…finally fell off. The toenail from my left big toe turned black after I shakily descended Mt. Washington in crampons. Apparently there had been some friction. For more than a month its been black. I did my best not to talk or blog about it; didn’t want people grossed out. I did tell my Uncle Johnny. This is the man who talked me out of fear of public urination (“walk into the bathroom like you own the place, pee directly into the center of the urinal / toilet, make as much noise as possible”) and is a life coach to me. He suggested I keep quiet about the black toenail. Uncle Johnny said that if I went to the emergency room they would pry it off prematurely, and that would hurt like hell. I have been waiting and waiting. Last night, while typing an email to my friend Austin, I rubbed my feet together and it fell off. Roly Poly’s interest was piqued by the dead thing. With my big nude toe bleeding on the floor, I launched into a half hour long photo shoot with the black toenail, feeling a little like Ed Gein. I am almost ashamed to say I have yet to throw it out.
While I have been eating, sleeping and going to the bathroom, my computer has been organizing all the people from my photos into a 9,733 (and counting) face mosaic.
3rarm! Most gnarly post! This post is the goodest bad, or the badest good. Me and the Rolls Royce of Cats congratulate you on your most feral grossness. Don’t let him or the turtle that backs up your universe eat the nail. Give it a proper burial in the fertile soil of Cambridge.