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A Definite Pleasure Trip

In my last post, I promised a few stories from last week but I’m going to have to postpone. I must lay out the last few hours history before something else happens tomorrow and I forget what happened yesterday.

So this post has to do mostly with the upkeep of my piping. I’d advise anyone who get squeamish at the sight of a reconstituted hay bale leave this post immediately. You’ve been warned.

At the get-go, I think I better substitute a few words for some other few words as I do not want to make anyone uncomfortable.

Actual Word Used              Politically Correct Term
Co****scopy   –                      Pleasure Trip (PT for short)
C**p         –                              Shinola
Co****scopy Doc  –               Travel Agent

I took a Pleasure Trip 11 years ago in Kennewick. It had a few memorable moments but I’ve probably shared them previously. Since cancer had reared it’s ugly head in our family lately and a guy at church said he’s never going on a Pleasure Trip himself, I thought I would relay my experience so everyone gets reminded to do these things from time to time.

It would be a bummer to have to check out of this earth life just because you didn’t want to go on a Pleasure Trip and get checked out once in a while. I turned out fine and am planning my next PT for June of 2028. It’s reassuring (pun not intended) to know you’re ok, at least in that neck of the woods.

After rescheduling my PT three different times, I figured I better just dive in and enjoy the view as it passed by.

Back in the day on my first trip, I didn’t eat one day and did the tripping the next. It was simple and no big deal. This time around, it’s a five-day prep and so involved I think the government must be pulling the strings now.

So I skipped all the prelim checklists and joined the program the night before the day of fast. I had noticed all the things I couldn’t eat but that night as I complained about the oncoming fast, my wife said she thought it would be ok if I ate a little honeydew melon. Being hungry and with Michele Ok’ing it, I ate a honeydew melon even though it wasn’t little.

Immediately after, I looked at the PT menu and saw where it said specifically not to eat any raw fruit or vegetables. I got a little concerned as I didn’t want to let the Travel Agent down since I had already rescheduled three times. These PT’s are not all that cheap and I couldn’t afford to pay for a cancelled trip if my output wasn’t clear. I hope I’m not losing you.

I reminded my wife that once in a while she is wrong and this was one of those times.

The next day I fasted and then started chugging 50% of the dreaded solution beginning at six o’clock that night. Not much happened in the porcelain wastebasket. I began to fear my wife’s advice was leading down the road to PT failure. My Titantic was sinking and my smokestack plugged. I set my alarm for 3:30 am but didn’t get to sleep until 1:00 because of the worry. At 2:30 am I woke up from a nightmare.

I dreamt that Curt Didier (a local guy of large stature in the community) and I were preparing for a PT together. Just as we were headed out the door for our joint PT appointment, I mentioned I was hungry. Curt said “Here, let’s grab some of those Sugar Frosted Flakes. I’m pretty sure those are OK for a PT.”

I wasn’t so sure but since Curt is a big guy and I’d hate to get cross ways with him, I asked where the cereal was kept. We grabbed a box and after stuffing a few handfuls down our throat, we….

That’s when I woke up. I couldn’t sleep so I got up and Googled what happens if you eat the forbidden fruit or Frosted Flakes before a PT. There was no good news on Google. I found out 25% of all PT’s get cancelled because people don’t prepare correctly. Stuff like honeydew melons and Sugar Frosted Flakes.

They end up paying thousands for the cancelled appointment, get totally depressed because of all the wasted angst and starvation they’ve endured and are left to begin the process all over again.

I began sweating. By then it was time to start chugging the rest of the solution. It wasn’t that bad. Kinda like any bad habit. You get used to it.

My problem was once I got a little action going, it remained in it’s normal everyday state. What I was shooting for by the end of the prelims was pristine, clear, mountain spring water. You know, something I wouldn’t mind drinking if you threw in a little ice.

But all I was getting was similar to Iowa Beef fertilizer or Ringold Clay, the mud we changed sprinklers in when we were kids. It was not looking promising. I had chugged a gallon of ClearYourPipes and another half gallon of water earlier that eve with no change.

I knew there was some pipe-cleaner still in the system but I only had a half-hour left before I couldn’t drink anything. The PT was in 3 1/2 hours. I was in trouble. It was 4:30 in the morning and I did the only thing I could think of that would help.

I woke Michele up.

I informed her that her honeydew advice had sunk my ship. She wasn’t all that delighted to have been roused from her slumber. I reminded her that ever since Adam and Eve, women have been giving men fruit to eat that often creates all kinds of trouble.

Here’s the jist of our conversation…

Michele: “So you think just that honeydew caused your problem and you woke me up to tell me that?”

Ben: “Yes.”

Michele: “Your problem is all that other Shinola you ate.”

Ben: “You’re so full of Shinola.”

Michele: “No, you are.”

We both paused, examining what had just been said. Then, we both laughed.

She went back to bed. I went back to Google. Nowhere did it have an answer for one such as I. So I invented a solution. I chugged another gallon of very cold water down in 30 minutes.

This last action saved my bacon. By the time we rolled toward the PT at 7:30, I was almost to the pristine mountain stream stage.

I grabbed a bucket as I went out the door. I figured with the behind-the-bushes call I was getting every three minutes, that bucket would be filled to the brim before the Kennewick city limits were crossed.

We didn’t stop once. By the time we arrived at the PT office, a mountain spring geyser was preparing to erupt. I had to sprint for the door. I ran up to the desk and asked the lady “Say, you guys wouldn’t happen to have a restroom in this facility, would you?”

She laughed and pointed. I didn’t laugh but ran directly to where her finger was pointed.

Once I got there, I saw that they had restrooms all over. I guess it’s a necessity in PT offices. In fact, they looked like they were severely overused. Because of the visible usage, as high as my liquid pressure had risen, I still had to prolong the agony for a couple of minutes while I did some deep cleaning of the porcelain Lazy Boy.

By the time I had seated myself, it felt like I was in heaven. And the mountain spring stream was still gurgling down, just like I had hoped and drank for.

When I finally got back out to the waiting room, Michele had checked me in and taken a seat. I sat down next to her in a padded chair that felt very unique. It was soft around the outside but there was no support in the middle. Very similar to a toilet. Very appropriate.

Much later, Michele took this snapshot while I was under the influence.










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