Chapter Eight: When Rubber Chickens Attack
The test took an hour. I was moved to a slab with a blanket on it that fit under the special x-ray machine. My arms were strapped to my sides and I was pushed under the machine. It was a very tight fit, and the tech asked me if I suffered from claustrophobia. Could have asked that before shoving me in the cracker box, but hey, you can’t think of everything ahead of time. I hate small spaces, and might have pointed this out if it were not for the fact that I was concerned any complaints on my part would bring Kevin running with a sledge-hammer.
The machine made a loud banging noise every few seconds, and my first guess was that it collapse on top of me. My second guess was AJ having sex in the next room. Well, that’s what it sounded like. Loud noise, trapped arms, and fear for my life aside, I managed to fall asleep about half-way through the test. Kevin would certainly use this information as proof that my childish behavior was simply an overreaction. Why in the name of all that is good and holy does he always accuse me of overreacting?
I was wheeled back to my room for a short nap, which I didn’t need by that time. AJ was waiting for me, so I had someone to talk to. Or smirk at me. He was still enjoying the “Nick’s bare-backside gets it in the end” scenario. To give him credit he really tried not to burst out laughing when I told the nurse “fine, no problem” to anything she wanted “us” to do. He just couldn’t help himself. Of course, the flash of my bare butt when I was moved from the stretcher to the bed did not go un-noticed. For the benefit of those who are not familiar with AJ’s song writing skills, here is his “on the spot” composition in honor of my fanny. “I see your hiney, it’s nice and shiney, you better hide it, before I bite it.” Really your honor, I have no idea how AJ was garroted by my IV line.
The doctor came for a short visit about an hour later. As it turned out I wouldn’t have the scope until the next morning. He wanted the results from the gastric empty before he did the next test. He asked how I was feeling, which was drugged up, and poked on my middle until I winced. He pointed out that since there had been no blood in my urine I could have the catheter out if I wished. If I wished? Had anyone ever said no? And if so, what was wrong with that person?
Over the next two hours I was relieved of the catheter, but had to keep the IV. As it was the main source of my pain medication I didn’t mind. AJ had brought my Gameboy, in case there was nothing on TV. He also brought a toothbrush, razor, and other necessities. After consulting a nurse I changed into the pj pants and tee he brought. I would have to change back to the gown in the morning, but at least my shiny hiney wouldn’t be on display tonight. If AJ was disappointed he did a great job of covering it up.
Howie arrived later and brought cards. He has developed a real attachment to gambling, and was disappointed when AJ pointed out that we would have to play for free, as I was underage. Howie bought it, which begs the question, “which BSB is the natural blond?” We played “Shit on your neighbor.” I’m not cussing, really! That’s the name of the game. AJ taught it to me. It’s all his fault I’m not as innocent as I use to be, him and those magazines he has under his bunk.
AJ felt it was his duty to keep me entertained, which I actually appreciated. He didn’t give me much time to worry about the results of my test. I was also sleepy having had little shut-eye between bouts of vomiting the night before. So I spent the afternoon between dozing, playing cards, watching Howie make phone calls (I truly believe Howie will be the first man to have a phone in his coffin.) and listening to the ditties AJ made up. It seems he was in the mood to serenade more body parts, as well as his attraction for body art. A song, by AJ. “I have a daisy on my toe, it won’t die and it won’t grow, it’s just a tattoo of a flower, so I look pretty in the shower.” Heaven help me and where is my pain shot?
Somehow the conversation moved from more obvious subjects, such as AJ’s next hair color (At this point he was down to rainbow.) Howie’s last phone call, which was a call telling him to call someone, and Kevin’s shoehorns. Later, probably due to all that rubber glove exposure in the ER, the topic turned to rubber chickens. You may not be aware of this, but rubber chickens are an effective method of self-defense. AJ, Howie and I spent a productive afternoon developing rubber chicken self-defense methods. It’s amazing what pain drugs can do for you, or in this case for me. Howie went along because he wants to make everyone happy. I have no idea what AJ’s excuse was, but then he never really needs one, does he?
Rubber chickens are really a good idea. Think of it, for one they can be easily concealed on your person (perhaps that’s the reason for all AJ’s hats!). You can’t be arrested for carrying a deadly weapon. Moreover, the element of surprise alone is a valuable tool.
There are several methods for using the rubber chicken. You can disarm your attacker by making them laugh so hard they pee themselves and fall down. This can best be achieved by clucking like a chicken, moving like a chicken, and if you are as talented as AJ molting like a chicken. I believe it was Howie that suggested one could poop like a chicken, but considering the flack I received from that sock incident I feel this technique should be avoided at all costs.
You can fill the chicken with concrete or other hard objects and use it to whack your adversary. Alternatively, you can use AJ’s patented “Pecker” technique (Not surprised, are you?), which is to grasp the chicken by the neck and peck at the eyes of your attacker. Please note that making loud clucking noises is mandatory.
You could use Howie’s infamous “Chicken Choke” method, which it turns out has nothing to do with going to the bathroom. You grab the rubber chicken by the neck and legs and use it to garrote your opponent. Not as interesting as the Pecker, but most likely more potent.
My maneuver was the Cluck-Chuck. This is accomplished by simultaneously clucking like a chicken and chucking the rubber object as a projectile weapon. Being as I was the most board and the fact that I could blame it on the drugs, I also produced the “Wreak of the Beak” procedure. This method is achieved by squirting liquids from the beak of the bird, such as water, dye or sulfuric acid. Said liquids should be aimed at the eye of the aggressor.
After a heated discussion we decided that simply making the attacker believe you are more insane then they was the best method. AJ suggested dancing with the chicken, Howie was in favor of kissing the rubber beast. I felt, using a plastic fork and knife, eating the chicken would be the best method for confusing the criminal. One last note, you can use multiple rubber chickens and make full-body armor. This wouldn’t stop the aggressor, but it would afford you some protection.
Howie became a bit confused and started a discussion on violent rubber chickens. First, it’s my role in the group to be confused, and second it sounded too much like a FOX special, “When Rubber Chickens Attack.”
Brian and Kevin arrived to spell the guys, so the fascinating topic of rubber chickens was left in the dust. Actually, the bedpan. With the painkillers wearing off my stomach decided to do its imitation of “a stomach full of hot dogs on a roller-coaster ride.”
I was a bit upset that my stomach had not settled down after an entire day of not eating. I think Kevin and Brian could sense this and did their best to keep my mind off the situation. Luckily the nurse arrived with my meds, and that took the edge off both the pain and the worry. I was grateful, and I’m sure the guys were as well. Poor Brian has had to suffer once too often from “Nick in serious ‘I’m scared’ mode.” It’s usually his fault, taking me to those movies. And I REALLY did hear something and who wants a zombie to sneak up on them in the middle of the night? I thought I would wake up before Brian and therefore would be able to remove the bucket from over the door. Anyway, it was on our side, so its really Brian’s fault for not being observant. You would have thought someone had skinned Tyke. Of course, when he discovered that it wasn’t water in the bucket things got worse. I never knew Brian could hit that octave. I think Kevin should have accused him of overreacting. Well, it’s not like anyone has ever died from a head drenched in urine.
-