The Tumours Made Me Interesting Read Online Free PDF Page B

mortified at the spectacle, whereas Jerry was laughing like a pre-recorded sitcom audience.
    “How can they make these people dress like that?” I mumbled.
    “Ha! Just be thankful it ain’t us. There are worse jobs out there than ours, Brucey.”
    When our drinks were finally placed before us, the poor bargirl looked dead inside. Her head popped awkwardly through a hole cut in the tent apex. “Thanks,” I said with genuine warmth, trying to inject some compassion into her day.
    She smiled, took a few steps back, looked around and approached me again. “Hey, buddy, could you do me a favour and scratch my nose? It’s been driving me crazy and I can’t reach.”
    I obliged, scraping my fingernail over the bridge of her nose, feeling good about myself for the first time that day. Knowing my fingernail was collecting her dead skin struck me as intimate.
    “Thanks so much! I’ll hook you up with a free round of shots. Make sure you remind me.”
    I wasn’t going to remind her. It wasn’t my style. I picked up the shot glass and knocked it back. The bourbon slithered down my throat like a fire snake. I scrunched up my face involuntarily before coughing blood all over myself. Jerry burst into laughter, clearly and thankfully not seeing the blood.
    “I’m more of a shandy man,” I joked through sputters.
    “Hey, whatever gets you fucked up, my man!”

    Three equally painful shots later and I could feel my brain changing. I was gently rocking back and forth on my stool and slurring my words – words which were flowing a lot more freely now. 
    “Tell me, Jerry, how the fuck do you manage to be the person you are?”
    “Huh?”
    “I mean, let’s face it, you just do whatever the fuck you want.”
    “That’s the way it oughta be, Brucey. Let me be frank…”
    “But you’re Jerry,” I poorly joked.
    “Nah, seriously, man… you gotta stop thinking shit through so much. I see your face around the office. You always look so fucking tense, like the world’s out to get you.”
    “The world already got me, Jerry,” I burped.
    “That’s bullshit,” he replied, handing me another shot which I instantly threw back. “You’re carrying on like a victim. The world don’t owe you shit, Brucey. At the same time, the world ain’t taking anything from you.”
    I lifted my leg and farted in response, feeling my pants get wet. “Think I got blood in my knickers,” I laughed.
    “You alright, man?” Jerry asked seriously.
    “Just hunky fucking dory.”
    “Be honest… why were you puking this morning. I like you, and that sorta shit melvins my buzz.”
    “Dunno! Guess it was the cancer or something.”
    He fell silent and, even in my increasingly inebriated state, I could sense the discomfort I’d caused. Neither of us knew what to say. I think Jerry was trying to ascertain the validity of my claim by throwing back a couple more shots in quick succession. He glanced back at my wobbling body, paying close attention to my shirt. “Shit, is that blood on your shirt?”
    I nodded playfully while trying to guide another shot toward my gaping maw. Most of it trickled down my chin but I swallowed enough to feel the increasingly comfortable burn.
    “You’re not fucking with me, are you?”
    I shook my head from side to side, sensing jowls I hadn’t previously been aware of. “I think my face is getting fat,” I said with a pout.
    Jerry ignored my observation and pressed ahead with the questions. “When did you find this out, man?”
    “Wouldn’t you know it – it was just this afternoon. Got a text from the good ol’ doc. Says I’m fucked or something.” I waved my phone about as evidence, lost my grip and felt it collide with my penis. “Owww!”
    “What are you going to do?”
    “I’m thinking of taking up smoking again. Seems like the right time.”
    Unsure what else to say, Jerry handed me another shot, which in a display of poor coordination, I splashed over my forehead. It stung my eyes and I