The 2.6 of you reading this blog have either politely asked or telepathically messaged to me that I put up a new post. You are tired of clicking on this site and having your eyes assaulted with the Montauk Monster or Sweet (mother of God!) Sue’s appalling Whole Chicken In a Can (now with bones and, apparently, covered in snot.) I agree. You did not come here to see disgusting random photos from the Internets. (Or did you?) That’s not what this blog is about–what this blog is about is still to be determined. It’s just that, now that I have learned how to post disgusting random photos from the Internets, it’s so much damn fun I can’t stop. It’s true: once dangerous knowledge like how to make an atomic bomb, or how to post disgusting pictures from the Internets falls into the wrong hands—whether it’s the tiny, jewel-encrusted hands of a fanatical, ambiguously-gendered, Foster Grant-wearing, Napoleonic complex-afflicted, little puke from North Korea, or a novice blogger—this power is unleashed forever and will continue to be a threat to innocent neighboring countries or unsuspecting readers. In the future, I will try not to abuse this power, but I cannot make any promises.
Anyway, if I really wanted to show you a shocking photo I could have posted a picture of me after the dentist got through with me last week. Evidently, a bad thing can sometimes happen when you get a shot of novocaine at the dentist’s office. It happens only one-in-a-hundred times, I was assured by my dentist, when I called to report that this bad thing had indeed happened to me. Apparently, if the needle delivering the novocaine is injected directly into a blood vessel (and if it contains, by my estimation, at least a quart of this stuff), it causes immense pain and swelling, both inside and out of the mouth that lasts the rest of the day, numbness of the ear and temporary loss of hearing on that side and—best of all—the whole side of your face turns black and blue and you look like Rihanna after a date with Chris Brown. For those readers who don’t understand this hip, pop-culture reference, substitute “I looked like Michael Corleone after police captain McCluskey punched him,” or, in keeping with the Godfather theme, “I looked like Marlon Brando—as the Godfather—but only on one side, and with a fair amount of bruising.”
But if you’re a person like me, who is able to take lemons and turn them into really sour water, you can get some great mileage out of an event like this. When it became apparent that this injury was not going to disappear after a few days, and after I had exhausted all the sympathy I could get by lying around with an icepack on my face (but good Lord, did it hurt!), I went for the sick joke: If someone had the audacity to ask me what happened to my face instead of just eyeing me suspiciously, I would state that my husband had slapped me around a bit and it got a little out of hand. But that it was entirely my fault. Because I forgot our “safe word,” which that week happened to be “foliage.” I had forgotten that it wasn’t “more” any more. “More” is not a particularly effective safe word as we found out. The same goes for “again.” (I explained that we like to change things up a bit to keep them interesting.) So THAT was fun for a while.
Well, at least now you won’t have to look at the Montauk Monster or Sweet Sue’s Terrifying Chicken In a Can. (For those of you who share my inexplicable fascination with this horrifying food product, I can direct you to a few more websites that are addressed exclusively to this topic. With even more graphic pictures! I mean seriously, a whole chicken in a can—with bones! Really?!) Just meet me in the comments section if you would like more information on this topic. I promise I will not judge you.