Radioactivity in the house, on the streets, and in your life.

Did I ever tell you about the time I was radioactive? Probably not. Many moons ago I was feeling regularly ill. OK not ill  per se, more like excruciating kryptonite dagger in the gut pain multiple times a day. After numerous sleepless nights and excessive deliberation I headed to…  THE DOCTOR. I found him to be quite entertaining, however completely useless in the remedy of my immediate situation. After a lengthy conversation with various medical professionals it was determined that I most likely needed my gall bladder removed. Bladder’s a funny word, lol, but I digress. But before embarking on such drastic measures I was required to undergo one final test. The evening prior to Thanksgiving, I traveled far and wide (or 8 miles, no I did not see Eminem) to a dreary facility. The stench of industrial cleaners flowed throughout the many laboratories. White coats and latex hands occasionally peered out through the hallways. With the impending holiday so close you could taste the Butter Balls Basting (say that 5 times fast) this place was almost completely vacant. The time had finally come. I was to be injected with a radioactive tracer substance. For the next few hours I would be cocooned and alone surrounded by nothing but the screams of those that died there before me! OK maybe not that but it was really really loud. I mostly slept through it because hey who cares right? It’s just noise, it’s not like zombies or clowns. After this heinous torture I was informed that for the next 24 hours I would be…RADIOACTIVE!!! I couldn’t hold back the excitement! What would my superpowers be? And how would I maximize my 24 hours of superiority? In a flash my excitement and enthusiasm was stripped away as I was informed that I was to have no contact with children or the elderly. That’s it? Not very heroic if you ask me. On a positive note, Thanksgiving was around the corner. How could I use this to my advantage? Now I know what you’re thinking and no I wasn’t planning to poison the elderly or kill bratty kids. But, I could avoid them! No kiddie table for me! HA! And no creepy conversations about keeping the plastic utensils. For one brief moment, I stood back , watched as a spectator, at real life television. And do you know what I learned? I learned that the typical American Thanksgiving is just a shadow cast of any episode of The Walking Dead. jsa-thanksgiving

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