dreadcrumbs

The Ticking Time Bomb of Her Uterus

As my wife is on the brink of spawning new life, I am increasingly given to thoughts of biological horror wonder. That an eight-pound protosentient Thing can gestate inside my wife's abdomen and cause no visible alarm to my mate or anyone in her immediate vicinity is incomprehensible. There is no analog to this freakshow in life. You just don't see that kind of insane biological transmogrification outside of fiction.
Yeah, you don't care. You've seen babies all your life, and waddling fetus farms are nothing new. Still, it's freaky weird. And I want in.
Oh, I know that it's painful and annoying and a general emotional charnel house to be pregnant, not to mention the physical nightmare that is the actual birthing process, but still. Being able to push new life into being from your guts is an amazing super-power. What do I get? Nothing like that. Oh, sure, the super-strength, but I can't like throw cars or anything. Not that even that would compare with spawning baby humans. I'd be happy even spawning, I don't know, baby ferrets or something. It's still life. And probably less unwieldy to carry inside you.
But, alas, in the end, there's the whole absence of an appropriate birthing orifice, and I'm just not willing to repurpose an existing one, so I'm back to square one.
Here's the thing I realized, though, as I sat stripping an inch-long hangnail from my thumb the other day. The skin, at least according to wikipedia, makes up 15% of human body weight, and gets replaced every thirty days. Now, even being conservative, and saying that the only thing that actually gets sloughed off is the outer 1%, I'm still losing nearly three pounds of skin a month. Three pounds! I could have a mass of flesh the size of a respectable baby in two months if I collected it all in a box or a bag or a vat of some kind. Sure, it wouldn't be alive like a traditionally birthed baby is, but it also wouldn't cry much. And if you kept it all simmering in some kind of blood plasma solution to keep it moist and pliable, you leave all sorts of underground scientific options open. I mean, I don't know how to animate dead human tissue, but I'm sure someone out there does. And once I get that figured out, presto! Life will no longer be the exclusive domain of gods and women.
Not that I'd actually make a Skin Baby, though. I mean, I have two kids already (or will, any time now). I'm just saying. I could do it. If I really wanted to.

Microstory Monday

The Infection Farm
The warden is standing outside my cell when I wake up.
"Is it time for more scraping?" I ask, not really wanting to move.
"You're not meeting quota, Jimmy," he says.
"Quota?" I say, sitting up, and a scab I'd forgotten tears loose from my hip.
"We don't publicize it," he says, starting to pace. "We don't want it to be about the numbers, you know?"
"Okay..." I say, a little confused, and the warden throws up his hands. "You're not even trying! Look how clean you are!" he shouts, pointing at me. "Do you think your toilet is flushless because we have a plumbing problem? Of course not! We leave it for you to use on the sores!"
"You do?" I ask.
"Yes!" he says, clearly irritated. "Would you prefer someone else's waste!? Would you prefer to have it forcibly applied!?"
He stops, and then starts fluttering a hand at me, and I realize he's expecting a response.
"No," I say. "I guess not."
"I didn't think so!" he shouts, and then takes a deep breath.
"Look. Jim. I'm trying to help you," he says. "See what you can do to increase production. When they come in to squeeze you next week, I want to see at least 5 ounces of pus. You think you can do that? Tell me you can do that."
I look over at the toilet, and then back at the warden.
"I can do that," I say.

Friday Fives

Five Life Lessons I've Learned From Being a Parent

1. Short things are cuter than tall things
2. There is no food you can't eat with your hands
3. If wearing the right undergarments, you can comfortably sit in your own waste for up to two hours
4. The majority of all useful conversation can be accomplished with grunts and gestures
5. All parents want to eat their kids, whether they admit it or not

Microstory Monday

The Tooth Lotus
The nearest nursery worker is idly misting some sort of ivy when I approach.
"Excuse me," I say, showing him the little plant I've picked out for my Mother. "How much light does this need, do you know?"
His eyes narrow as he sees the plant. "No light," he says, and turns back to the ivy.
"No light?" I say, and lift the plant up to my eyes. "At all? Is it a moss or something?"
"No light," he says again. "And you will want three to five fresh teeth for the root ball."
"Fresh...what?" I start, confused.
"Teeth," he says, and turns back to me with an expression I don't quite recognize. "And water it with blood from the face. From the face, you understand?"
"Um...no," I say, and lift up the plant again. "Are you sure about this? The tag here says Azalea."
Without asking, he takes the pot from me. He stares at the tag and strokes the leaves.
"Right." he says finally, relaxing. "Azalea."
He hands the plant back. "Sun to partial shade. And keep it out of the wind."

Friday Fives

The five flavor combinations I could go my whole life without ever tasting again

1. Bilious Coke
2. Cardboard Tiramisu
3. Blood and Human Skin
4. Toothpaste and Butter (don't ask)
5. Candied Yam

Microstory Monday

A Moment With The Augmenteer
"I dreamed he tore himself off and tried to kill me," my client says.
Bending over to unfasten the bandage clasps, I shake my head. They always say this.
"It can't tear itself off," I say, unwrapping the graft. "It doesn't have any arms."
"I guess," he mutters. Then, craning his neck to watch me work, "Is he awake?"
"No," I say, but my fingernail scrapes an eyelid, and it snaps open.
"It's okay," I whisper to it, but the screaming starts anyway.
Sighing, I wrap the graft up with gauze, muffling the hoarse cries.
"You'll get used to it," I say. "You both will."

Friday Fives

Top Five Methods I Employ To Shorten Lengthy Meetings

1. With a flurry of bluster and pomp, take control of the meeting, either ending it immediately or embarking on a loud monologue about how much I love Stephen Covey
2. Stand up and take one step to the door each time someone gives an uncomfortable laugh
3. Call the meeting's conference number with my cell phone and repetitively beep S-O-S with the keypad
4. Hiss in disgust at every suggestion anyone, including me, makes
5. Slowly pop the letter keys off my laptop's keyboard and then loudly whisper "Do you want to play scrabble?" to the person seated next to me