Bloody Harry

Dec. 27, 2008

Blood dripped down my leg and I thought, 'too bad I'm not a chick.' If I were I could plug a hole with a sponge and the situation would be resolved. But instead I've got to play detective and figure out what’s wrong with me, because blood belongs inside, having it run down the outside of my leg is bad.

I eat like an ant's strength, three times my own size. And it shows. For years now people, including my doctor, have hinted toward my extraordinary appetite. "You may be able to out eat us Harold, but you sure as hell ain't going to out live any of us," my doctor says. So now, here I am with legions of warnings bouncing around my brain while blood drips to my sock. I'm in the grocery store at the time, buying what can only be described as elephant food storage and my socks seem to be my man sponge, absorbing but not plugging. At least we men only have one hole to deduce the origin of dripping blood. And hey, I'm already fat; I go to bed with embarrassment and shame every night. It ended up being nothing. Well, I should say it ended up not being serious. Any time you have blood dripping from your ass it's always something. Apparently, shitting three times a day and being Dumbo's older brother makes me susceptible to blistering, bursting hemorrhoids. Hey man I may be fat but at least I'm not a chick.

Harold
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