Prologue and Chapter 1 - Rated R for language
Prologue
Now really…does a bad memory really make someone a liar? I mean, if selective memory is diagnosed as some sort of disease or congenital defect tomorrow, there are going to be a lot of people feeling very badly for the derisive way in which they characterized my stories about everything from childhood memories to more recent events. I don’t intentionally “lie”. I don’t even intentionally “misrepresent the truth.” I just speak from the heart and from memory. If that makes me a liar, I don’t want to be a truther.
So, most of you are probably asking yourself at this point, “why the hell would I care about whether Jason A Knight is a liar or a truther? I’ve never even heard of the dude until someone bet me I couldn’t finish this book no matter how hard I tried. Not only that, but what the hell is a ‘truther’? Is that something from the Nancy Sinatra dictionary? Criminy! Get to the point already!”
Well, faithful reader, the point is this…I have some good stories to tell, but my friends and family are tired of hearing them and when I tell them to folks I don’t know, they roll their eyes and inquire as to whether I ate paint chips as a child. So, I decided that the best way to get my stories out is to write them down, find a desperate publisher and make money off those people who would have probably rolled their eyes at me, but now can’t because I am not there to be the roll-ee. Kapiche? No? Well, then just read the damn book. Cover to cover. Don’t skip around just because each chapter does not feed off the prior one. Ten independent stories of my life. Ranging from birth to some things that won’t happen for a couple years. Pretty wild, eh?
Enjoy!
Chapter One
Why I don't trust Doctors or Happy Birthday to Me??
I know that everyone has heard the jokes told by many a lame comedian about how rude their introduction into the world was as they left this warm, cozy place into a cold, cruel world and then they got their ass slapped by some doctor. Cue laugh track, hahaha, on to the next joke. Well, now that I am older and wiser, and can actually remember my birth, I can tell you that the whole story is horseshit. First off, after spending 10 months sucking all my food out of a tube and having pruned skin, there is no place I wanted to be less…I tried to get out sooner! I dropped as far as I could and when the light appeared I dove for it man. And the Doctor smacking me around was the least of my concerns. You would not believe the words that were coming out of my mom’s mouth as I got within earshot of the birth canal! If anyone has any question on why I cuss so much, you can trace it back to the foul language my mom was using in regards to the process and, more potently, in regards to my Dad’s role in her current situation. I won’t degrade the family nature of this book further by going into details about what she was saying, but apparently, my mom thought of my sweet grandma as some sort of female dog. Not pretty.
So, so far, good to get out of the cramped, wet, tube-fed space of the womb, bad to be exposed to my mom’s dark side (see chapter 3 for more on this). Another negative is, and I am not kidding here, I could have sworn that when I came out of the womb, I had about $20 bucks and some change on me. After all the commotion and tube cutting and bathing, I took inventory and I had like a dollar tops! The nurse actually stole money from me!! Can you believe that? Here I am, defenseless, crying my eyes out, getting used to a new environment, and she jobs me! I confronted her about it moments later when she returned, but she just looked at me with this stupid look like she didn’t speak my language. All the while, poking and prodding me like a piece of meat. The lack of respect was shocking. When I determined that I wasn’t getting anywhere with the nurse, I started crying for the doctor. I figured that, as her superior in the hospital hierarchy, he would be able to help me out with the matter. In a rather bizarre turn of events, the Nurse, apparently aware of my plans, picked me up and shoved my mouth over my mother’s breast in an obvious attempt to shut me up! I struggled at first for release, but a warm liquid was sprayed into my mouth, which worked as a relaxing agent, and I immediately seized up and began to take the substance in willingly. Incredible stuff. Looking back, it also made me lose my short-term memory because, as I finished, I no longer had thoughts of the stolen money, just of sleep. Looking back and knowing what I know now of the paltry wages Nurses are paid in relation to the work they do, I am glad that I didn’t pursue this matter further. In fact, if that nurse is reading this now, I would like to apologize for my behavior that day and will hope beyond hope that the money was well spent.
Fine, the title of the chapter refers to Doctors and all I have talked about are Nurses. Well, I am getting to the Doctor part, but I just wanted to set the stage and give you the whole story. I must warn you, though, that the next part of this chapter is not for the feint of heart or young of age. There are some things that happen to you in life that cannot be described in gentle terms. And the things this doctor did to me need to be exposed!
So, I am over the trauma of my first couple hours and the sticky-fingered nurse. I’m starting to get into the flow that these people will cater to my every whim as long as I scream and cry. Truly revolutionary. I have yet to utter a word and I have been fed and bathed and had my poopy diapers changed. It is Nirvana and Valhalla wrapped into one. As day 2 of my soon-to-be remarkable life unfolds, though, a cold wind blows on the horizon...
First thing in the morning, I start to hear whispers about whether or not a certain procedure should be done…I get the feeling it has to do with me as both my parents and the doctor keep looking in my direction. I’m starting to get nervous, as things have been going swimmingly, but now I figure “party’s over” and I prep myself for the worst. Little did I know that my vision of worst and the evil extent of what was about to occur were not even close.
That night right after a great meal and a restful nap, the doctor comes in and asks my parents if now is a good time to “perform the procedure.” They must have said yes, because the next thing I know, a nurse has entered the room and is picking me up and taking me away with my dad a few steps behind. And then the most bizarre event of my young life (and, quite frankly, the entirety of my life since then) begins to unfold…
First, the nurse strips me naked. And it is cold. Why do hospitals have to be so cold? When you are not feeling well or are sick, do you often find yourself saying "gosh, I wish I was colder and in a non-descript room." I thought not. Anyhoo, I start screaming, trying to convey that it might be nice to have my clothes back. But instead of dressing me, she starts to strap me down to the table!! I was momentarily stunned, but instincts kicked in and I started to pull as hard as I could and scream my head off. Next thing you know, the Doc turns around with a freakin’ scalpel in his hand. I kid you not! This cat was about to take a blade to me while I am strapped down to a table? What kind of fair fight is that? And where the hell is my dad???
Relief washes over me as I see my dad stepping forward. Certainly he will put an end to this madness and beat the crazy doc and nurse down and take me back to mommy. You would think…but, instead he comes at me all crazy smiles and starts to put some awful tasting sugar water concoction down my throat. I was like "Pops! I love you man, but I am not sure pouring Gatorade down my throat is the answer...I can't imaging that many knife fights have been won by replenishing my essential vitamins and minerals. What I do need is for you to do something about the crazy man with the knife! But, there he is dripping this stuff down my throat while the doc goes to work slicing and dicing my most sensitive spots.
At this point, should I be relieved that he is not actually trying to kill me? Or should I be more pissed that he is cutting off my johnson?? I’m not quite sure what its function is at that point in my life, but I can tell that there are great things ahead for it. I quickly decide that no matter how bad it is, it is better than having my young, promising life end so early. So, with the sugar water taking effect and the realization that death is not imminent, I start to calm down a bit. The doctor finished up and put a big bandage on my wang and my dad dressed me up and took me back to my mommy. I was so exhausted that I fell into a deep sleep.
So, now that you know the rest of the story my dear wife, will you stop bugging me about going to see the doctor? Do you see why I might be reluctant to voluntarily go see one of these madmen? Please wait until the next commercial for your answer. I'm watching the game here.
Now really…does a bad memory really make someone a liar? I mean, if selective memory is diagnosed as some sort of disease or congenital defect tomorrow, there are going to be a lot of people feeling very badly for the derisive way in which they characterized my stories about everything from childhood memories to more recent events. I don’t intentionally “lie”. I don’t even intentionally “misrepresent the truth.” I just speak from the heart and from memory. If that makes me a liar, I don’t want to be a truther.
So, most of you are probably asking yourself at this point, “why the hell would I care about whether Jason A Knight is a liar or a truther? I’ve never even heard of the dude until someone bet me I couldn’t finish this book no matter how hard I tried. Not only that, but what the hell is a ‘truther’? Is that something from the Nancy Sinatra dictionary? Criminy! Get to the point already!”
Well, faithful reader, the point is this…I have some good stories to tell, but my friends and family are tired of hearing them and when I tell them to folks I don’t know, they roll their eyes and inquire as to whether I ate paint chips as a child. So, I decided that the best way to get my stories out is to write them down, find a desperate publisher and make money off those people who would have probably rolled their eyes at me, but now can’t because I am not there to be the roll-ee. Kapiche? No? Well, then just read the damn book. Cover to cover. Don’t skip around just because each chapter does not feed off the prior one. Ten independent stories of my life. Ranging from birth to some things that won’t happen for a couple years. Pretty wild, eh?
Enjoy!
Chapter One
Why I don't trust Doctors or Happy Birthday to Me??
I know that everyone has heard the jokes told by many a lame comedian about how rude their introduction into the world was as they left this warm, cozy place into a cold, cruel world and then they got their ass slapped by some doctor. Cue laugh track, hahaha, on to the next joke. Well, now that I am older and wiser, and can actually remember my birth, I can tell you that the whole story is horseshit. First off, after spending 10 months sucking all my food out of a tube and having pruned skin, there is no place I wanted to be less…I tried to get out sooner! I dropped as far as I could and when the light appeared I dove for it man. And the Doctor smacking me around was the least of my concerns. You would not believe the words that were coming out of my mom’s mouth as I got within earshot of the birth canal! If anyone has any question on why I cuss so much, you can trace it back to the foul language my mom was using in regards to the process and, more potently, in regards to my Dad’s role in her current situation. I won’t degrade the family nature of this book further by going into details about what she was saying, but apparently, my mom thought of my sweet grandma as some sort of female dog. Not pretty.
So, so far, good to get out of the cramped, wet, tube-fed space of the womb, bad to be exposed to my mom’s dark side (see chapter 3 for more on this). Another negative is, and I am not kidding here, I could have sworn that when I came out of the womb, I had about $20 bucks and some change on me. After all the commotion and tube cutting and bathing, I took inventory and I had like a dollar tops! The nurse actually stole money from me!! Can you believe that? Here I am, defenseless, crying my eyes out, getting used to a new environment, and she jobs me! I confronted her about it moments later when she returned, but she just looked at me with this stupid look like she didn’t speak my language. All the while, poking and prodding me like a piece of meat. The lack of respect was shocking. When I determined that I wasn’t getting anywhere with the nurse, I started crying for the doctor. I figured that, as her superior in the hospital hierarchy, he would be able to help me out with the matter. In a rather bizarre turn of events, the Nurse, apparently aware of my plans, picked me up and shoved my mouth over my mother’s breast in an obvious attempt to shut me up! I struggled at first for release, but a warm liquid was sprayed into my mouth, which worked as a relaxing agent, and I immediately seized up and began to take the substance in willingly. Incredible stuff. Looking back, it also made me lose my short-term memory because, as I finished, I no longer had thoughts of the stolen money, just of sleep. Looking back and knowing what I know now of the paltry wages Nurses are paid in relation to the work they do, I am glad that I didn’t pursue this matter further. In fact, if that nurse is reading this now, I would like to apologize for my behavior that day and will hope beyond hope that the money was well spent.
Fine, the title of the chapter refers to Doctors and all I have talked about are Nurses. Well, I am getting to the Doctor part, but I just wanted to set the stage and give you the whole story. I must warn you, though, that the next part of this chapter is not for the feint of heart or young of age. There are some things that happen to you in life that cannot be described in gentle terms. And the things this doctor did to me need to be exposed!
So, I am over the trauma of my first couple hours and the sticky-fingered nurse. I’m starting to get into the flow that these people will cater to my every whim as long as I scream and cry. Truly revolutionary. I have yet to utter a word and I have been fed and bathed and had my poopy diapers changed. It is Nirvana and Valhalla wrapped into one. As day 2 of my soon-to-be remarkable life unfolds, though, a cold wind blows on the horizon...
First thing in the morning, I start to hear whispers about whether or not a certain procedure should be done…I get the feeling it has to do with me as both my parents and the doctor keep looking in my direction. I’m starting to get nervous, as things have been going swimmingly, but now I figure “party’s over” and I prep myself for the worst. Little did I know that my vision of worst and the evil extent of what was about to occur were not even close.
That night right after a great meal and a restful nap, the doctor comes in and asks my parents if now is a good time to “perform the procedure.” They must have said yes, because the next thing I know, a nurse has entered the room and is picking me up and taking me away with my dad a few steps behind. And then the most bizarre event of my young life (and, quite frankly, the entirety of my life since then) begins to unfold…
First, the nurse strips me naked. And it is cold. Why do hospitals have to be so cold? When you are not feeling well or are sick, do you often find yourself saying "gosh, I wish I was colder and in a non-descript room." I thought not. Anyhoo, I start screaming, trying to convey that it might be nice to have my clothes back. But instead of dressing me, she starts to strap me down to the table!! I was momentarily stunned, but instincts kicked in and I started to pull as hard as I could and scream my head off. Next thing you know, the Doc turns around with a freakin’ scalpel in his hand. I kid you not! This cat was about to take a blade to me while I am strapped down to a table? What kind of fair fight is that? And where the hell is my dad???
Relief washes over me as I see my dad stepping forward. Certainly he will put an end to this madness and beat the crazy doc and nurse down and take me back to mommy. You would think…but, instead he comes at me all crazy smiles and starts to put some awful tasting sugar water concoction down my throat. I was like "Pops! I love you man, but I am not sure pouring Gatorade down my throat is the answer...I can't imaging that many knife fights have been won by replenishing my essential vitamins and minerals. What I do need is for you to do something about the crazy man with the knife! But, there he is dripping this stuff down my throat while the doc goes to work slicing and dicing my most sensitive spots.
At this point, should I be relieved that he is not actually trying to kill me? Or should I be more pissed that he is cutting off my johnson?? I’m not quite sure what its function is at that point in my life, but I can tell that there are great things ahead for it. I quickly decide that no matter how bad it is, it is better than having my young, promising life end so early. So, with the sugar water taking effect and the realization that death is not imminent, I start to calm down a bit. The doctor finished up and put a big bandage on my wang and my dad dressed me up and took me back to my mommy. I was so exhausted that I fell into a deep sleep.
So, now that you know the rest of the story my dear wife, will you stop bugging me about going to see the doctor? Do you see why I might be reluctant to voluntarily go see one of these madmen? Please wait until the next commercial for your answer. I'm watching the game here.
posted by longhorn in paradise | 11:43 AM
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