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May 26, 2001 prostate stories:  four I awoke this morning eyelashes crushed against my lavender-scented satin eyepillow.   I stumbled out of bed and enjoyed a cup of Jesse's Black Community Coffee, a special blend of coffee beans and collards.   After reading the newspaper, I took a long, hot shower.   First, I washed my hair with Green Tea and Garlic shampoo (with vitamin E).   Then I used a Rosemary and Meat Sauce cream rinse (with fresh mozzarella conditioners).   The next step was a briskfacial scrub with Jergen's new Apricot-beurre Blanc Splash (with aloe).   Finally, I washed all over with Oil of Olay's soap made with Dead Sea salt and Caspian Sea sturgeon (with vitamin C).   I dried off with an Egyptian cotton towel once used by Hosni Mubarak.   Thus cleansed, I headed off to a session with my new psychotherapist, Dr. Keller. Dr. Keller is unusual in that he is deaf. He lip-reads, but not too well.   Here is a typical exchange:         Me:   My mother wasn't very maternal.       Dr. K (speaking like a male Marlee Matlin):   Marginal?   How so?       Me:   She was cold and demanding.      Dr. K:   How goddam old was she?      Me:   I had to grow up too fast.      Dr. K:   Nausea can be terrible.   When my therapy session was over, I returned home and watched a little television.   I caught the tail end of an infomercial selling The Rocket Chef chopping device and featuring a British coke-head and his sycophant, Nancy.   What devotion!    I switched over to a college basketball game during which I fell asleep.   I dreamed I was a 6'9" black man with a 4" tall Afro and a 38" vertical leap.   I jumped so high one time I crashed through the gymnasium roof and landed on my bed where I awakened, remote control in one hand, penis in the other.   I should probably tell Dr. Keller about that.

©  2001 by the beastmaster