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Michael Jackson loves cooked pork

July 6, 2009

Edit: I tried to get this story finished by the last TMI Thursday, but I wanted to post it now rather than waiting because it has been far, far too long. My fans, all 3 of you, must be so very disappointed. I also used MJ’s name in the title to get traffic. I’m a whore, what can I say?

This epic tale is going to gross many of you out, and for that I apologize. But, much like my missing testicle story, this tale tackles a profoundly serious medical condition that, if left untreated or unexplored, could lead to devastating medical problems. Maybe. I’m no doctor, but all I can tell you is this hurt like a bitch and it would have hurt more had I not sorted the shit out.

Flash back a little bit.

I’m around 15 years old, and my big toes began to hurt.

At first it wasn’t a huge deal; there was a little bit of pain now and again from my feet, and when I stubbed my toe I endured such agony that I seriously considered biting my toes off.

As time went on, the pain grew. When I tried to put my socks on, it hurt. The time came for me to get new shoes. Rather than get my toes checked out by the doctor first, I decided to get the shoes first and see the doctor later.

Because putting shoes on hurt my toes, I ended up buying a pair of luminous metallic purple/green Nike basketball shoes, four sizes too big, which, in the words of my friends, looked like killer whales on my feet.

They were right.

Now, I haven’t told you what my toes looked like when the socks and killer whale shoes were removed. The toes were red, and swollen. The nails were yellow. And the nail beds… oh! The nail beds. Gross. Orange/yellow congealed pus flecked with dried blood. And it smelled.

It was disgusting.

The time came when I could no longer endure the pain (or the sight or the smell) and went to the doctor.

The doc checked me out and, thanks to his eight years of schooling and countless hours of real work, determined that I had ingrown toenails. On both of my feet.

Now, I know I’m not a trained medical professional, but I would assume that the best way to get rid of ingrown toenails would be to chop them out. With a scalpel. Apparently the doctor had other ideas.

He decided to burn them out of my foot.

You heard right. Burn. Foot. Out of.

Looking back, I’m not surprised that I had reservations about this… treatment method. But at the time I assumed that doctors knew everything. After all, countless years of medical school must count for something, right?

They decided to use local anesthetic on me, which sounded fantastic until I realized it meant they would have to inject the anesthesia into the delicate inflamed decaying flesh around my toenails with gigantic fucking needles. Five times. Per toe.

Once I’d stopped convulsing from the pain, the procedure started. Some kind of miniature blowtorch was used to literally burn the nail out of my foot, as well as burn off the surrounding infected flesh.

It didn’t hurt. Not one bit. I felt a little bit of warmth around my toes from the flamethrower burning my flesh, but no pain.

I sat back as the procedure took place, and pretty soon I began daydreaming about pork. And the more I thought about it, the more I yearned for a pulled pork sandwich, or a pork chop, or even bacon. I even imagined I could smell pork being cooked.

I opened my eyes, sat up, and realized I could smell pork.

It was coming from my toes.

The smell of my own cooked flesh was literally making my mouth water. As disgusting as it was, I couldn’t stop. I was starving. If I wasn’t so inflexible I may very well have bent down and taken a bit of a nibble. I’m sure it was cooked well enough.

Sadly I couldn’t end the story at that point. Ultimately, the burning method didn’t work, so I went back and had them cut out, and have experienced no problems since.

But I still love the smell of cooked pork.

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