Six Crap-Shooting Pallbearers

Some people say to me, "What do you look like when you take your glass eyes out?" Fortunately, I can still see when I take them out because I have a mystical third eye. Since I'm lucky enough to have a mystical third eye, I take my glass eyes out all of the time...




I'm no Manley Pointer, but I can definitely talk a woman out of her prosthesis. My specialty is the glass eye. As you can see, I am incognito; that's how I roll when I'm on the prowl for a glass eye. Where can you get a glass eye? Do they fall from the sky like mana from heaven? You wish. I'll be raptured away before that happens. In the year 1999 I was enterprising enough to acquire two glass eyes from the same head. Give me six crap-shooting paulbearers! With grit, determination, and a vise-like grip on the destiny manifesto, you too can accomplish this remarkable feat. But first, marvel at the splendor of my glass eyes; behold Mr. T contemplating their smooth surface and aesthetically pleasing curvature. He pities the fool without a glass eye:

Providence delivered the eyes to me after an apolcolyptic struggle with their original owner. I inherited them simultaneously, and it was no easy task to secure their safe passage all the way to Chicago. Over the years many have tried to dispossess me of these most treasured prizes, but I refuse to part with them. Especially after what I endured to acquire them.

The original owner, whose name I will not reveal, taunted me with the eyes for several weeks before parting with them. Her initials are S.M., so she will henceforth be known as S&M. I worked in an office with S&M for the duration of approximately one year, and during this time I came to know her habits. For instance, it was a well-known fact that S&M took a massive shit at 10 AM every morning. The stench would curdle cottage cheese, so most of us avoided the restroom at 10 AM. On the day that I had a date with Destiny, I was distracted by an engaging phone call at precisely 9:52 AM (at the same split-second I realized that I had to urinate).

Obviously, I was faced with a dilemma. What to do? Talk on the phone? Rush to the restroom and avoid the odor S&M would leave in her wake? Alas, I was born with the golden gift of animalistic olfactory senses; I couldn't accept the latter. I also couldn't accept the former! Always the diplomat, I compromised; answering the phone, I told the caller I'd call back and hurridly rushed out of my cubicle like a bolt of lightening hurled from the hand of Jove in the heavens. The only thing blocking a safe passage to the restroom was S&M's office. Rounding the corner, target in sight, I knew I would make the restroom before S&M did. Suddenly, my success was thwarted! She stepped out of her office, and intercepting my path with her girth, began to lock the door. She cast a knowing glance in my direction. I accepted that she had foiled me. But wait! Not to be eclipsed, I still had one trick up my sleeve. My plan? I decided to catch up with her, make casual conversation with honeyed tongue, and at the last second overtake her (beating her easily to the restroom where I would hastily deposit my offering at the porcelain alter of the Sewage Gods).

I sensed that success was within my grasp. My plan was working all too well; I cozied up next to her in the hallway and charmed her with a witty tale involving the Red Pig (my arch nemesis who now resides in an alternate dimension and drowns his sorrows in Nyquil on a daily basis). In the midst of my monologue with S&M I must have said something comical, for she cracked her neck whip-like, and on the down-snap I noticed her right eye popped out and swiveled around the inside right-lens of her bifocals! I was absolutely stunned. NO! Mortified. Did my eyes deceive me? Suddenly, she retreated. I was certain I had seen this macabre incident. Puzzled, I stood sheepishly in the hall contemplating my next move. The only alternative was to follow her to the restroom and assess the situation.

As I cracked the door I instantly noticed her ankles, thick as tree stumps, firmly rooted to a spot behind one of the stall doors. "S___," I muttered suspiciously, "Are you okay?" After additional coaxing, she finally retreated from the cocoon-like security of the stall, and into my web of deceit and harassment! She admitted that she had a glass eye, and had been missing work to get fitted for a new eye. I enquired about the entire glass eye making process, and learned a great deal that day. For instance, I learned that glass eyes are hand painted, and a device secures the eye inches from your own to ensure that the color matches yours exactly. I also learned that every few years glass eye wearers must get fitted for a new glass eye (because your head is constantly evolving in shape, like a rotting melon in an abandoned garden it bubbles up here, sinks in there, insects reside in unmentionable places--you know). I learned that she took the eye out at night and wore a patch--like a pirate--because her eye socket became sore. I even learned how she lost her real eye (a graphic secret that I won't reveal because I'm saving this detail as an image for the horror movie that I will write, direct, produce, and star in one inevitable day). The best, and most interesting detail, I saved for last: I even convinced her to remove the eye and show me the eye socket! How many people who are not employed in the medical field can say that for themselves? What's that I hear? A resounding silence! It's not so bad--an empty eye socket. Nothing like you'd imagine; no loose nerve endings or membranous ooze. Just a pinkinsh sort of crinkly skin. I didn't even have a nightmare after gazing upon the chasm, so it was somewhat anticlimactic.

To make up for it, I decided to ask her for her spare eye--the one that popped out in my presence. Besides, what could it hurt? She was getting a new one. At first she refused, and called me a "pervert," but I couldn't take "no" for an answer. I had glass eye fever. Every day after that I sent her an e-mail attachment with an eye. I sleazed by her office, and asked her to reconsider. I bought her chocolates and crossword puzzle books. I resorted to many unsavory tactics, but finally, one day she gave me not one glass eye, but two! My endeavor paid off. The second glass eye was very old, and she said that it had been sitting in a peatree dish on a windowsill by her kitchen sink for "decades." It's very faded, and has the charm of the Crypt Master, but I really enjoy its company. If you want to have a staring contest with it feel free:

I'd really like to tell you how she lost her eye, but some secrets must remain silent. However, I am not opposed to giving hints, misleading or otherwise. So. A cautionary word to the wise: If you're a patriot, like me, you love the smell of gunpowder on the 4th of July! But watch out for bottle rockets, you could lose and eye or a finger. But remember, if you lose an eye, you might prefer a glass eye replacement to a gaping socket. It's a magnificent alternative; you can freeze it in an ice cube, and put it in a guest's drink (if you're feeling prankish). You can scare little kids too.