Dorian Hargrove 3:30 p.m., April 29
- Community Blog
How in the hell did I get myself into this predicament? I am laying here in the plastic box, bare ass naked for the entire world to see, I am this flushed pinkish sort of color and I’ve got this tube shoved up my nose taped to my face. And look there’s seven more just like me. A few days ago when we were still on the inside, it was arms and legs in a tangled mess. We were all ready to bust out’ a there, but this is not what had been advertised.
While on the inside, I distinctly overheard her saying how she was going to suckle each one of us, feed us from her own breast, hold us tight to her bosom. Right, I haven’t even seen her since my escape. Don’t get me wrong, they keep it pretty warm in this little cradle thing, I’d sure like to open my eyes if they’d just dim the lights. Now how is she going to breast-feed all eight of us? As I recall from my last human life, moms only have two tits. I am being to worry if this woman has sense enough to figure out the eight with two rotations. I know when I latch on, I plan on staying there awhile.
Can you check and see what this stuff is they’re piping into me. My poop sure smells like.. Well let’s put it this way, if I were drinking from the boob, my pooh would be smelling like a rose blossom. I can’t weigh more than two pounds, some of what nature intended me to be drinking would sure help me grow a bit faster and make me think a little clearer.
Can you believe this; there’s this one nurse, yah the blond one, told me I already have six other brothers and sisters at home just waiting anxiously for me. You’ve got to be kidding! I was never that sharp in math, last life I was a politician, but doesn’t that add up to fourteen kids. The nurse told me mom’s got a children fixation; what the hell is that! Terrific it sounds like I’ve got some genetic mental illness. That will come in handy.
Hey who’s picking up the tab for us all anyway? I know mom paid some less than ethical fertility crackpot to plant all these seeds in her, but I know she’s got no money to pay for all us preemies. I overheard one of the staff say it costs about $1,000 per day for me. Let’s see $30,000 a month times eight is $240,000, and we’ll be in here for at least four months; that’s $One Million Dollars just for the very basics. What about the costs of my care once I get home, my education? This doesn’t look good.
What a dirty rotten thing to do to me, bring me into this world against such horrific odds. Kids today in normal sized families have it rough enough, but I am going to have to fight and scratch for every little thing. How much parental nurturing can I get with thirteen others competing for mom or dad’s attention? By the way, do I have a dad? I know I’ve heard stories of large families getting along very well, all the kids look out for each other, the older ones tend to the younger ones and mom tends to whomever she can. I’d much rather be nurtured and taught by an adult than brother number twelve. I hope I get some teeth soon because if I ever get hold of that boob, I am going to let her have it.
On these days when I’ve nothing to do except lay here being fed by a tube waiting for them to come wipe my bottom, that I think about karma. Where exactly did I screw up in the last life? There were a few indiscretions, drove drunk a few times too many, pocketed a little from my expense account and did only once take a bribe. The life as a politician wasn’t always easy, those lobbyists can get to you and they do carry cameras. Those shots of me in Vegas with the umbrella drinks, in the hot tub, with the girls I gladly exchanged for the contract for the new 4th Street Bridge, but it was all part of the job. Well at least I am not a bug.
If I do somehow manage to make it out of this hospital, I imagine I’ll be in the fight for my life. Maybe me and the sis’s and bro’s can sit in a group therapy circle so we don’t end up like our whacko mother. It’s all about karma, got to keep that in mind. Hey got to go, here comes my blonde with a towel, boy this stuff stinks.