill. After she did all that, she said to DG: "Now, I'm going to need you to remove all your clothes, down to your underwear, and put on the gown."

When she got to "underwear", DG's eyes darted around and he chuckled, which made me laugh. Before I could explain to the nurse, DG said: "Uhh... well... I don't wear underwear." and he turned a few shades of red.

She said, "Oh, you're not the first and you certainly won't be the last!" and pulled a pair of paper shorts out of a drawer.

DG wasn't too thrilled about the paper underpants. When we were alone in the room, he took off his clothes and put on the paper underpants. At his request, I cropped the photo to his liking (he's not happy with the 220 pounds he weighs). But I also took a photo of him from behind, so you can catch a glimpse of his paper underpants. Which, by the way, he had to keep pulling up because they didn't fit properly.

As you all know, he's a total ham.



Blue paper underpants.



After he changed and climbed up on the exam table, he sat there, swinging his left leg and looking around the somewhat bare room. Then he started making faces. And if I wasn't looking at him, he'd make noises. Fish lips, "blurp-blurp". Duckface followed by a bad impression of the Burgess Meredith "Penguin" from the old "Batman" TV series (I don't know why a duck-face sounded like the Penguin).

DG: "Hurry up, guy. I'm sitting here naked!"

Me: "You're not naked."

DG: "This is paper!"

Me: "Just the shorts."

DG: "Still! That's wrong!" Then back to the face-making and weird noises.

I asked him why he was making noises. He replied, "It wasn't me." When I asked who it was, he answered: "Bob." When I told him I didn't know anyone named Bob, he said: "Well, you do now!"

So, the doctor finally comes in. And I explain to him what I told you all above. More than once the doctor expressed his confusion as to why we were even there. He did the exam, which was typical. Asked if he was paralyzed, how much use of his arm and hand he had, if he could walk, how long he could stand. He asked if he had any trouble with communication. DG said, "No."

I exclaimed, "What!?"

DG: "I don't!"

I said to the doctor, "He does. He's got aphasia and apraxia. I mean, I even write a blog about him called Conversations with the Disabled Guy." (that made the doctor chuckle) And we established that he does indeed have some communication issues, but he can carry on a fairly normal conversation. And that was meant loosely- because obviously not every conversation we have ends up on this blog.

Then he had to ask him ridiculous things like having DG identify things around the office (the doctor's tie, the knot at the top, where we were [DG said "Earth"], ink pen, glasses, and so on). Then he asked DG to repeat this sentence, verbatim: "For a nation to be independent and secure, it needs an abundant supply of oil."

DG's eyebrows went up. He stared intently at the doctor. He raised his hand slightly, as if he were going to grasp the words in the air. "Can I get you to say that again?"

Doctor: *speaking slowly, but not pausing* "For a nation to be independent and secure, it needs an abundant supply of oil."

DG watched him with such intensity that I thought he was going to end up kissing the doctor. He looked at me and I knew that if I said the first three words, he would have picked it up, but I couldn't. That's why we were there- to show his disability. DG said: "Uh... one more time?" So he said it again. And again. And a fifth time.

Each time, DG stared at the doctor, his eyes as wide as his squinting would allow (DG has squinty eyes). And he'd glance at me, then he'd look back at the doctor. And the whole time, he had his hand raised slightly.

After the fifth time, DG said: "For... the... world... the world... has... this ain't gonna happen!" and he laughed at himself. I was so glad he laughed at himself. Because it was downright painful to see that look of complete confusion on his face and not be able to help him.

After it was all over, the doctor said he wasn't allowed to comment on whether or not he was disabled. And he read a statement on his paperwork that said something like: "DO NOT discuss the health of the applicant/patient. DO NOT reveal your findings to the applicant/patient." So, basically, he wasn't allowed to say, "Yup, you're disabled."

I said, "Damn. Now I gotta change the name of the blog!"

And we all three laughed. The doctor told us we were done and DG could get dressed and we could leave.

When the doctor left the room, DG stood up quickly and said, "Let me get these goddamn things off my ass!"

The Squirrel Protection Agency and the Squirrel Bureau of Investigation Part Two

I've been a bit sidetracked this week. I've got my own health issues that I've been dealing with and part of those kept me up till 5 AM on Thursday. Three and a half hours of sleep and I was back up and at 'em for the day.

DG has been rebuilding the deck, as I mentioned before. (his toe, turns out it wasn't broken, but it ended up with a lot of gross blood and oozing at the base of the toenail and he's going to eventually lose that toenail- so there's an image for you). Well, he's also sunburned himself- his "starter burn" is what we call it. Every year, he takes his pale body out, shirtless and just burns himself to a crisp. Then he reeks of cocoa butter lotion- which I hate.

At the end of this conversation, I'll post photos of the deck so far.

DG gets up at 6 AM most days. He's stopped walking since he started building the deck. And by that, I mean he's stopped walking for exercise, not that he's dragging himself along with his one good arm. He gets downstairs around ten after six. By then, I've been up for over an hour and have started what little work I actually do online or something that looks mysteriously like I'm not working. Most days, I go back to bed for an hour nap or even just to lie down. It really depends on how crappy I feel. But I digress.

This morning, he came downstairs, all excited. Because he saw the "witness protection squirrel" from the window on our staircase landing. I said then he wasn't doing a very good job at hiding if not only was he witnessed, but he was recognized. I really think cutting his tail off was a mistake- he's more recognizable now.

Moments pass and I go into the kitchen to get the last of my morning stay-alive medicine where DG starts talking about the squirrel again. I was only half-listening so I asked him what he was talking about.

DG: "I dunno. I could tell you, but I'd have to kill you. They have strict rules about this sort of thing!"

I waited a few moments (because I was taking my medicine) and then I asked: "So, about the Squirrel Protection Agency-"

DG interrupted me with: "SHHHHH!"

Me: "But the Squirrel Protection Agen-"

DG: "They're out there!"

Me: "Who is?"

DG: "The X-files!"

Me: "What do the X-files have to do with squirrels?"

DG: "They're in cahoots!"

He was quite entertained by his "cahoots" statement, so I let it go for a few more minutes. He had to laugh it out. Then I said, "Wouldn't they be the S-Files?" When he didn't reply, I asked, "Are you afraid they're gonna cut your tail off?"

DG wiggled his butt from side-to-side and said, in a sing-song voice: "I ain't got no tail!" *butt-wiggle* "They done shot my ass off anyway." As he walked past me he said, "They shot my ass off and it got scared and all of it came up here." *he patted his sunburned belly*

I sighed and asked, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

He answered with a sigh: "It's been a long morning."

Me: "You've been awake for seventeen minutes!"

DG: "It's been a long seventeen minutes!"

I came back to my desk, so I could scribble down some notes (I didn't want to forget the details of this conversation). From the kitchen, I hear DG exclaim: "Oh, NO!"

Me: "What's the matter? Are you scared of the squirrel mafia?"

He poked his head in from the kitchen: "NO! Shhhhhhh!!"

He finished making his coffee and I finished my notes. A few minutes later, Ceej came downstairs. DG was sitting in the living room, with his coffee, watching TV and I said to Ceej: "The SPA is out."

Ceej: "What does that mean?"

Me: "It means it's been a long half hour since your dad woke up."

DG, from the living room: "What'd she say!?"

Me: "She's talking about the Squirrel Protection Agency!"

DG: "Who told her!? I didn't tell her!"

Me: "She knew about it. There's a leak in your department."

If you're in the Facebook group, you know about the "ET" conversation that followed.

DG: "Here, this is the X-files."

Me: "That's 'ET', it isn't an X-file."

DG: "It should be."

Me: "Are there squirrels?"

DG: "Probably. I can't say. I'm not at liberty."

He's not at liberty to say anything about the Squirrel Protection Agency, the Squirrel Bureau of Investigation, or the S-Files. So whatever you've heard, you didn't hear it from him!

And now the photos...

The tear-down from last week.



He left half of the upper deck in place because of the dogs and for convenience, really.



This is the expanded part of the upper deck (it will all be upper deck when it's all done). But this is so the two parts of the deck meet up without a gate or whatnot. He dug up all those shrubs a day or two ago, put the framework up, then put the shrubs back today. He got done with those and then it started to rain.



The lower-deck, which will be all one level when it gets done.



The yard!



From Ground level-



Disabled guy sighting!



DG says: "Hee-eeeey!" (he's putting his tools away because it started to rain- without the rain, he works till it gets dark).

Broken toe...

It seems that the Disabled Guy broke his big toe.

Yesterday (Tuesday for all you later readers), he went to Home Depot to get the wood he'll need to rebuild the deck. And he was gone for over six hours- no exaggeration. Now, it's about a half our to forty-five minute drive to Home Depot (depending on traffic), so if we say it took an hour for the driving, we still have five hours of time AT the Home Depot.

He got home around seven and he was limping. I asked what happened- he's got some just plain old "I'm getting older" arthritis in his knees but won't admit it, so I figured he just overdid it. He said he dropped a piece of Plexiglas on his foot. I asked why he bought a piece of Plexiglas but he didn't- his dad gave it to him last October for some reason. We don't know why. His parents do that a lot, just give him junk they don't want or have no use for anymore.

After he ate dinner (chicken casserole, he had thirds), he took off his shoe and showed me his foot. His big toe is swollen and has a blue-green bruise under the nail. I said he probably broke his toe. He denies it. We had this conversation that I posted on the Facebook page- about the Home Depot employees and why he didn't ask for help.

I asked: "Why didn't you ask for help? That's their JOB!"

He said: "They offered, I said no." I told him he was crazy and normal people would have taken the help. He replied (slightly jokingly): "I didn't want to seem needy."

Yeah, needy. By having employees do what they're paid to do.

So this morning, he's limping bad. Real bad. I told him if it swells more or gets worse, we'll go in to the ER. A trip to his ER involves a sixty-mile one-way drive. And all they'll really do is X-ray it, tell him to stay off it, and give him Ibuprofen. (can you tell I've broken my toe before?).

He says his toe is not broken. But he's in pain. He won't take anything for it, because *wince, groan* It isn't broken.

I said: "You don't know that."

DG: "Yes, I do, it's my toe!"

Me: "True, but I know what a broken toe feels like and you're walking and acting like you have a broken toe."

DG: "I am not!" (cue limping and wincing)

Me: "That's the broken toe walk."

DG: "I'm not dancing."

Me: "I said walk."

DG: "I didn't go on my walk."

I did a real life "facepalm" then. Sometimes, talking to him is a real life "Who's on first" conversation.

He keeps insisting that his toe is not broken. I keep asking how would he know. "You don't have X-ray vision."

DG: "You don't know that! Maybe I do!"

Me: "Except that you don't."

DG: "Yeah..."

When I say it's broken, he replies that it's just "really badly bruised."

Me: "So bruised that you broke it."

DG: "I DID NOT! It was the Plexiglas."

Me: "So you admit you broke your toe."

DG: "NO! Wait, did I? I didn't mean to! I was tricked! THERE'S TRICKERY AFOOT!"

Me: "Yeah, trickery broke the toe on your foot."

DG: "That's not funny!"

Me: "Yes, it is. You broke your funny toe."

DG: "My toe is not funny!"

I told Jase: "Ask your dad about his broken toe."

Jase: "What about your broken-ass toe?"

DG: "I didn't break it."

Ceej: "But he's limping around on it and making pain-faces."

DG: "My face don't hurt!"

So, Who's on first, what's on second and I don't know is on third.

Just now-

Me: "Why don't you think you broke your toe?"

DG: "The toe didn't swell."

Me: "But it is swollen."

DG: "The toe didn't turn black."

Me: "It doesn't have to turn black!"

DG: "It's just really bruised. There's blood up under the toe, that's why it's all black there."

Me: "You broke your toe."

DG: "I didn't break my got-damned toe! I can move it!"

Me: "You can move a broken toe. It just hurts like a sonavbitch."

DG: "Well, it hurts. But I didn't break it."

The Wheelchair lady

We were coming home from the grocery store the other day- he goes with me on the "big shop" on the last day of the month. The route home takes us across a shopping center's car park. It's got one store in it now (a dollar store of some kind, I don't remember which chain) and a hospital's "this-side-of-town clinic" and that's it, just a vast expanse of sparsely-used parking lot. It is also within view of a couple apartment complexes that are for seniors. By "seniors", I speak of our elders, not the hyperactive teens in their last year of high school (or is mine the only one that seems hyperactive?). Not a nursing home, but an actual apartment complex that caters to the older generation and has activities but everyone lives in their own flat. My grandmother lived in one and it was quite nice.

Anyway, we're shooting across this car park- and it was windy that day, and it was starting to sprinkle- and there's an older woman in one of those electric wheelchair/scooter things. She had an umbrella tilted against the wind and was obviously heading toward the grocery store. She's one of a handful you can see on a regular basis. What they usually do is leave their electric scooter at the grocery store's cart section, plugged in, and use the store's electric cart. Which is kinda cool, because the store could totally be jerks about it, but they're not.

DG looks at her and says something along the lines of how much that has to suck. So, I point out the elderly-living complex and say she's probably from there, so it isn't a biggie.

DG: "What if she breaks down?"

Me: "You mean, what if her battery dies?"

DG: "Okay, that then."

Me: "You don't think she knows if her battery is fully charged or not? I think she'd take care of it before leaving, but okay."

DG: "So she'd get stuck out here, in the rain!"

Me: "You don't think someone would stop and offer to help? Or at least stop and offer the use of a cell phone if she didn't have one?"

DG: "No, people are jerks."

Me: "I'm not. I'd stop and offer a ride or at least my cell phone."

DG: "You're not normal. Normal people wouldn't stop. She'd be stuck there all night."

Me: "It's noon. You don't think in the eight hours between now and 'dark' she'd not get help?"

DG: "Let's say she left in the dark."

Me: "But she didn't, she left in the daytime. It's NOON, she'll be fine, even if she loses her battery power."

DG: "Let's say she leaves at like four o'clock..."

Me: "It doesn't get dark till around eight, she's got four hours. I think she'd be fine."

DG: "Let's say she leaves at four o'clock in the winter and then she has a blowout!"

Me: "Now she's having a blowout? A second ago her battery died."

DG: "She's stuck there and nobody will help her because you're not there and then the thugs come out."

Me: "The thugs only come out at night?"

DG: "You didn't know? So they put her up on blocks and steal her tires! They got rims on those, you know."

Me: "So, you're saying that she would leave her house an hour from darkness and her battery would die-"

DG: "Or she'd blowout."

Me: "Or she'd have a blowout and then nobody would help her. Nobody would help a woman in an electric wheelchair in the middle of a parking lot, just stranded? They'd just leave her there?"

DG: "People are jerks, man."

And then we got home and he dropped the entire subject, fast. It was as if, once home, the poor, stranded wheelchair lady was of no consequence. We can only assume she made it back to her home, unscathed. I mean, there was nothing in the news about a wheelchair lady, put up on blocks and wheel-less till morning.

Rebuilding the deck and such...

Years ago... years and years... I'd say, 2003? I'm not sure exactly, but it was before Shawn came to visit in 2004... but back then, DG built the deck on the back of the house. A few years later (after 2006- I know this because I have photos), he added an extension to the deck because "the swing was tearing up" the grass. It wasn't the swing, it was the kids' feet, but back to the moment at hand.

I must warn you now. I'm going to show some photos. In a few of these photos, DG is shirtless. Please, contain yourselves.

Here are some photos of DG building the deck. These were mostly taken with a webcam, because that's all I had back then. So it HAD to be around 2003.







And here, he's almost done.



The finished deck.



And, after a few years, he built the swing. And that's when he had to put the extension onto the deck. I asked him why he didn't just make the second part of the deck the same height and he can't answer me. Seriously, I just asked him. He said, "I dunno... the deck with the two levels... *mumble-mumble*... kinda cool... I wasn't thinking..." and he trailed off (see, NASCAR is on, he's distracted).

Some of these were done with a better-than-webcam camera, because by then, one of my online friends had given me a Polaroid digital camera.











So, you see the deck and how he built it all by himself. It's a damn fine deck too. Great place for photo set-ups and we don't use it nearly enough. Well, it's old now. Almost ten years old. And he never treated it with anything, so he's just going to rebuild the whole thing. And he decided he would build the whole deck, all one height. So I had some questions.

Obviously, I wanted to know why he was going to leave the steps in the same spot.

He said because he didn't want to build a new brick walkway, and he'd have to move a bunch of shrubbery.

Very well then.

If you look at the photo of the deck, you can see how only a small corner matches up to a small corner of the other part of the deck. Why not just extend the upper deck a little and make the whole thing one big deck at that end?

He said because he'd have to dig up six or seven shrubs and "find new places" for them. He doesn't want to do this. He just now tried to tell me he'd have to get more shrubs. Or he'd need less and would have leftover shrubs. So, I used an Australian Cadbury bar to represent the deck against the house and a greeting card to represent the extended part and explained it to him. But for you, I'll show you in MS Paint. The black part represents the deck (for the most part, I didn't add the part that goes around the corner to our door). The green part- those are the shrubs... the number is approximate. The red square indicates what I think he should do for the deck, moving those shrubs to the outer edge of it.



So, I asked him- why not do this? I showed him several times, using my props and explaining how it would just be all one open deck at the end instead of a whole separate room-like thing. And he can keep the steps where they are (his original plan).

He said, "But it won't work." And I showed him again. "I'd need more shrubs!" then it was, "I'd have extra shrubs."

So I said, "You don't want to do it that way because it'd be more work?"

DG: "Yes! NO! Stop it!"

Me: "Stop what?"

DG: "Making sense. We'll have to talk about it later!" and he was quiet for a moment. "Stop trying to fuse me with logic."

Me: "Fuse you?"

DG: "Yeah. Stop trying to infuse your logic on me! It won't work!"

But it looks like when he rebuilds the deck, he's going to extend it about five feet and join the two levels into one deck. Now, the reason he's not just going to make one giant deck, in one huge rectangle is- we have that shrubbery, but also, some flowers. AND, he parks his truck at an angle there. A full rectangle in that size would make us lose one of our parking spaces.

Speaking of parking spaces, before this discussion of the extension and such, I asked him why he didn't put the steps by the door, actually by the door. They're sort of off-center. His excuse was because of how we park our vehicles now. We have a single-wide driveway and six years ago, we put gravel up to the house so we could park there too. His excuse for the steps was because of this. I said, "But we didn't all drive back then. In fact, till two years ago, it was just you and me."

So he said, "I didn't want to walk out the door and BOOM right into the steps!"

Except that's how it was before. Literally. We opened the door and the three steps down were RIGHT there.

He told me I needed to stop showing my brain and using all this logic on him. Because it's a bad thing.

In completely unrelated news, I opened an etsy shop to continue to sell my photos. We still have thirteen birdhouses leftover from the etsy shop for the NYC trip. If you want one, let me know, we can do a paypal kind of thing without the etsy involvement. Here's the link to "Pahz Photography" on etsy.

Disaster Movies and Mouses

I was supposed to do this blog a few days ago, but I got sidetracked by things like "real life" and an actual gig this weekend where I had to do some maintenance before I set out for it. (the "gig" is one of my hobbies- I used to try and make money at it, but turns out, there's not much of a market for it around here unless you're able to network in the real live world and for four years, I wasn't able. But I do it whenever this place calls me and they called. I'm doing it again next month at the local two-day ren faire. What is it? I do psychic and tarot card readings).

But, I didn't get around to doing a blog post, so this will be spotty. I took notes, but I also take lots of pain killers and well, memory and bad handwriting are even worse on pain killers. I don't recall exactly how this discussion started, but our son was involved.

I came downstairs on this particular morning and saw that DG was watching "Airport '75" on cable. For you kids who don't know what it is, it's a disaster movie with Charlton Heston and George Kennedy- oh, you don't know who those guys are? Well, in the Seventies, there were a lot of disaster movies made and there was some kind of contractual obligation that the actor named George Kennedy had to be in as many of them as possible.

The gist of the story (for those who don't know) is that a passenger airliner is clipped by a small airplane and the person left at the controls is a stewardess. Heston and his gang of save-the-day-ers do some amazing feats of engineering and air travel to land the plane. His character gets on this jetliner and is trying to determine the amount of damage before he attempts to land it. He says something like, "[complicated-looking shit with a button] is destroyed! I can't tell if it's working or not!"

DG said, "I'll tell you how you know: You push the button and if it works, it works; if it don't, then you'll know!"

Good advice. If you don't know if something will work, just push the button. Then you'll know.

Now about the mouses. I'm not sure exactly how this one got rolling. I get the feeling it had something to do with our son's snake and his feeding of the snake. He feeds it live feeder mice (called "pinks" or "pinkies"). I posted a snippet of video the other day. Apparently, had those mice been wearing shoes, like the rats, they could have gotten away. I asked how he knew this. He said they talked to him.

I asked, "Those little bitty mice talked to you?"

DG: "Not them. Don't be ridiculous. The mouse- the mouses in charge. They told me because they know these things."

Me: "Wouldn't a mouse need two pairs of shoes?"

DG: "No. Why would they?"

Me: "Because they have four feet."

DG: "Not when they put on the shoes they don't! Gawd! They got feet and hands. With hands, you don't need shoes."

Jase started in on something with the mice and two pairs of shoes and asked if they'd have some kind of fundraiser (because sometimes, to keep his stories going, we bring up an older story). Apparently, the "mouses will wear T-shirts" and something with their names being on the shirt. When I asked him why, he exclaimed, "You guys don't you understand!?"

No... not really.

DG: "Mouses ain't got no money so they don't buy shoes anyway."

I asked how they got shoes in the first place (and reminded him of those dear, sad, flea-infested plague rats) and he said, "They evolved!"

Mouses evolved into wearing shoes. And T-shirts. But they ain't got no money to buy shoes. So from what I understand, they distract us by wearing T-shirts and steal our shoes.

For some reason, I have the words "frog's ass-end" on my paper with the conversation notes. None of us can remember what it was about. We know DG said it and he denies saying it. Then he said, "That sounds like something I'd say."

A video...

Our son has a baby corn snake that he named "Chuck Norris". He feeds it every few days. And he has to feed it a "pinky mouse" which is, sadly, a baby mouse only a few days old. When he gets bigger, he'll be fed (thawed) frozen mice. When Jase fed the snake the last time, he asked if I'd do a video for him to post on a forum for "Herps/inverts". He's been a member for years, having had various lizards as pets.

So, I did. It wasn't really gross and I've seen it happen in the wild (not to a mouse, but I've seen snakes eat spiders/eggs/other things that don't make noise). But, at the end of the video, I got a text message. Jase said, "Every time..." because nearly every time I've done a video for him, I get a text alert. Then the disabled guy came into the room.

Now, he saw it get fed a few days earlier. And apparently, it was much noisier than the day I did this video.

I've edited it down to just the ending and I added a bunch of text to explain what I did and why. So, read on, you have plenty of warning. And if you don't want to read it- basically I tell you there's nothing gross going on and aside from seeing the snake barely moving, there's nothing... But if you don't want to watch it or see the snake, but you want to hear it, then go ahead and push play and minimize the browser (or go to a new tab- you know what to do). When the weird versions of Mozart end is when the video starts.



See? That wasn't so bad. And you got to hear DG act like an idiot. And that's what counts.