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The Aftermath of an Overabundance of Testosterone
or,
I Hate Riding the Bus
The first child born had a tail and a single large
eye that worked like a wide angle lens, which was neat although
it led to many bruises from parallax.
The lungs were obstructed by mutant cilia that made each breath
agony; the first child knew it had to be this way to keep the
price of gas affordable.
His mother told him not to play with the Arabic kids, but he did
anyway, as they knew the best games you could play in a sandbox.
Besides, some of them had tails too, and little Hisham had a big
toe where his nose should've been.
She said one of their daddies might've been the reason he would
never drive an automobile, fly a plane or make his fortune as a
neurosurgeon.
In college he was jeered by the normals; an outcast who could
never pass the physical for induction into the legalized drive-by
tribe. He was recruited by a Moslem fraternity for his
extraordinary volleyball skills, mistaking his frequent
collapsing as an act of praising Allah.
They were like brothers unto him who had none, for his own sire
had died of coronary arrest upon first sight of his tangled form
entering a world in which his country was at last the Hitler of
DW40.
Surviving through years of internal organs ambulating like a
dyslexic retard playing with a Rubik's dodecahedragon, he lived
off the tidy sums his mother charged tourists to have their
photographs taken standing next to him.
He visited Mann's Chinese Theatre, but could not stand in any of
the footprints, save for the tracks of R2D2. He was approached
by an agent from Milk the Insipid Public Productions, who
proclaimed: "You're the greatest thing since E.T.!"
Thus was inaugurated the new hit series: "Phosgene Made Me a
Cyclops." It was the first sitcom that didn't need a laugh
track. The first child's nerve endings were just below the first
layer of skin, and whenever any of the characters slapped him on
the back or shook his hand, he would moan and the audience
roared. The profits from Merchandising were astounding
especially the toy that said OUCH when you squeezed it.
Things were looking up; until he did a guest spot in Vegas with
Bobby Barisini's orang-utans. He collapsed. At the Hospital for
the Radioactively Mangled, it was determined that he needed a
total body root canal.
Even with all his fortunes, he couldn't foot the bill. A
telethon was arranged. The volunteers waited by the phones for
the pledges to roll in, but they never came. America was at war
with Minnesota, where a band of mercenary entrepreneurs had
seized the main factory that supplied windshield wiper
detergent.
