Flower

Walnuts

 

I’ve told you all before how I’m “not all there”, if you know what I mean. This may be my most personal post yet, but I feel it adequate enough to get my point across.

The evening my father made sweet love to my mother, he ate a bowl of walnuts. Exactly nine months later I was born with what doctor’s now call “walnuttesticulitis“. It’s a rare disease most often found in the chipmunk species of animals but on rare occasions, humans are susceptible as well. Basically, in the most simplified way of explanation that I can derive is, my testicals have the same markings as that of the shell of a walnut. Don’t get me wrong, they feel and look like the testicles of a regular male, they simply have the appearance of walnuts and not your usual scrotum. Until recently, I’ve had no problem with this disease. As Kurt Cobain once sung, “with the lights out, it’s less dangerous”, so I’ve had numerous, wonderful relationships with ladies throughout my early years (please don’t feel sorry for me). But as summer quickly approaches, I’m beginning to worry again. You see, last year I decided to get in shape. Being an iPod lover, I’ve always enjoyed making a great playlist and jogging out the door, free of any worries that loomed over my head. It wasn’t until Miss Andis (Grandma’s crazy ass bridge partner who lives six doors down) began feeding the neighborhood squirrels, that jogging began to be problematic in my life. Miss Andis felt the squirrels were doing drugs one day as she saw a squirrel hanging upside down on the trunk of her tree. We all know that squirrels can go up and down trees with no problem whatsoever, but Miss Andis was a little unusual (she fell and hit her head one afternoon while playing chicken with the ice cream man). She started feeding them on a daily, no, hourly basis in hopes that they would turn away from whatever fucked up drug she thought they were taking. When I jog, I enjoy wearing Umbro shorts.  They’re soft, comfortable and easy to move around in but unfortunately, they “fan” out in a way where your genitals are exposed in one way or another in certain situations.

I’ll be the first to admit, I’m somewhat of a jealous guy. Needless to say, last weekend when I saw Miss Andis laying in her front yard, surrounded by squirrels, receiving hundreds of little squirrel kisses, I became envious. I took a trip to our local farmer’s market and purchased a pound of salted peanuts for $4.99. On Sunday I retrieved the peanuts from my bicycle and sat in my grandmother’s yard, hoping to gain the attention of our neighborhood rodents. And to my heart’s delight, they all came out of their little trees and gathered in a small circle around me. I laughed as they climbed my arms and sat on my shoulder, gently cracking open each peanut I fed them. One (whom I christened “Arnold”) was particularly cute in that he was slightly overweight compared to the others, sat on my head and gently kicked off the peanut shells when he was surrounded by too many. It was such a pleasant moment that I’ll never forget. I guess I made an impression on the little guys, as Monday evening after work, I found Arnold sitting on my grandmother’s porch. He rose up on his little hind legs and sort of sniffed the air around me. I told him there were no peanuts left but of course, squirrels can’t understand our language. Feeling guilty, I retrieved a leftover CornNutz kernel from the depth of my coat pocket, and handed it to him. He grabbed it with his tiny paws and inspected it with his nose. Not being pleased with the snack food, he threw it in the bushes and scattered across the street, climbing Mr. Hemmington’s tree. 

Tuesday is when it happened. I decided to go to work late that day because for the most part, there was really no work that needed to be done at the office. Finding time to be a precious commodity, I proudly put on my beloved Umbro shorts, fastened my favorite pair of jogging shoes and took off out my grandmother’s front door all while jamming to my new favorite album Wave of Mutilation by the Pixies. I saw Arnold at the base of Mr. Hemmington’s oak tree. The memory that I’d like to have is that he waved his tiny little paw as if saying “hello” to me. Looking back, I know this not to be true…in retrospect he was actually flipping me off. About a 1/4 of the way down my street, the sound of a thousand little feet began to overwhelm the sound of the Pixies’ noisy guitars in my headphones. Thinking nothing of it, I continued my jog, inhaling the soft morning air. It wasn’t until a mile away from Grandma’s house that I realized my shoe had become untied. As usual, I bent down to retie my laces and that’s when I saw them. Hundreds, literally hundreds of furry little squirrels were after me, all with a mean glare in their soulless black, beady eyes. I had no time to get to my feet. In a matter of only a few seconds, I was bathed in a fur coat of pure insanity. All over my body I felt the sharp stinging pain of squirrel teeth biting into my flesh. My ears, my nose, my fingers, my stomach, my legs…all being attacked by the vicious incisors of the cute but evil varmints. I felt as though this would be the last time I ever jog again in my entire life. As if this moment in time would forever keep from a healthy exercise routine ever again. Fortunately (divinely?) I was saved from the ferocious attack of pure cruelty when Mrs. Kellowitz drove by, honking her car horn, waving at me. The evil fur balls from hell, for some reason, fear cars. At once they all scattered to the nearest tree they could find, leaving me on the street in my own little world of pain. A few minutes had passed when I reluctantly found the strength to get off the pavement and make my way home. I couldn’t possibly tell you how many Band-Aids I had to use to cover each tiny little slice of squirrel rage. It was that bad.

You see, that Monday evening when I found Arnold on my porch after work, he wasn’t “sniffing the air around me” like I had previously thought. He was looking up my khaki shorts. The tiny little bastard had seen that I suffered from walnuttesticulitis as I was wearing boxers that fateful day. Arnold, in some twisted way, believed that when I handed him the CornNut, I was wrongly hiding a walnut from him. Since then, we’ve made up and our now friends again, but we’ve both learned an important lesson in the dangers of assuming.

Zombieville USA is a simple, yet addicting shooting game that I’ve recently fallen in love with. The object of the game is to survive an onslaught of zombies with only a small amount of ammo. It’s recently been updated and thus, I have to recommend it. There’s one zombie in the game that comes at your incredibly fast, and though frustrating, adds to the game’s overall pace. I wish there was more ammo but that’s what makes the game re-playable. You find yourself coming back to it, just to see if you can get one level further. The overall production of the game is great and seeing zombie brains go every where never gets old. Of course, you can always try the lite version too. (As an “appaholic”, I will admit I’ve saved a lot of money by trying out the lite versions). I recommend the full version but you and I may not see alike.

 

AppAttack :D            

One Response to “Walnuts”

  1. March 22nd, 2009 at 5:16 pm

    josh/istopmotion says:

    LOL, that was pretty funny! :D What did any of that story have to do with Zombie USA?!?

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