- Have you been diagnosed with cancer, heart problems, diabetes or any other serious medical conditions?
- Has modern medicine failed you?
- Do you have negative reactions to the treatments or drugs given you?
The possibility of an alien laying its larva in my abdomen was what concerned me the most. I had just re-watched the first Alien movie and I was all too aware of the kind of damage these creatures could cause, which is why I had yet to see the doctor. If I checked myself into a hospital, and the surgeon opened me up to have a look, the alien could very well leap from my belly and kill everyone in the operating room. I could not live with myself knowing I had been the cause of such carnage.
Maybe this psychic surgeon was exactly who I needed. Perhaps she could use her skills to lull the alien into a state of hypnosis, before ripping it from my stomach and flushing it down the toilet. Psychics have all sorts of incredible powers, much like a superhero without the cool costume or inspiring personality.
So, I decided not to do the responsible thing by seeing a doctor, but instead, seek out this Ima Fulosheet, in the hopes she could rid me of the evil lurking behind my bellybutton.
She was a little difficult to find since her office was located inside an unused dumpster out behind the Burger King. Considering it's location you would presume it was a dump (no pun intended), but it was quite the opposite. The walls were beautifully decorated with discarded hamburger wrappers, and wet cardboard. There was an intricate mosaic made from sandwich pickles, covering the entire floor, which was without a doubt beautiful, but the pickles squished beneath your feet as you walked, and gave off a foul smell, reminiscent of rotting pickles in a dumpster.
After a brief conversation about my swollen belly and where it hurt most, she lay me down on a stack of moist newspapers arranged in the shape of a table, then ask that I remove my shirt.
Once I was comfortable, she began to wash my stomach with cotton balls and a bedpan full of water (at least I hope it was water). Ima explained that she would be penetrating my flesh using only her hands, I would see blood, but feel no pain, I would see weird things removed, but they were not chicken parts, and when everything was over, there would be no incision marks or bruising of any kind.
Ima Fulosheet then did something a little suspicious. In a display of shock and horror, she pointed toward the opposite side of the dumpster and shouted, "Oh my god, what the hell is that thing over there, you should look at?" Turning to look, I saw nothing in the direction she pointed, however, out of the corner of my eye I could see Ima reaching into her bra and pulling out several packets of ketchup, which she then palmed.
When I commented on the empty dumpster, she waved me off saying, "Sorry, I thought I saw a Bigfoot," which I believed about as much as Deepak Chopra's explanation of quantum physics.
I decided to ignore her slight of hand and give her the benefit of the doubt, who knows, maybe ketchup packets are used to increase the psychic energy in the room, or some shit like that.
Ima placed her hands on my belly and began to rub them around. She pushed just below the bellybutton several times then stopped in what seemed like frustration. Again she pushed an rubbed, and again she stopped in frustration. This happened once more before she made the proclamation that she needed to listen to my stomach in order to hear where the problem was.
With my neck craned, I watched as Ima lowered her head to her cupped hands resting on my belly. It looked as if she placed the corner of something she was hiding, into her mouth, and began to tear at it with her teeth. I saw a little squirt of red liquid spurt from whatever it was she was holding, then watched as she stood up (red liquid on her cheek) and announce she now knew what the trouble was.
Continuing once more, she began pushing on my stomach. This time blood (?) could be seen dripping down my sides as she penetrated the flesh. After several seconds of rooting around inside me, Ima pulled out what looked like a chicken nugget, followed quickly by a bendy straw, still in it's wrapping.
With a frightening shriek she yelled to the heavens, "Praise Jesus, I have cured this man! I have removed the tumors within!" Then she dipped the chicken nugget into the blood filling my bellybutton, and proceeded to eat.
When it was all over I paid Ima Fulosheet her hundred and forty-five dollars, and went home feeling exactly the same way I did before meeting her.
Three hours later I let loose enough gas to fill a zeppelin, which caused my belly to deflate and my pain to vanish. So, I guess I should thank Ima. Had she not removed the chicken nugget and bendy straw, I could still be full of gas to this day.
It has been suggested to me by more than one person, that my problem was nothing more than gas to begin with, and that Ima Fulosheet was merely a con artist living in a dumpster.
Although this makes more sense than someone pulling an undigested, fully breaded, piece of processed meat, out of my abdomen, admitting it would be like calling myself a fool, and there are enough people doing that as it is. So, I have decided to remain squarely in the realm of denial, along with the ghost hunters, homeopaths, and people who believe their vote counts.
UPDATE: Last night Ima Fulosheet was killed when a flea infested couch was tossed into her office as she slept. Services will be held next week near the busted refrigerator behind Costco.