“Cool... so we finally have proof of the existence of aliens.” The man in front of me said with amazing profoundness as he stared at the film. For once, I didn’t share his enthusiasm. Still, I played along.
“What ?” I asked.
“See those wide striated lines in that oval head. No doubt about it. And those two beady eyes in between... just like they always showed in the movies.”
I was in two minds. On the one hand, it’s nice to have someone with your own perverted sense of humour around... of course, on the other hand, I was wishing if aliens did exist, they’d abduct him then and there and laser-fry his ass. Instead, since I’m just a mortal ( to the naked eye ), I chose to just stick to the facts.
“Actually, that’s a CT scan of my sacroiliac joint. That’s my butt cheeks you’re staring at. And the beady eyes... they’re called the obturator foramen.”
He stared at me with mock amazement, then stared down the chair at my ass. For a brief moment, I understood how Rakhi Sawant feels every day. We sex objects get used to it after awhile.
“Wow. That’s some ass you got there. And they’re gonna do what, you said ?”
“Stick a really big needle really deep to get a bone sample from over there using the CT Scan in live time” I said, specifying a point in the film.
Again, he looked in amazement at the film, probably imagining the length of that needle, not to mention it’s strength, then stared back at my ass. In his mind, he was probably picturing a construction worker with a mechanical drill standing over my butt and going at it, till he struck oil.
“Wow.” He said again. “These doctors are really great, huh ? They can do anything. In such a big ass, just to find that one small spot and take a bone biopsy. Of course, I had one friend who went into an operation theatre like this. After the surgery, he couldn’t walk or piss. So you can’t say what your future is...” He said as his number came up and he went in to collect his own reports.
I shook my head. I really should learn not to talk to strangers. For starters, I always end up choosing the weird ones.. why couldn’t I have chosen the cute sister on the other side of the room and sat beside her ?
Whichever dimwit claimed that talking to strangers can be therapeutic needs to have a 1000 red ants queue up his honey filled butt cheeks. Therapeutic, my ass. Suicidal is the right word.
P.S. The scan went fine. They did eventually find a needle ( think of it as the son of a snooker stick and a spear ) big enough to poke me with. Reports remain awaited. As for me, well, I’m bedridden and on medical leave...My limp got worse and the cause till date remains unkown. Cool.
Dr Rads. Man of mystery. I like how it sounds. Though, it’s probably ‘Limb of Mystery.’ Oh well. One step at a time... pun intended.
P.S. Just a random observation. Back in Pune, I’d be appreciating the rose design tattoo peeking out the hip of cute hotties at the mall. Out here, as I wait in the hospital, I find myself admiring the cute floral patterns in the burqa of the woman beside me... which tells me two things : -
A) Yup, I’m back home in Kannur again.
B) There really isn’t any point covering up women in burqas or tents or curtains or whatever you have... we perverts will still appreciate women even when we’re in abject pain and limping around on one leg. It’s in our jeans, oops, I mean, genes after all.