The next time you see me, you must shake my hand and congratulate this self-healing man by buying me a drink, for according to the Ioannis A. Lougaris Veteran’s Medical Center, I’m completely cured of all that ails.
Seeing my new mental health clinic doctor this morning, she informed me that I no longer have severe depression or post-traumatic stress disorder and am not a manic depressive. Further, she asked if I wanted to be weened off the Paxil I have been taking for neigh-on two decades.
Should I pass before you offer me a drink and a clap on the shoulder, remove me to the undertaker, but call the taxidermist to have me proper-stuffed and correctly mounted. Then stick me in a window somewhere along C Street in Virginia City so visiting folks can see an absolute natural wonder, then snap photographs with me and tell the world how an agency with the federal government performed a God-bless-ed miracle in this 21st century.
And don’t forget to put my name in marque lights and make a full-blown tourist attraction and carnival show out of my life. And at night, store me gently in the aged casket that rests within the confines of the Wild West show next to the equally aged Storey County Fire Museum building.
Perhaps there is still time to find a traveling show that needs a supernatural phenomenon that can hang in a cage for several hours a day, earning ten cents a peek, or whatever the going rate is these days for a look-see at a living curiosity. Shoot, I’ll even bring my old clothes, no luggage porters needed.
I’m expecting a marching band, ballad singers, trick rope cowboys, and painted ladies, so get it in gear before my new mental health status gets revoked or they realize the crazies are running the asylum as they also have a man who thinks he’s ‘Miss,’ wanting to be called ‘her’ checking us nutjobs in.
The Old Blog in the Desert 