Mr. Pansy Chainsaw Massacre Story No. 1

It all started a long, long time ago:

Mr. Pansy was clearing out the "cactus patch" in our backyard so the growing children (even though we only had one at the time) would not be impaled and killed while playing. He is out there in the heat of summer in just sandals, short shorts (he was the Last Man On Earth to finally break down and get longer, more stylin' Thug Shorts), sunglasses and his Trusty Chainsaw. Oh, and the ubiquitous can o' beer. He's been working all afternoon and it is coming up on dusk. One last plant to go. He lays into a Century Plant cactus that is ginormous: 8 foot long "tendrils" or whatever the "leaves" are called---and by the time he is done he is slathered from head to toe in cactus pulp and juice on his full frontal and the front half of both "sides". His shorts and sandals are totally soaked through and through. He's done, starts to clean and pack up the chainsaw when he bursts into flame. Not in Real Flames, but in the "my skin is on fire" sense. He runs to the shower and is in there running water full blast on Total Cold and sorta begins screaming. In a manly way, naturally. All of his cactussed skin is ablaze: red and welting up. I call the doctor and explain what little I can about what is up with the screaming man the doctor can hear in the background. Doctor says he'll meet us at the hospital ER.

Off I drive, with a screaming male passenger. I can just imagine how well that scenario would have gone over with the witnesses if our roles had been reversed. I would just dopily smile and shrug my shoulders at the people who were nearby at traffic lights and stop signs. Eventually, I just started running the red lights and stop signs. We get to the hospital and the doctor says that luckily he had just received his latest issue of Sunset magazine. It contained an article about Century Plants. Turns out they are the Most Evil Cousin Ever in the aloe vera plant family. But I am a bit worried about having a doctor who uses fluff home and garden magazines for his continuing medical training. Mr. Pansy essentially had second and third degree chemical burns! He is hosed off with some kind of solution....which the bonus there is now he knows what it feels like to be a street demonstrator being subdued by fire hoses. PLUS, just "to be sure" the doctors/nurses/sadists "treated" his cavities as well with said solution so now he also kinda knows what it feels like to be someone's Jailhouse Bitch.

And finally we are sent home with powdered solution which I am to make into a paste and apply to his burns, including... thankyouverymuchgodwhyme...his "cavities". Penile and rectal. Seriously. I am to apply this paste, let it dry, then rinse it off with ice cold water. I was told to buy ice to make an ice bath for him to help relieve the pain. And then immediately put a new batch of paste on him, let it dry, etc. etc. We drive home, with a stop at the store for ALL the ice in their machine. OH, yeh. And Mr. Pansy is just barely a few decibels below screaming at this point. Because they gave him some Giant Ass (in the ass) Mega Dose Shot of DOPE. Now, just exactly why I was not given same said dope, too, is still quite the sore point for me.

This paste on/paste off routine goes on around the clock for 2 days and 2 nights. He stopped screaming somewhere about halfway through this timeframe. Of course, then we get to do ointments after those first 2 days and finally he gets to go back to work about Day 4. Then his skin starts peeling off. We are talking Alligator Swamp Monster Man. So, be careful about those Century Plants. Seriously.

There are several Mr. Pansy Chainsaw Massacre stories. They always involve sandals, short shorts, sunglasses, dusk, and the ubiquitous can o' beer. He is a near-death riotous source of Pansy Amusement.

If you think he owes me one on this event you would be wrong. Someday I shall tell you his hemorrhoid surgery story. I am sorry if it seems that all Mr. Pansy stories involve his orifices and pain. What can I say? He's just clumsy and slow and I think he gives up and lets "the man" catch him---leaving me to pick up the pieces. Make sure you marry a woman who can rough you up when the going gets rough. Cuz science will one day prove that most men are clumsy and slow! How do you think I, Manned up Pansy, caught Mr. Pansy? hahahahahahhaha!