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Implosion Is a Good Thing.

Today I imploded. It was in the middle of Baystate Road, during full daylight, with many passers-by and shiny cars with drivers thinking their own thoughts. You can imagine my embarassment.

I crumpled into a shriveled sack of skin, my bodily fluids congealed, my limbs lengthened, one arm bisecting the width of the sidewalk. A short man with spectacles even stepped on my flattened finger. I tried to express pain but my vocal chords had been lost somewhere in my bowels. There I remained for no less than an hour, resembling an empty shopping bag

A green ambulance came to the scene and carried me away in a cardboard box and took me to a room inside a hospital filled with intricate tubing systems and the men who had invented them. They yelled loudly vague combinations of words I remembered from high school. The only explanation I understood was that I had inadvertently undergone reverse osmosis. It turns out everything outside of me was so stupid in comparison that I had leaked out of myself. Only the stupidity outside of me was too stupid to get inside of me, so I simply deflated. This was fortunate, for I could just have easily become a popped-collar jerk who watched family guy all day and paid chinese kids to do my homework. Implosion was my best-case scenario.

They inserted bong like wiring into my ears and pumped for three hours, occasionally taking breaks to drink Martinis and discuss minute historical occurences, like the Sacco and Venzetti trial, or slavery. When I was properly sized again, I underwent three hours of intense reconstructive surgery. I convinced them to make me resemble Dennis Hopper as seen in Easy Riders. They took pity and satisfied my wishes.

I was then escorted back to my apartment. As I made to leave, they apologized and said it was necessary that I not remember any of this. Reverse osmosis was far too complicated for everyone to start trying to understand. In an obvious ripoff of Men in Black, they pointed some sort of memory zapping device at me, and said things would be normal again. I ducked and they hit my neighbour in the eye, which is apparently the easiest place to lose memory from. Now he is on Baystate asking strangers how to get home. One person gave him a Canadian dime.

I am fairly sure I lost my liver in the process.

By The Late Great Tedward.

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