My nutritionist informed me the other day that I have parasites in my body. If you are getting the image of a bunch of deadbeats lining up at a welfare pay window inside my body you are probably wrong. I hope.
She referred to me as the “host” of these parasites. See, now, this is the very reason I never liked throwing parties. There is such a mess to clean up afterward. Actually, she explained it more like my body is comparable to the typical American public (I would have preferred being called more like the Brad Pitt type, without the herd of children though, but, oh well). The parasites are kind of like the government, with taxes, healthcare with a public option, etc. The more of these parasites there are the less healthy you will be. It suddenly became clear. To clarify, I asked, “So if the head parasite tries to stimulate everything, all he is stimulating is more parasitic growth?” “Exactly,” she confirmed. Now I understood.
I’m pretty sure there are parasites with different personalities too, just like people. For example, if I’m having a bad hair day, then I know the Donald Trump type parasites are really being active. On a day where I’m feeling old and creaky in the bones my Larry King parasites are acting up. Yesterday I had people at my door asking for a donation and my Ben Bernake type parasites where waking up and I almost gave everything away. Luckily I had enough Jack Benny parasites in me to overcome that urge.
This morning, while getting dressed, I could only get my pants half way up my ass and I couldn’t figure out what was going on. Finally, I realized I had inadvertently activated some male teenage parasites. This was confirmed when my car keys were missing.
Last night as I was falling asleep and in that in-between stage of sleep and awake I swear I heard a conversation going on. It started with some guy with a Mexican accent. “Hey, man, you really stink.”
A guy with a heavy New York accent answered. “Yeah, I don’t know what happened it was like I got trapped in a sewer or something.”
The Mexican guy said, “No, dumb ass, you were in the colon. You gotta stay up here in the stomach where it‘s safe and all the good food is. You get much lower than the colon and you are outta here, man.”
The New York guy said, “Yeah, I was feelin’ kinda flushed down there.” Badumbump (sound effects added by me.) Hey, who said parasites can’t have a sense of humor.
Then I heard a conversation between two fat guys. I didn’t really get all that was said but it was something about going to McDonalds followed by a trip to Dunkin Donuts. Apparently about two-thirds of these guys are fat, so it’s just like America, really.
Then I heard another guy trying to get a woman into bed. It was either a French guy, Bill Clinton or John Edwards, I couldn’t tell which.
Anyway, the nutritionist told me there is a solution to all these voices in my head. So, fortunately, I’ll be able to go back to just having the ringing in my ears. She sold me some herbal formula, which, when I started taking it I swear I heard a voice with a Clint Eastwood type sound saying, ”Make my day.”
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