The Stoma chronicles

She's back once again, our stoma trendsetter...Dear Flabby.

 

Dearest Flabby,

I'm hoping you can help. I have such a dilemma. My stoma refuses to go to sleep unless I sing it a lullaby. Kumquat, my stoma, said if I don't do it.... she will "kick out the juice" all night long. Well, in order to get some shut-eye, I gaily sang "rock-a-bye baby." When I finished, Kumquat sputtered "not good enough." I replied "listen here little lady, I'm in charge here." Then she said "get ready for the kickin'" and began gurgling.. I hastily said WAIT! I then sang her "old man river." But Flabby, she still was unsatisfied. I need some sleep. Oh Flabby, whatever shall I do?

Winette Nuttal

 

Dear Wingnut,

Tell your little prissy one to hush up. Momma's gonna sing you a new tune, like this one: Ya better watch out, ya better not cry, you better not spout, I'm telling you why: Mr. Urologist is coming to town. You're gonna get a colonoscopy, a tube right down your kisser, then you'll pout and think twice, before you're naughty and not nice.

Fixing bad stomas, one reader at a time. Always chic, never shabby... I'm your Flabby

 

Flabby is on vacation this week, her sister Flabbygale takes the reins....

Salutations Flabbygale,

I've recently returned home from the hospital; had a procedure performed called a "Barbie Butt." I'll spare you the details. This morning, as I was changing my wafer, I carefully broke the news to Carbine, my stoma. She blurted out "Blank Tookis." I was taken aback. She mumbled again "Blank Tookis!" Then spouted out "Yer bum ain't no Barbie Butt." I consider myself a modern gal, but I was shocked. I have no idea what a tookis is. I cut the wafer hole extra tight as punishment. Oh Flabbygale, whatever shall I do?

Stephanie Mudda

Hey Stick in the mud,

I ain't like my cutesy little sister. No. I tells it like it is. Tookis, also known as: Arse, Ass, Bum, rear, "down there" and my fav..... Sweet cheeks. Tell Carbine if she behaves, you'll get her a Ken doll.

Your hostess with the mostess,

Flabbygale

Our online counselor to the stoma challenged... Flabby is back for more.

 

Madam Flabby,

I am a prim and proper lady. I eat healthy, drink healthy. I consider myself a paragon of virtue. A role model for the faceless masses I encounter on my forays into society. So why, you may ask, am I writing to a mass market "lifestyle pundit" such as you purport to be? In short, my demanding stoma is driving me crazy! Ms. F... it's intolerable. I eat only healthy food. Open my double-wide fridge and you'll find items like tofu, bean sprouts, fruits, vegetables, pH-stable water. What you'll never see is... desserts, pastries, candy, ghastly soda, and the rest of their unhealthy ilk! Lately, softly at first, my stoma "Prissy" has complained about my strict diet. Now... the gloves are off. She gripes about string beans, eggplant, broccoli sandwiches... in fact, she spouted up and shouted at me yesterday. Said she hated health food. Said someone like me who eats properly... is only dying a little slower than common folk enjoying junk food. I said, "Prissy, get ahold of yourself. Regain your composure for goodness' sake." Oh, but the abuse continued. She called me a prude, said I was ugly, and my momma dresses me funny. Then said, "If she doesn't get some chocolate and ice cream soon, she's going to prolapse, swell up and pout, until I partake in some Dairy Queen"... Oh Flabby, whatever shall I do?

Respectfully yours, Pinella Hedacourt.

 

Dear Pinhead,

We could be twins. Though I'd be the evil twin. I'm into junk food big time. Big Mac, fries, and a Coke or chocolate shake... Whammy mammy... I'm there. I once binged and pigged out on Snickers, Butterfingers, and Reese's cups. It took me 2 days to recover. My roommate found me passed out face-first in the Halloween candy bowl. But enough about your lil' evil twinnie. Next time Prissy gets pissy... sprinkle some sugar on her. She'll shrivel up like a prune left in the sun. She wanted a little sweet sugar... give it to her. Gotta go, GrubHub's at the front door with chicken wings and pizza.

God bless elastic,

Flabby

 

Coming soon, just in time for Halloween: a sordid recital of madness run amok in a secret laboratory. Hidden high in the mountains of Transylvania, a creature stirs to life. A creature known as: Frankenstoma.

Scene one: The brain

Our story begins as they always do, with a mad scientist toiling away in a dungeon laboratory. His hunchbacked assistant, Igor, is at his side, sewing on arms and legs while humming a pleasant tune. Dr. Frankenstein interrupts, "Igor, did you steal the brain from the morgue?" Irritated, Igor ignores the good doctor and just points to a corner of the lab, where a brown paper bag lies, oozing blood. "Atta boy!" Dr. F shouts. "I had a 'hunch' you were successful." Igor groans and shakes his head.

Scene Two: Igor's Revenge.

Unamused by Dr. F's miserable attempt at "dungeon humor," Igor plots revenge. Finishing the last stitch on a tendon, he turns and bellows: "Shall I be 'frank' with you, Dr. Frankenstein?" "What!" A startled, proud Dr. Frankenstein yells. "What the hell did you say? And what is this 'Frankenfurter'?" Laughing like a wounded hyena, Igor retreats to the water closet... for a victory smoke.

Scene 3: Some assembly required.

Muttering to himself, Dr. F pulls out the moldy blueprints left to him by his late father. The writing is faded, pages torn and crinkled. "Igor... Igor... IGOR!" he shouts. "Get out of the can for God's sake. I need a fresh set of eyes to look at these." Ever the faithful assistant, Igor puts away his cell phone, flushes his cigarette down, and trundles back to the lab. Following Dr. F's instruction, Igor delivers to his master... still glistening from the morgue, a fresh set of eyeballs. IGOR!

Scene four: The lab comes alive.

After examining the ancient blueprints, Dr. F decides it's time. Time to fire up his creation. His baby. Because he himself holds the key to life itself! Excited, he shouts, "Igor, attach the neutron electrodes." Sparks fly as Igor snaps them in place, one by one. An eerie hum fills the lab. On the slab, the creature glows an eerie pale blue. A raging thunderstorm outside shoots out lightning and rolling thunder. Rain falls like tiny spits of lead. Working fast, Igor retrieves the bloody brain, opens the creature's skull cap, and nudges it in. Turns and gives Dr. F two thumbs up. "Okay, Igor, sprinkle the stoma powder on the tummy. Don't forget to blow off the excess." When finished, Igor flashes an evil crooked smile. The lab buzzes with tension, Dr. F shouts: "Ahhh ha haaaaa! Now Iggy... Turn up the primary voltage 15 points." A giant wheel on the far wall creaks and groans as Igor pulls it downward. "Hurry the hell up, chop chop." Igor stops and glares at Dr. F. "Okay... I got a little carried away." After much grunting and straining, the electron dial hits 15, a spent Igor slumps away. Lightning flashes through the windows as a steady roar of rain tinkles the roof. Dr. Frankenstein steps into the animation chamber. Buttons are pressed, levers are set, dials are twisted. Igor positions himself next to the huge red start button by the emergency exit. "Okay, Igor, this is it. Press... the... Start... Button!" Igor puts a hand on the flashing switch...

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Scene 5: A Hump Too Far.

Igor pushes the button. It doesn't budge. Using both hands, he grunts and swears. But the button remains stuck. "Holy hell," Dr. F shouts. Igor kicks it, but the button remains frozen. "Come on man, put your back into it." Igor stares at Dr. F. Dr. F glares at Igor. "Say... what?" Igor implores. "You mean give it a bump with my hump?" "Yes, give it a hump with your bump." Shaking his head, Igor positions his hump against the button and gives it a mighty push.

Scene 6: Forget something?

Suddenly the button squeaks and cracks, Igor bounces his hump on it. Slowly it slides in with each hump blow. The lab lights dim. Dr. Frankenstein howls with delight. Exhausted, Igor goes to the fridge and gets a Coke. Pulsing lasers beam into the creature's massive forehead. Thunder rattles the windows. Suddenly the creature's fingers begin to wiggle. Then his toes, the eyes open. Dr. F releases the shackles restraining the beast. It rises off the slab. Dr. Frankenstein yells to Igor: "Get your cell phone, start a video!" With shaky hands, Igor starts recording this most unusual scene. The creature turns to Dr. F. Opens his mouth... trying to talk. "Come on boy, you can do it... say something!" Then a tiny voice emanates somewhere deep inside the massive chest. He speaks for the first time. "I gotta go pee!" Igor and Dr. F laugh and both yell: "It's alive....."

Coming out of the water closet, the creature looks perplexed. "What's wrong?" Dr. F asks. "Something's missing, me thinks," the creature stammers. Dr. F shoots a nasty glance at Igor. Who shrugs and says "What could be missing?" "Check the body parts freezer, it should be empty," an exasperated Dr. Frankenstein tells Igor. Turning back to his beast, Dr. F begins taking inventory. Both legs... check. 2 arms... check. Then out of the corner of his eye, he notices Igor tossing something in the air, then catching it. "Igor, what the hell, go check the freezer." "Oh, I did. And I found this." He holds up a body part that looks familiar to Dr. F, but he can't quite think what it is. "Okay, smarty hump... tell me, what is it?" Igor tries not to laugh... it's an anus and rectum... "What!!" Dr. Frankenstein bellows. "You mean... he's got a Ken butt!!"

 

I've had a great time here writing tall tales and occasional random thoughts rattling around in my cluttered head. To me, life is a grand comedy. Once we finally discover who we are, fall in love, settle on a career, save up cash, then hopefully retire... we're old. It sneaks up on us, like a cat stalking a bird. In the end, what has value in our lives? The odds of being born are amazing. Millions of sperm, one egg. It's like winning the lottery.

Live well and have faith.

Just in time for Thanksgiving... our cure for the post feast bloat... Flabby.

Lady Flabby,

Hello.  I've been in a quandary for several months.  All my friends insist I name my stoma.  I have to date; demurred.  I couldn't think of a cutesy name, a snappy title befitting such an important body part, once hidden, now bagged up.  Oh, my pals had all kinds of silly ideas.  But Flabby, I held firm.  Then, as I was eating a bowl of jello.. It struck me like a lightning bolt!  I'll name it after the queen of the witty word.  The master of prose... I'll name it... Flabby.

I do hope you're proud.

Cheerio,

Shitenea Branson

 

Dear Shitforbrains...

How dare you trash my good name.  If I could, I'd grab your little poop popper and give it a twist... and then you'd shout.  I am incensed.  So befuddled, I'm gonna go eat some chocolate and drink a beer.... or 2.  Rename your little mobster... or I'll haunt you.   Flabby indeed !

Got holiday blues?  Gained weight, drank too much?  You've got a lot in common with our scribe to the stoma... Flabby !

Happy holidays Flab,

Oh hon... what ever shall I do?  I just love Christmas.  The food, gifts, desserts, drinks, and especially standing under the Mistletoe for a smooch, or two.  Though one time my neighbor Chester, full of eggnog,  got a little "handsy."  Actually touched my joy bumps!  A swift kick to the nuggs set him packing. 

For a surprise gift this holiday, I shipped a nifty deluxe fruit cake to my grumpy mother in law.  Normally I ignore the bitch.  And what arrives in the post this morning???  The damn fruit cake!  She sent it back!  I was as mad as...a Fruitcake!  My rowdy stoma, Peaches, sputtered and crackled all morning.  My plan:  Repackage the cake in one of my stoma bag boxes, put a full color picture of Peaches on top, send it back via FedX.  My hubby says nooooo, don't do it.  I told him: "You wasn't born, you were hatched by this witch."  He put a hand over his eyes and sulked away...wimp.

Oh Flabby, whatever shall I do?

Adoringly,

Mucala Cutalana

 

Dear Mucus,

Don't be the Fungus among us.  Hold your silly ass head high for goodness sakes.  Your hubby Is a worm.  Ship his spineless fruitcake fanny back to mommy for an extended visit.  Break out the eggnog.  Invite Chester over for a chat.... under the Mistletoe.  Case closed.

Like a chili pepper in a corn patch,

Flabby