Lima Bean Update

Last night I faced a terrible temptation. The lima bean size zit festering on my upper, left thigh would not stop talking to me. While braising spare ribs and making garlic-tomato soup, I would feel the lima bean noodle-maker rub up against my right thigh. Yes, the zit has adopted the old Iron Kids Bread song that played constantly at the end of TV commericals in the 90s, "Strong and growwwwwing." Between searing ribs, simmering whole tomatoes in beef broth, mincing garlic, and sauteeing mushrooms, a deep, satanic voice would scream, SQUEEEEEEZE ME.

I watched the tomatoes leaking their clear juices out into the brown broth. I stared at a toe of garlic the same size of the noodle-maker growing on my leg, SQUEEEEEEZE ME, as if that giant flower from the Little Shop of Horrors has set-up shop on my upper thigh.

I resisted for a total of five minutes. The clamorous SQUEEEEEZE ME convinced me to drop my pants right there in my kitched depsite the potential dangers that can become of a bare, defensless penis in the company of a simmering sautee pan and cast iron stock pot.

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEZE MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

The wee head of the lima bean of some five hours before had now developed into a whitehead the size of a match head. That white head centered in directly in the middle of all that interior puss looked like the eye of a hurricane. No. It was the eye of a hurricane. Staring down at the zit I felt like inside the zit there was a party going on, a party I wasn't invited to until the voice came again and again and intensified the more my pants stayed around my knees.

I squeeze that fucker as if making hommade lemonade. Only a trickle of puss emerged and a sense of guilt and feeling like a dipshit remained inside the now redding lima bean. I knew I'd provoked a beast.