It was nothing they hadn’t experienced before, though this time, strangely, in analytical and anatomical proportions, it would be different, in the eventual relief such contemplative restructuring of formative elemental analysis had harboured in the transformational dislocation altogether to be drawn from within assuredly reassuring a conditional discharge governed environmentally conducive of proportional receptacle displacement temporarily withdrawn while awaiting relief necessitated fulfilment unparalleled respectively separated in the passing commencement of ceremonious void brought forth relievingly familiar upon such long awaited grasping unquestionably overdue to any so privy to be privileged in such monumental yet overly simplistic functions fluidly projected amid inherent relief of such a long waited delivery.
For you see, Paul, while awaiting the birth of their second child with his wife Kim, had come to a critical stage himself, that of having to piss so badly that he could damn-well taste it, the piss that is, in a not so fanciful analytical slam the door semi-metaphor, of which mightn’t be true for the fact that Paul could indeed feel it in his teeth, literally, the piss that is, or so he thought, aw, maybe it was just a nervous system trick of a cruel nature; though one thing Paul was sure of – any longer and it would surely bleed out from the space between his gums and dentin hardness, unpleasantly filling his mouth and beyond, letting loose his shamed secret. Not that the tooth tingling and accompanying clenched jaw was an overtly annoying, ominous, or dangerous phenomena, of which he may even willfully and enthusiastically seek out under differing circumstances, if not for the overwhelming realization that the next step in the situation he currently found himself, would indeed revert him to an infantile stage far inferior to that which was so stubbornly and adamantly clambering onto and into the now amniotic depleted chamber of such a wonderful nature’s factory belonging to his wife Kim.
And as Paul, at first, agonizingly writhed within, then eventually overtly publicly displaying such a tell to everybody so meticulously disinterested and rightly unaware while engaged in matters of actual pressing importance operating under a sphere of needed focused attention, Paul, other than the immediate wish for his second born child and first born son to come to be in existence, only had one repeated thought, or could it be considered a catchphrase?, bouncing around in his piss filled, upper and lower tooth tingling adjoined braincase – and an odd one at that. But what could such a catchphrase be?, because goodness knows, nobody in that theatre needed to hear such a line. So in the final throes of his hideous teeth-tingling stupor, Paul finally set sail in search of such a blessed shore to which should have surely been navigated long before such an idiotic twitching nervous system piss-bleeding gum scurvy had come to possessingly diagnose such a depleted condition.
Like the crazed, scrambled gait lunatic, and now babbling mental patient Paul appeared to be to everyone he came across as he frantically searched for a bathroom to rid not only his bladder of a deafening, unnatural PSI, but also his teeth and gums of the first ever potential medically reported case of an unholy piss-laden oral fluid-letting induced via idiocy, Paul damn near broke clean-off the first locked lever-handle door knob he came across on the door so advertising a male-female-handicap washroom sign, in the uncouth process, no doubt traumatizing whatever poor inhabitant contained and doing whatever within, and more than likely whose reaction to Paul’s antisocial actions accompanying his incoherent bellowing set in motion the chain reaction of the human personnel needed to lastly report to the janitor that the north-east washroom on the third floor was closed until the mop & bucket engineer was able to restore said room to a sanitary state.
So it went for Paul on his not so fantastic voyage, roughly sailing the entire third floor of the hospital in search of an anchoring not to be found in the entirety of that encapsulated geographical location now displaying the damaged lever-handle lock-sets, and no doubt handful of mystified ambushee’s were proof such a rough sailing. Paul’s relief would now have to come, hopefully, on a journey to the second floor, as there was no way he was heading up to the fourth floor, for you see, the atmosphere up there was of slightly less barometric pressure, in turn, possibly leading to the aforementioned all-out piss-laden dentine-gum epic oral fluid-letting. No, it was best to go with gravity, not fight against it at this stage of what, for Paul could only be described as the great terror. If there was a water fountain down there, nay, any basin, Paul was going to unapologetically and gleefully quell his bloated situational disgrace.
Meanwhile, up on the third floor maternity ward, Kim, matching the same position of which had gotten her into all this trouble all those months ago, laying flat on her back with legs outstretched, though during the former untimely episode, strictly her husband Paul heaping great amounts of attention upon her writhingly sweaty, exposed fleshy bits, totally unaware that Paul had left the room, the third floor, or for that matter, that Paul had even been there to begin with, thought agonizingly quietly to herself in her own head as she huffed and puffed and pushed and thought of the accompanying birthing room being a massively powerful vacuum cleaner capable of even stealing all the tears from heaven: “Geez, most people say the second child is always a lot easier than the first birthing experience, but this is just as near a traumatizing experience as my first born!” And as the word traumatizing repeatedly bounced around in the non-verbalized recollective echoing of what was Kim’s first birthing experience playing over and over in her pulsating skull, it, the medically and physiologically induced Holy Grail of synaptically imbibed enlightenment struck Kim like a reversely engineered bolt of lighting striking down God in Heaven Almighty Hermaphrodite likeness above clouded inception.
For you see, all Kim could think about during her first childbirth and now briefly subconsciously evicted from her current state of traumatized denial continuation, no matter what advice the doctors and nurses were coaching her with was: “How in the heck is a bag of flour supposed to come out of something so preciously dainty as that of which Paul’s wretchedly minuscule tallywacker was able to deceptively implant!?” For you see, it was indeed a mindfuck-conundrum for Kim, as it is for so many women in so many geographical locations the world over. A mental block of non-believing such could possibly transpire while living to see another day – or something along those lines, to the great effect of 81.67% of Caesarean Sections not to actually be physiologically needed. Basically, “There ain’t no way my kitty is yawning that wide and living another day!”
Then, as the rubber-ma’am switch turned in Kim’s head, after 90 minutes of unsuccessful labour, measurable labium momentum came into levelheaded play, and wouldn’t one other than Paul know it – shoulder, knees and toes to rapidly follow, then there it hovered in the doctor’s hands, umbilical cord clamped, and with what at first tired glance, to Kim, appeared to be a newborn infantile wang already on par with that of her husband Paul, to which she quietly chuckled: “Hmm, maybe it is the handyman’s kid after all. Much, much too handy indeed that handyman, til he gets thoroughly warmed up that is!’
Just then, Paul excitedly entered the room and walked upon to see what the now lack of commotion was all about. As nobody had actually known that Paul was absentee for the birth, nor really cared that he just unmiraculously returned from such an oafish errand, Paul’s presence was uneventful as usual, as was the case during the conception of “his” son. There he was, “Paul’s” first born son handed over for the first time to Kim for her to hold and cherish, and as Paul enthusiastically walked up get a glance at the second child stricken from what would be a paternity test failure, he looked Kim in the eye, and the words to so naturally come out of his mouth, the same words he recycled over and over again as he tried not to piss himself but a bit earlier that afternoon naturally flowed right out of Paul’s mouth in a full release dentine-gum fluid-letting disaster ridden metaphor for the ages . And those words were: “Our baby looks like he’s fresh out the box!”
At such an embarrassing moment, how could things get any more awkward in the delivery room one might ask? Well, to break the uncalled stupidity to have emanated from Paul’s mouth came the overwhelming stench of overpowering piss, simultaneously wafting into the entire staffs nostrils and Kim’s nostrils alike, to which Kim piped up: “Doctor, I thought newborns were incapable of purging bodily functions in such a short time after birth?” To which the doctor replied, “Let me assure you Misses Frontenac, that fluid human tragedy is not evaporatively filling this room by way of your newborn son, however something tells me your fully grown accompanying man-child so keen on baby to box analogies could probably let you in on such an uncalled for origin.”
It turns out Paul never made it to the second floor washrooms in time to return upstairs with even a shred of dignity. By the time he hit the middle stair landing between the third and second floors the shock from such a landing after having jumped the last four stairs in an effort to make up ground had proven the path of least resistance and had hastily jostled the beginnings of aforementioned piss right out of Paul’s urethra, and not the numerous gum to tooth dentine crevices that Paul’s nervous system had tricked him into believing may very well be the sole, if not shared escape route for such kidney filtered waste. So, as Paul frantically undid his belt and pants on the way down from the middle landing to the second floor, the thought occurred to him that he could in no way enter the second floor under such conditions, and therefore proceeded to free his bladder and tingling teeth of such angst ridden existence by pissing through the railing right down past the first floor and basement, at terminal piss velocity, right into the sub-basement.
Trust me, you do not want to hear about the time Paul shit himself!
Hey, don’t look at me, I just write this garbage. You are the one to have made it all the way to end in reading it. Shame on you!
