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8/8/14 WDT NSFW

Discussion in 'General Discussion' started by shegirl, Aug 8, 2014.

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  1. Angel_1756

    Angel_1756
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    The Big Four-Oh

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    Goddammit. It's my husband's kid. Has his nose. I think.
     
  2. Revengeofthenerds

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    Normal eyes or squinty?
     
  3. Rush-O-Matic

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    Emotionally Jaded

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    Is it sweeps week yet?
     
  4. Revengeofthenerds

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    Can the sonogram confirm that it has a fetish for vending machine teenage underwear?
     
  5. Revengeofthenerds

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    Question: when you put it in a crib, will it get a regular pillow or a lap pillow?
     
  6. Angel_1756

    Angel_1756
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    The Big Four-Oh

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    You do realize I'm Chinese not Japanese right?
     
  7. Crown Royal

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    Just call me Topher

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    Re: Not the father

    [​IMG]
     
  8. Revengeofthenerds

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    GIVE ME MY RAMEN!!!!! (they call it "oriental flavor" for a reason, right?)
     
  9. Angel_1756

    Angel_1756
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    The Big Four-Oh

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    God ignorance is so sexy. I bet you used racial slurs to get your wife hot the night you knocked her up.
     
  10. Revengeofthenerds

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    Yup. I told my wife I was going to "pick [her] cotton." And by picking her cotton, I meant, "messing with [her] cum dingleberries."
     
  11. CharlesJohnson

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    Re: Not the father

    The Lord works in mysterious ways.

    Even though you know Black Jesus isn't wearing no Jimmies, just to be safe, I've got my "Not The Father Dance" down.

    [​IMG]
     
  12. CharlesJohnson

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    [​IMG]
     
  13. Nettdata

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    Mr. Toast

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    It's the tumour.
     
  14. Revengeofthenerds

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    #54 Revengeofthenerds, Aug 9, 2014
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  15. Revengeofthenerds

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    I'm not superstitious (even though I have broken two bones in my left wrist on a Friday 13th, another bone in my right wrist on the subsequent calendar Friday 13th, then the following calendar Friday 13th I stayed inside and the next day, Saturday 14th, I broke my left shoulder and almost paralyzed myself), but I still kind of believe in this thread.

    Trying to stay awake until midnight when I hit my 7th anniversary of my brain tumor survival. Because, you know, why not? I need some good luck?

    Drinking Negra Modelo Especial because right now I need to "cross the border" into some good luck.
     
  16. FreeCorps

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    Wow, you had a brain tumor? I had no idea. You've never mentioned it.

    Apparently there's a push going on to make Weird Al the Super Bowl halftime show. Judging by his latest offerings his creativity certainly hasn't dropped off, and he's had a surge in popularity due to the whole "video a day" release strategy he did. It would certainly be entertaining.
     
  17. Revengeofthenerds

    Revengeofthenerds
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    Happy go fuck yourself.

    I heard there was a change.org petition to make it happen. On the radio there was an idea for a mash-up with him and the artists he was imitating, like him singing:



    Mashed with Coolio performing:




    I'd PPV that shit if it happened.
     
    #57 Revengeofthenerds, Aug 9, 2014
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  18. Rush-O-Matic

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    No, you.

    I live Weird Al - but not sure if he'd put together an entertaining live show.

    I know they took out a little extra brain when they removed the tumor, but did they get the part that lets you take a joke? Get over yourself dude. You rip others on here left and right for whatever you happened to think is some hilarious deficiency, but when somebody points out your "look at me" nonsense you get all pissy. Quit acting like a little butt hurt bitch.
     
  19. Revengeofthenerds

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    It's now been officially 7 years, and with that, I disclose a part of my manuscript that was once represented by one of Oprah's book club regulars (that damn agent tried to ask this athiest to title his book "And There Were Angels Along the Way"). I own all rights to the manuscript, so fuck that.

    At this, I was pushed through a set of double doors and away from my last chance for goodbyes.

    As soon as the doors closed my surgical team, at the time consisting of [high school friend's] step-father my electrician, my anesthesiologist who looked eerily like one of my uncles, the nurse driving my bed-on-wheels and another nurse pushing my IV tower which trained my setup like a wedding dress, began power walking to the operating room like they were being deducted pay for time spent in transit. Maybe they were. I really did not want to know. I was still fuming over the fact that I was going to remember all of this.

    No person should have to witness several highly-educated looking people in scrubs rushing his body toward a cutting room and yelling at pedestrians to get out of their way. We have all seen the hospital shows; nothing good comes after “watch out! Move! Move! Move!” One person ran ahead of our group and would push the automated open button on fire doors to allow us quick and easy flow to the O.R. It occurred to me that having my anesthesiologist simply opening the door, flagging his hand downward, and saying, “no, ladies and brain tumor patients first… I insist” would not waste that much more time and would substantially increase the chance for a smile on my face. “Door Bitch” was not a welcomed member in my entourage.

    We entered the operating room and it finally occurred to me what Dr. [V] had meant by “viewable setting.” The room was huge, by my drugged estimation at least three times larger than was needed for one person on a table, and the ceiling was made of a gigantic glass dome, and through the glass I saw stadium-style seating. I was just about to ask how much a box seat cost when someone piped in, “don’t worry, no students will be observing this surgery today. That room up there is empty.”

    I was relieved. Otherwise, my surgery room would have been the entertainment centerpiece of what was basically a large classroom setting. Above me, people could sit and watch the doctors work, undoubtedly learning from their… mistakes? I imagined the popcorn and peanut vendors also sold barf bags and ginger ale. Something about a hot dog just wouldn’t seem appetizing when the doctors began demonstrating proper catheter insertion. Are the first three rows in danger of getting wet?

    I was slightly relieved that there would be no Witnesses in Residence. Peer pressure, you know? I just didn’t feel I had it in me to live up to their gory standards. I’d been told before that I didn’t have any guts and I believe this statement to be true. For this reason, I don’t think my corpse had much educational value.

    The first thing I noticed was the gigantic microscope, designed to look like something straight out of the cartoons. It was the size of a small vehicle and must have had at least several hundred different lenses.

    [Dr. V] told me there were several small tumors he could not see with the naked eye, and that he would be using a microscope to find those. If he left anything, after I had seen the size (and thus, sophistication) of the tools, I would have immediately recommended him for an appointment with my eye doctor. But, it wouldn’t be worth it for him to proceed with the follow-up MRI. Those things are all bad news, I swear.

    Then I looked at a TV screen, and saw my x-rays. Though I had received several verbal descriptions of what the tumor looked like, I never saw a picture for myself. This was not because I hadn’t wanted to look at them; I had actually made requests several times with several different doctors for the pictures. I wanted to know exactly what I was facing. As soon as I looked at the TV screen, I immediately realized why they had denied my requests: For my own good, the doctors and my parents were hiding me from reality.

    Even with no real medical knowledge, I knew for certain what I was seeing. There was no mistaking it. The cyst appeared as a large white blob, quite literally occupying a quarter of my brain. The blob actually breached the dividing line down the center front to back, and was encroaching on the better half of the space toward the front. The tumor, in contrast, was uniformly black. This offender was inside the cyst but near the middle of my brain. In perhaps the only instance of him actually not using sarcasm, Dr. [V] was correct in approximating it to the size of a grape. It was, perhaps, maybe even a tad bit larger. If I was wearing any underwear at the time I promise I would have wet them.

    I turned to the nearest person in the room, “Those pictures… that’s me, right?” I think I was in a state of denial.

    The lady turned her head to see the image I was pointing at with a shaky finger, “Those? Yeah, those are pictures of your tumor.”

    I did not tell her it was the first time I had seen the image. If I did I was afraid she might realize she had shown me something I wasn’t supposed to see, and turn off the screen before I had a chance to further examine. I tried to play it cool.

    “Well, at least you will know which part to operate on. Can’t really miss it. Kind of obvious, huh?”

    The anesthesiologist appeared with a mask which he placed over my nose and upper lip. Apparently I have a large nose, which I guess kept the mask from fitting properly. It probably would have fit a normal person.

    “I’m going to turn up the gas here and this is going to put you to sleep. It might smell a little, but don’t worry, it’s supposed to… Now inhale deeply. You’ll be awake in no time.”

    Eau de Skunk was perhaps not the best of smells to encounter right before a serious operation. It tends to put you in a foul mood. My oral surgeon used to let me choose between bubble gum, chocolate, or mint. Apparently, pleasing scents were not this hospital’s specialty, and it occurred to me that maybe there might be a market for designer laughing gas. The last thing I remember was reaching up to adjust my mask, thinking the poor fit was what was keeping it from working.

    Outside in the waiting room, my mother and Chuck both broke down in tears. The surgery was supposed to take only an hour and a half and or the first two hours, my mother shook in fear, and then, she started pacing the hallway.

    The entire time, the rest of my immediate family, and many extended, gathered to support each other emotionally, spiritually, and sometimes even physically over the course of my operation. At the [place I work]– were the directors and staff, all of whom knew me, cared for me, and were now worried and praying for me. That day everyone’s lives stopped for me.

    But they knew, as I had said many times before, that if I could just make it through surgery, I would find a way to return to a normal, happy life. Just make it through. Wake up again. Talk, hear, see again. Walk, one step at a time again. I’d value every minute of it, I promised myself, if only I was given the chance to do it all again. I just had to make it through. And smile again, awake, on the other side.

    Stay cool, like [my brother] said to you, Sam, and you’ll be alright.

    So I tried to stay cool before the surgery, and apparently, my doctors had stayed cool during.

    A brain surgery that was supposed to take only an hour and a half, took four. As I lay there with my head in a vice and the back of my skull open, the doctors found that my brain tumor was only two millimeters away from my brain stem. One mistake. One hesitation. One sneeze and I was dead. One slip of the scalpel and I was dead.


    I had put my life in the hands of a mechanic.

    I trusted him to give me a miracle I didn't believe in.
     
  20. Revengeofthenerds

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    #60 Revengeofthenerds, Aug 9, 2014
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