Have you ever found yourself lying on your back under the kitchen table, mind all foggy, black sparks of pain shooting from that place right between your eyes and wondered just how the hell you got there?
Did you then bring your hand up to your face only to discover that the cause of the shooting black pain sparks seems to be a large tender place where your nose ordinarily would be making a solid connection to the rest of your face?
Did you then bump your head on the underside of the table as you shakily made your way to your feet? Isn't it strange how you seem to shake your head and go "aiaiaiai" like Chester Cheeta (It's not easy, you know; being cheesy) completely automatically upon returning to the land of the upright? Did you wonder why the hell you just did that?
Did you find it odd as the black colors began to fade away, slowly being replaced by confusing memories? What was so important about leaning over the bathroom sink to splash water on your face? Why did you remember feeling ill and clammy? What's the significance of an electric drill?
As you realized that the bathroom sink splashing was in response to the clammy nauseousness, did you experience any kind of epiphany? Did you suddenly start to recall sitting in your computer chair and making the decision to walk to the bathroom and splash cold water on your face? Upon remembering that, did you suddenly remember being bent over the sink, cold water dripping off your face and hands, black specks beginning to slowly fill your vision? Does realizing that you might want to go lay down on the couch for a minute so that you don't pass out ring a bell?
How about realizing that you aren't actually going to make it to the couch? That do anything for the old memory? You know that strange feeling? The one like the world is rolling up like some kind of crazy messed up window shade as your body falls face-first onto the back of the wooden futon frame between you and the nice soft leather couch? I bet you don't really remember breaking the crap out of your nose right before your whole limp body slumped off the back of the futon, rolling you onto your back where you eventually came to rest beneath the kitchen table. I'm guessing the events between falling towards the futon and groggily lying beneath the table are lost forever, but luckily it isn't too difficult to CSI yourself a realistic time line of events.
Did you start to remember what made you feel nauseous in the first place then? Did the pain in your broken nose and the confusion about the missing time not quite outweigh the feeling of utter stupidity? Did the knowledge that you passed out as a result of reading a story about a guy who convinced his friends to undergo a trepanning operation on him make you feel weak, embarrassed and incredibly pathetic?
The author lives in Vancouver, Washington, USA with his girlfriend and a menagerie of cats, rats, fish, birds, guinea pigs and robots.
Among other inanities, he strives to use investigative techniques to work young starlet breasts into every aspect of rational discourse -- focusing on the discourse, thus making it not perverted. Also, has recently begun a career as "Internet hairstylist."
He can be contacted via email and Jabber IM at 'firstname.lastname@example.org'. He likes to be contacted.
(All press inquiries, however, ought be directed towards the author's agent, Alistair Hoel, via email to email@example.com.)