Jason Fetz was once diagnosed as being terminally ill with some sort of disease that I forget the name of because I don’t really pay much attention. The doctors first noticed the problem when he went in for a physical and to get medicine for his hay fever. The “rash” the “hay fever” caused was itchy and red, Jason Fetz thought it was just another spring time outbreak. Yet it wasn’t another spring time outbreak, and that was the day he found out he was going to die. The doctors tried there best at both diagnosing the problem, and trying to find a cure for the red-puss-filled-short-man (which ironically is the same name most scientific journals called him). So there he sat in his hospital bed, sentenced to his lonely death.
Terminally ill is a problematic use of words, as it doesn’t really inspire any hope in the patient. Jason Fetz was dying, and he knew it. So in a last ditch effort to find a glimmer of light down that dark dark tunnel he embarked upon his final journey.
Down the block from Jefferson hospital is a bar that he loved to go to. The bar was called Woodys (which, dear readers from outside Philadelphia, is a gay bar with a slightly ironic albeit not so clever name). Jason Fetz danced that night harder than he ever danced before, and as he danced he drank, and as he drank a large man approached him. Mashed potato man was a bear. Not an animal of the same name, but a fat hairy man that likes boners and stuff like that. Jason was instantly hooked, and as they climbed into the bathroom stall for some fucked up things that should really not be done in a public place, Jason Fetz felt alive for the first time in a month.
A few weeks later the doctors started to notice a drastic improvement with the now deformed Jason Fetz (he kind of looks like that leprechaun from the hood). Upon further investigation of tests and x-rays they noticed that Jason Fetz had a belly full of something. Mashed potato man stood by the bedside holding his sick lovers hand as they announced the contains of Jasons stomach.
“cum”
“cum?” asked a nurse.
“yes, his stomach is full of so much semen”
They all decided that was really gross.
They later decided that it was still gross but acceptable if Jason Fetz was getting better, and who were they to say what he does. So the doctor wrote him a prescription for bear semen and sent him on his way.
Jason Fetz was never sick again.
If I could figure out how to spell what a throw up noise sounds like right now I would.
I wish Jason Fetz just died anyway.