My dentists house.
Once upon a time, a younger, slimmer, and a more fully equipped with a head of hair, Menashem attended a party along with some friends at a large, pleasant house in the country.At this party were friends, and friends of friends, all of which fell under the category of ‘good people’, meaning we all dressed the same and listened to the same type of music, this being the necessary criteria to make friends as a teenager, regardless of personality.
This party began well, each person drinking their drinks, talking, laughing and so on. Punch bowls were formed, and each person added to, and drunk from it. Then things got silly.A young man decided he had to have his ear pierced right away. I jumped up to do this, as I had never pierced an ear before. Or anything else for that matter. But could we find a needle in this house? Could we balls. Closest thing we found was a dental scraper, the kind of thing nightmares are made of, a silver hook of pain capable of inflicting visions of dread in the bravest of people. “That’ll do!” We both cry. I grab his head and start to work on his ear forcing the scraper into his left earlobe as hard as I can, with him gripping onto the sink in the bathroom and trying not to cry. At any moment we’re expecting a ‘pop’ sound and a rush of blood, but it was not to be. The scraper wasn’t going through, despite the pressure I was putting on it. I grabbed his Zippo and lit it. I held the scraper above the flame until it glowed red hot, and then held it on some more.Quickly, so at to not waste the heat, I lifted it to his ear and, with all my 19 year old might, ignoring my victim’s manly screams, restarted my work on his defenceless earlobe. But the mans earlobe simply refused to budge. I had been bested. Despite the smell of slightly singed teenage flesh, I had to concede to the lobe. I decided then, perhaps due to the smell of cooked flesh, that I was hungry and went to the freezer of this house, in the garage. There I found a turkey, a whole one, frozen, of course. “can you cook a frozen turkey in the microwave” I cry to a nearby innocent bystander. “uhhh, why not?” so in it goes, setting the timer to an hour, on max heat.Drink resumes. An hour passes. I return to the microwave. It’s not done yet, so back on it goes, and again, and again until it turns into rubber. I try to feed it to the dog, but he’s having none of it. This story is getting longer that I intended it to be, so I’ll cut it short. Turns out the house belongs to my dentist, and I’d spent the evening trashing his house. Sometime poetic justice works in mysterious ways.
(menashem, Sun 16 Apr 2006, 22:43, Reply)