Listen. I didn’t mind when, at the age of 12, you decided to stop growing beautiful, silken, soft, shiny hair from my head and instead started generating an unruly pile of curly, afro-looking mess that would make Dolemite weep. I didn’t mind that you forgot to grow me breasts during puberty, and grew my torso freakishly long so that I resemble a cross between an emperor penguin and the Pope. All those are superficial problems, and I am more then a facade.
I took it in stride when, despite my having a childhood so wholesome as to make Martha Stuart look like the triple-breasted whore of Eroticon Six, you decided to slack off on the seratonin production, turning me into a pathetic, suicidal mess. Yea, even when you decided that one mental disorder wasn’t enough and caused me to wake up in the middle of the night with panic attacks, I let it slide.
I feed you healthy vegetables, whole grains, and morsels of protein rich goodness. I do not drink, smoke, eat meat, or use drugs, unless prescribed. I jog up stairs thrice a week for you. I take vitamins. I drink water, take no caffeine, and sleep regularly. Somehow, though, you still decided it would be a fun thing for me to get woozy on the subway every morning, forcing me to sit on the floor of the train until the next stop or some nice person offers me their seat. I don’t mind though-- why take drugs when I can just catch the 4 and get light headed?
Today you went too far, my friend. I have never gotten you pregnant, nor ever put you at risk for catching an STD. Why is it, then, that for the past two weeks I’ve experienced the most horrid cramping, burning sensation that I’ve every been privy to? I decided to find out today, when I noticed blood, and learned what I had expected all along-- I have a tumor. Let me say that again in case you didn’t catch it the first time: I, CERCARIA, HAVE A MOTHERFUCKING TUMOR.
You little shit!!! After all I’ve done for you, after all the effort I’ve put into keeping you healthy, you had to go pull a little stunt like this, didn’t you?! I’ve put up with your bullshit for twenty years, and this is how you repay me? Never once have I been mad at you for the chronic fatigue, or the fact that I have random full-body spasms, or that annoying habit of bursting into tears at sporadic intervals throughout the day. I took you to doctors, I put medicine in you, I kept you out of the rain and cold, and this is how you repay me?? Fine. You wanna play like that? I’ll play like that. I ain’t shady. You wanna give me cancer? Fine. I don’t need you. Remember Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? Remember Krang? That’s right, I’m implanting my brain in a bionic suit, and you can go house Jerry Falwell’s brain, for all I care.
You don’t believe me? You just wait. You called down the thunder, and now you got it. You’d better pray those results come back negative. Otherwise, I’m trading you in for a Ferrari.