You Probably Won’t Believe This, but…

Tony Vassilion

Published by Tony Vassilion at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 Tony Vassilion

You Probably Won’t Believe This, but…

Feeling quite poorly, I made an appointment to see the doctor. I told the receptionist that it was an emergency. Upon arriving, I was led to the examination room. After being poked and prodded, then having every orifice on my body examined, the doctor called me to his office to conference. Feeling limp as wet a wash rag, I entered the doctor’s office and took a seat in the chair placed in front of his desk.
“Tony, I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” he began, “but you only have six months to live. You are suffering from a very rare disease, Lack-A-Nookie. It is believed to have originated on the Dark Continent. However, In recent months, it has been diagnosed in several other parts of the world.”
The doctor went on to explain that if I did not receive immediate treatment, which was still in the experimental stages, for my condition, that I would be well advised to get all of my affairs in order.
“Doctor, I would like a second opinion.” I said angrily.
“Okay, you are ugly too.” blurted out the doctor.
Upon leaving the doctor’s office, I was very anxious and depressed. I began to wonder, “Why me?”
I had been taking such good care of myself since I reached middle age. I had quit smoking for almost nine years. I exercised daily and was being very careful with my diet. And hell, I had even put down the alcohol.
This was my state of mind as I entered a local convenience store that had a sign hanging on the front door reading, “American owned.” A Pakistani or Indian gentleman greeted me from behind the counter. And yes, he was a proud American. To prove it, he had his Certificate of Naturalization nicely framed and neatly hung in a prominent place for all to see. I purchased a pack of cigarettes, Marlboro reds of course, and started to cross the street headed for my best old former watering hole: The Paradise Bar and Grill.
I took a seat at the bar and ordered a Budweiser with a double shot of French brandy to back it up. I also asked the barkeep to bring me their specialty…The Paradise burger. It is biggest, juiciest bacon cheeseburger in town. It is served on a French roll with just the right amount of Grey Poupon spread on the inside of each half of the roll. The meal includes chili and cheese French fries.
A quarter of an hour later the bartender placed my order in front of me. He also left a short stack of folded paper napkins beside my plate. These napkins would be needed to wipe off the assorted juices that would inevitably drip from the Paradise burger onto my arm, and that would then flow from my wrist to my elbow if I were not careful. I pulled one of the four greasy strips of bacon from the burger and placed it on the side of my platter. I devoured the cheeseburger so quickly that I began to choke. I washed the rest my meal down with my beer.
I then carefully wrapped the piece of bacon I had saved around a nicely packed cigarette. I lit it up and began to smoke it. I used the method of French inhaling that I had learned as a child to insure the greatest satisfaction. As I lazily smoked my cigarette, I nursed my very fine, and very soothing glass of French brandy…it warmed

me from head to heels. I began to contemplate how very much the French had contributed to Western Civilization. That’s when I decided the hell with it. I hopped off of my bar stool almost tripping as did. I drove straight to the Amtrac station with the help of my GPS, and purchased a one way ticket to the city of New Orleans on the east/west train that was scheduled to make a stop at this station early the next morning. My plan was to explore the famous French Quarter of the city, and to take full advantage of all it had to offer until I either died or ran out of money, whichever came first.
As I was driving home to prepare for the trip to New Orleans, my attention was drawn to the very recently opened Marble Slab Ice Cream shop. I began to crave a banana split. It was as if my car had turned itself into the parking lot of the parlor. I went in and ordered a banana split.
“Would you like crushed nuts?” a kindly, heavyset lady asked from behind the counter.
“About as much as you would like your fingers cut off.” I answered.
I returned to my car and slid a Leonard Cohen CD into the player. I listened to the golden voice and the profound lyrics of Cohen as I sunk comfortably into my seat. I savored every plastic spoonful of my banana split as my thoughts softly shifted to New Orleans.
The train ride was very relaxing. The rhythm of the train riding the rails rocked me to sleep. After traveling several hours, at sometime around noon, the train came to a sudden, screeching, grinding stop and I was awakened. For at least two hours the train did not budge an inch. I became very restless, irritable, and discontent. Along with a small group of other concerned passengers, I headed toward the front of the train determined to find out what was going on. In the club car we encountered and were stopped by four large porters who would not allow us any to go any further. I asked them what the hell was going on.
The largest of the men, who appeared to be the head porter began to speak, “There has been a terrible accident. Earlier today three boys and their dog crossed the tracks going to a local swimming hole. Before they knew it, the dog was running very closely along the side of the tracks excitedly chasing a squirrel. Unfortunately there was a train moving down the line. As with most playful dogs, he was happily wagging his tail while he ran. As the caboose passed by. The dog let go an ear-piercing howl when the steel wheel of the train, and the steel rail of the track made contact simultaneously with the dog's tail. Thankfully the encounter with the train had only nipped off the tip of the dog’s tail.”
The conductor continued the story. “The boys examined the wound, and agreed that the dog was going to be okay. They continued hiking to the swimming hole. However, the further down the path the boys walked, the louder the dog whimpered and complained. He was constantly looking back in the direction of the tracks. The three boys determined that the dog wanted to go back and look for the part of his tail that he had lost. They also concluded they would never have any peace until they did, so they turned around bound for the site of the dog’s unfortunate mishap. The boys were looking in an area very close to the tracks as our train sped by. The train hit two of the

boys in the asses, and the dog was decapitated.”
I heard a voice pipe up from one someone behind me. I turned around, and I’ll be damned if it wasn’t the doctor I had been to just the day before.
“You mean rectum, don’t you?” corrected the doctor addressing the porter condescendingly.
“Wrecked 'em hell” Answered the porter, “It killed both the of them!”
We went back to our seats. About a half-hour or so later, I saw two uniformed men as they helped the grief stricken conductor to, and into an awaiting vehicle. As we began to move again, I was still processing what had happened. I came to a very important conclusion several hours later as the train pulled into the New Orleans station: Do not loose your head or your life for the sake of one little piece of tail.
I caught a cab and asked him to recommend a clean, but reasonably priced motel within walking distance of the French Quarters. Twenty minutes later I checked into the Dew Drop Inn. I got directions to the French Quarters from the desk jockey, and the name of the most happening bar and brothel there…Madame Ladue’s Place.
Upon entering the brightly decorated establishment, I was greeted by Madame Ladue herself. I became a little uneasy as I talked to her. She had what appeared to be a glass eye that always looked straight ahead. I found out later that her eye had been poked out by a drunken sailor as she came to the rescue of one her “girls” who was getting roughed up by the sailor. I told the Madame of my medical condition. I explained that it was my desire to experience as many pleasures as possible while still on this earth. Looking very sympathetic, she handed me a menu that listed all of the pleasures available to me at Madame Ladue’s, the finest brothel in all of New Orleans. I had traveled much in my life, therefore many of the various activities and positions listed on the menu seemed fairly normal, some even mundane. My attention suddenly focused on a menu item listed under the section labeled House Specialties. There were two words, “Hurricane Gussie.” I had to know who, or what a “Hurricane Gussie” was. I informed Madame Ladue of my choice. She led me to a room pointed to the bed, and smilingly instructed me to get comfortable. I did.
All of a sudden a large dark, but well proportioned woman busted into the room. She was an exotic Tahitian looking islander. She was wearing a grass skirt, and very little else. She had her hands tucked under her armpits and she was flapping her arms wildly. She fiercely huffed and puffed and then bellowed, “I am Hurricane Gussie, and what you hear are the high winds that always accompany a hurricane.”
I became very uneasy when she climbed onto the bed and straddled me. She took a large breast in each of her hands and began slapping me on each side of the head. She loudly shouted, “I am Hurricane Gussie, and what you feel are the coconuts falling off of a tree and hitting you in the head."
She stood over me and walked back and forth the length of the bed. As the woman moved, she began to urinate. With a booming voice she spoke, “I am Hurricane Gussie, and those are the warm tropical rains that always accompany a hurricane.”
Afraid of what would happen next I jumped out of the bed, grabbed my clothes, and headed for the door as Hurricane Gussie cried out, “Where are you going?”

“I’m getting the hell out of here.” I hollered as I opened the door, “Who in the hell can have sex in this kind of weather?”
I passed Madame Ladue as I was leaving. She asked me what had happened, and why I was leaving in such a hurry. I explained that Hurricane Gussie was more than I could handle; I assured her that I would be back.
With a friendly smile, and her glass fixed on my face, she said, “I’ll keep an eye out for you.”
After several weeks of partying like a rock star, I was walking down the street feeling like a leftover ham sandwich. I noticed the letter board outside of the Third, First Baptist Church of New Orleans. Posted on it were a few simple words and an acronym asking the simple question,

“Are you feeling

H-ungry
A-ngry
L-onely and
T-ired?

If so HALT and enter here.
Everyone is welcome!”

Embraced by the angelic voices of the singing choir, I drifted in. The church was packed, however there were still seats available on the front row. As the choir finished their hymn I sat down. The preacher began his sermon on living a virtuous life. In the middle of a sentence he stopped and looked towards the back of the church in astonishment as in walked Hurricane Gussie. All the women of the church turned up their noses, and all the men in the church looked down at their feet seemingly to inspect their shoes. Hurricane Gussie walked down the center aisle timidly, which seemed so out of character from the wild woman I had met several weeks earlier, to the only available spot in the church. She took the seat next to me on the front row. Nervously she tugged at the bottom hem of her dress as she noticed that the dress had risen too far above her knees when she sat and crossed her legs.
The preacher resumed his sermon. He seemed to be somewhat flustered as he addressed the congregation, making sure that his eyes did not linger long on Hurricane Gussie. However indicative it was that the preacher was uncomfortable and in an anxious state of mind soon became evident as he concluded his sermon. The preacher making gestures toward the front row where Hurricane Gussie and I were seated exclaimed, “And you sinners, you know who you are, Saint Finger has got his Peter pointed right at you as I speak!”
When the service was over no one wasted any time leaving the church campus.
As a result of my visit to the church and the stirring sermon delivered by the preacher, I decided it was time for me to make amends and to accept the lord. So the very next

day, I finally went to that other doctor to get that second opinion. After being poked and prodded, then having every orifice on my body examined, the doctor called me to his office to conference. Felling limp as a wet wash rag, I entered his office and took seat in the chair placed in front of the doctors desk
“I have some good news and some bad news. Which do you want first?” asked the doctor
“The good news” I said.
“Well the good news is because you took immediate action for your condition, you are cured of the Lack-A- Nookie disease.
“Then what’s the bad news?” I asked.
“The Bad news is that you are still ugly, and there is still no cure for that.”
I was elated. I floated out of the doctor’s office on what seemed to be a pink cloud. With thoughts spinning around in my head, I was excitedly making plans for the rest of my life… then it happened. I was not paying attention to where I was walking, and I stepped out in front of a bus. The last thing I could remember was seeing the look of horror on the face of the bus driver. I knew that face; it was the conductor of the train I had traveled on to New Orleans.
Three days later, I woke up on a hospital bed with all kinds of tubes and monitor wires connected to every part of my body. My legs were itching terribly. I asked the nurse to put some lotion on my legs to relieve the itching. She looked at me very sadly, and with tears in her eyes she told me that I had lost both of my legs in the accident. The itching was not unusual. She explained that it was a phantom itch that an amputee sometimes feels that originates in the brain. She said it would soon pass.
The first visitor I had after regaining consciousness was a lawyer. Oddly enough everyone seemed to know him, and he appeared to know everyone; he even addressed the orderly by name. The lawyer informed me that I had a strong case against the bus line company. It seems that the conductor/bus driver had been dismissed from Amtrac for an act of negligence, sleeping behind the throttle, which resulted in the two boys being killed, and the dog losing his head. I was also told that the train conductor/bus driver had to take a routine drug and alcohol test that is required within twenty hours from any employee involved in an accident while working. The conductor/bus driver tested positive for alcohol.
A court date was set for several months after I was released from the hospital. The lawyer felt very confident about the possibility of a huge settlement. On the first day of the litigation, my lawyer rolled me into the courtroom in my wheel chair. The trial went on for two weeks during which time my lawyer expertly laid out our case. Through the course of the trial, I had begun to come to terms with my tragedy. I had seen an orthopedic specialist who showed me the latest prosthetics. He told me that after therapy and training that I would be able to walk again.
The day had finally come when the judge was to render his decision. Emotions were running high. My lawyer had been working harder than a cat trying to cover poop on a tin roof to win this case. We were so sure that the judgment would be ruled in our favor that we turned down an out of court settlement for three million dollars.

The judge entered the court room and began, “After much careful deliberation, I have decided to rule in favor of the defendant. It is quite obvious that the plaintiff does not have a leg to stand on.”
My lawyer and I were devastated.
Many months have passed since my very last not so excellent adventure. Here I sit, pen in hand, quietly reflecting on the series of unfortunate events that had befallen me. I began considering the extent of my responsibility for the consequences of my seemingly cursed life. I had lost touch with my lawyer after several appeals to overturn the initial judgement were unsuccessful. Recently a friend told me that the lawyer had gone stark, raving mad as a result of our case. He was last seen running naked through the produce section of a local Publix supermarket. The conductor/bus driver counter sued and was awarded damages by the court. His portion of the settlement, after all of his lawyer fees, was just enough for him, and two friends, Mohammed and Saheed, to enroll in a well known flight school in south Florida. And what about me you ask. I had a complete emotional breakdown was admitted to a rehabilitation center to recover.
It is great here at the rehab. The food is super, and there is even a person who is responsible for planning and organizing group activities. I have made many new friends; here comes one now.
“Hey Vince, what’s going on?”
“Not much. Some of the guys and I are putting together a soft ball game. Would you like to join us?”
“Sure! Let me go and get my new glove. I have been waiting a long time for a chance to use my Barry Bonds limited edition baseball glove, and my chance has finally come."
“That’s not necessary. You will not need it. We were hoping to use you as third base.”