Suffering Side Effects!

Lately I've been plagued with extremely vivid dreams and nightmares. So realistic, I practically believe they're happening in the "real world (you know, the "real world" where "reality" shows provide a blueprint for the way young people behave.)" 

Now don't get me wrong. I'm a big fan of dreams, the nuttier the better. But most of these are nightmares, usually exploding in an orgy of sudden violence with me at the center of it. And they always feel real. 

So I asked my wife if this could be a side effect of the new drug I'd been prescribed, a weight loss tablet.

She researched it, and yes, that was one of the side effects.

I'm not fond of the diet pill in the first place. It's as big as a horse pill and when I began taking it, it'd get lodged in my throat and I'd end up hurling it back up again. I told my wife, "No wonder it's a weight loss drug." Eventually I got the hang of it, but dread when I have to go up to four throat blockers a day.

Anyway, I digress... I began wondering about the other side effects associated  with the drug. For instance, lately I've been urinating every two hours, just like clockwork. Again, I looked into side effects from the horse pill. Sure enough,  I'd found the culprit. J'Accuse!

Another fun "possible" side effect is the drug may cause seizures. Yow! So, let's get this straight...I may be on the floor having seizures, foaming at the mouth, and biting my tongue, but hey! I'll sure look nice and svelte while doing it!

Other side effects include constipation, nausea, headaches, dizziness, elevated blood pressure and severe allergic reactions. Oh, and it may cause suicidal thoughts.

By golly, this seems like the perfect drug for me! The only thing missing are further disclaimers warning of chronic laziness, internal bleeding, the desire to punch strangers in the neck, permanent resting bitch face, overnight changes into "Karen" behavior, and Trump Derangement Syndrome.

Basically, if anything is wrong with me health-wise, I'm blaming it on the weight-loss drug.

I'm reminded about a trip to the pharmacist some time ago when my doctor prescribed a drug for anxiety. Outside the pharmacist's window sat a huge guy who looked like George R. R. Martin, hat and all. 

He says to me, "I couldn't help but overhear about the drug you're asking for. I used to take it...until I realized IT'S DESIGNED TO TURN YOU INTO A LUNATIC!"

Looking at this guy screaming in the pharmacy, I thought that drug ship had long ago sailed.

But what do we expect when our top governmental health official has proclaimed Tylenol is evil and kids shouldn't get circumcised because it causes autism?

It's like you just can't trust drugs anymore. Let's Make Drugs Fun Again!

Speaking of side effects, poor Shawn Biltmore is experiencing the worst kind of side effect from a bite: lycanthropy. Read all the terror, horror, mystery, and dark humor of Shawn's tale in Corporate Wolf, the only (that I know about, natch) corporate satire about werewolves!

My College Roommate

Jerry on the left at my wedding

I had several college roommates. The first one looked like John Denver ("far out!"). Then there was Johnny Cook who eventually (secretly) quit going to classes to start working at a gas station. He'd leave dirty greasy fingerprints all over the walls and light fixtures.

But my favorite college roommate was Jerry who I'm still friends with, but rarely see (probably for good reason; the last time I invited him to go to a brewery, he nearly got thrown out for his usual "Jerryatrics."). But he was a good friend, my best friend in college.

There was a downside to palling around with Jerry, however. He was morbidly handsome. Everywhere we went, girls swooned over him. I never stood a chance. "You look like Mark Harmon," I heard all the time. Eventually I had to start hanging out with uglier guys to even the playing field.

But Jerry showed me the ropes at KU (i.e., the bars) as he had a prior year experience and we had many great times. So I tried to repay him in different ways. Once I gave him an old English paper of mine (I had got an "A") to which he copied word for word. Somehow the professor gave him a "D+." Weird. But Jerry being Jerry, he showed the professor my paper and demanded a regrade (apparently he wasn't worried about plagiarism). Eventually his dad got involved and all hell broke loose. I believe he flunked the course but stayed in school.

Another time, I came home for lunch and found Jerry panicking on another paper on a book he had read. I asked him what it was about and what he wanted to say about it. So I knocked it out for him over my lunch hour. This time he got a "B+". Not bad considering I'd not read the book.

Soon Jerry and I and our various comrades began taking spring break vacations to Florida and other notorious party spots. On one particular drunken night, the eight of us retired to our 12th floor room, bodies strewn everywhere. Jerry fell asleep out on the deck. When he awakened, he looked into the room and spotted me laying at a strange angle. Immediately he freaked out and thought someone had cut my head off. He started screaming at people down in the street to get help because someone cut my head off. Soon hotel security came with cops and another friend answered the door. They weren't happy. Mercifully, I retained my head and managed to sleep through the entire ordeal.

But the good times with Jerry outweighed the bad. And we were inseparable for years. Time and kids catch up to all of us as does the worst inevitable offender: adult responsibility.

Jerry Nowadays

As far as roommates went, Jerry was the best and I could definitely have done worse. Take my poor suffering brother, for instance. His first roommate at K-State was a guy with the unfortunate moniker of Spencer Pickle. They had stacked their beds bunk-bed style and Spencer kept my brother awake every night by shaking the bed while pursuing..um...self-pleasure. He'd yell "Spencer, cut it out!" Spencer did but would inevitably start whittling on his bed post. My bro had to go sleep in the break room on more than one occasion. Then there's my nephew. He got stuck with a crazy guy who doesn't talk, is rarely spotted, and goes to his room and cries out strange noises.

Nope, I was lucky to be roomed up with Jerry.

Speaking of Jerry, I co-opted his tragedy from high school for my book Tex, the Witch Boy. The character that's based on Jerry was run over in the school parking lot intentionally by a bully. Several of his fingers became detached and he had to have his hand wired up in the air for a long time, thus fooling many teachers into believing he was asking a question. All of this and more is detailed in my book, Tex the Witch Boy available here!

The Ultimate Mom Jeans

By now, everyone's witnessed "Mom Jeans." Whether on Saturday Night Live's commercial parody for mom jeans or various moms sporting them, or Heaven forbid, even your own mother (and maybe even wife).

For those very few of the uninformed amongst you regarding this nightmarish fad, mom jeans are high-waisted denim jeans that were once considered fashionable in the late 80's and early 90's. Many people (usually under 40) see them as frumpy, unflattering and outdated.

And I'm hear to tell you the ultimate mom jeans horror story.

About twenty years ago or so, my mom started wearing jeans. She had never worn them before, had no interest in them. She was the June Cleaver type who fancied sensible dresses and later, slacks (along with tons of makeup and lots of caustic hairspray that used to set tears to my eyes).

So one day, out of the blue, she suddenly started wearing jeans. They never fit her very well, rose high up over her navel (the way my dad had liked his pants) and were unflattering in the extreme. 

I took a closer look. They were designer jeans. Then all of my worst fears collided in a kaleidoscope of terror.

"Mom," I gulped, "are those...are those...my jeans?"

She laughed (something I didn't feel like doing) and said, "Yes. How do you like them?" She twirled as if on the runway showing off a fashionable gown.

"Um...why are you wearing my jeans?" My voice sounded like I had a mouthful of pudding.

"Well, Stuart, they were here. And they fit." Again she gave an impish smile.

I didn't feel like raining on her extremely frugal parade by telling her decidedly no, they do not fit, not one bit. I tried to shrug it off as impossible a task as that was.

Now, I don't know if any of you have had similar situations, but I would imagine not. The feelings I experienced were odd: it was sort of humilating and emasculating in a weird sense. Here was my mom showing off her new-found (and extremely cheap) jeans as I sat there in horror realizing they were the same already outdated designer jeans I wore in college. The same ones that I had dated in (amongst other activities) many times. I don't know if my sudden avalanche of gut-churning anxiety came from the fact that my old jeans fit (more of less) my mom or the fact THAT MY MOM WAS WEARING MY JEANS. Either way, I feel it would give today's MAGA gender-label-fearing folks a fright.

Brrrrr.

I had long forgotten about this nightmare until last weekend when I was out with my brother and his daughters. Suddenly it came back to me like a paparazzi's lightbulb flash.

"Hey...did you know Mom used to wear my jeans?" I suddenly lobbed out there like a grenade. We were drinking beer so I thought everyone might get a kick out of it.

I was right. Too right. My brother freaked, told the girls (who weren't listening at the time) and laughed and laughed.

He said, "I always wondered where they came from and they never fit very well."

So. Youngsters, heed my advice: when you move out of your parents' house, take your old jeans with you and destroy them at the first possible moment. This is crucial to your future mental well-being.

Now that I have your attention about all things ridiculous, I may as well pimp out my most ridiculous books, the Zach and Zora comical mystery series. Start with book #1, Bad Day in a Banana Hammock and proceed (with caution) from there. If ludicrous situations, bizarre characters, comical hijinks, and murder mysteries are your bag, join the cool kids and buy 'em here.