Beau Slocumb, Troublemaker

My cousin, Beau Slocumb, is scheduled for another surgery to remove yet another spot of cancer – this time from his shoulder. Apparently they "did some scans” and found it.

"Scans." Thats alien technology, right? Like a tractor beam?

I’ve heard alot about these so-called "scans” and you can color me "skeptical." I think Beau is probably a-ok and these stiff white coats are just reading "scans" with their beer goggles on.

It was doctors, after all, who told Mom I was going to be a girl and look how THAT one turned out. Not only am I not female - I've got enough hair on my chest to weave an indian blanket and, because of modern medicine, I spent my highly-formative first 6 months clad entirely in pink. Thanks alot 500 years of documented medical practice! Tell Hippocrates I've got an oath for him.

Personally, I think Beau's shoulder issue is just scar tissue from being completely retarded for so long (http://jimmyewing.blogspot.com/2009/06/he-never-needed-helmet.html), but more importantly: what in the hell do doctors know anyway? All you need to be a doctor is cold hands and fancy science and needles and screens and things, right?

Well, none of that is going to help you with Beau. I maintain you can't tell much about Beau on your fancy ScanTron machine or whatnot - you need to smell of him up close. I diagnosed him as “goaty” years ago and I didn't need any three-million-dollar scanner.

Doctors and their fancy screens. Pffft!

I saw a caged bear riding a bicycle on the TV screen last night - and I don't believe for a damn minute that a bear sharp enough to actually ride a bicycle wouldn't take one look at that bicycle and immediately start snacking on trainers. And one more thing: if I were a bicycle-riding bear you better believe my chubby butt is sleeping on goose down - not cage straw.

The point is: you can't believe everything you see on a screen - I don't care how much it cost. You people probably think we actually flew to the moon too. Oh, sssssuure. Rocks and gray sand. Must be the moon. We just "flew" up there.

RIGHT. I know a movie set when I see one!

I figure since Beau is a young, non-smoking, non-tobacco-using, non-alcoholic, generally healthy person who is probably not sleeping on a pile of enriched uranium - the only remaining risk factor is: Beau. So, Beau, please quit giving yourself cancer. It is stressing me out. Plus, "cancer" is so last year. If you're going to the trouble of giving yourself something anyway - may as well make it interesting. How about "mumps?" Nobody gets that anymore. Mumps I can work with in print. Cancer - not so much.

My recommendation for Beau is: get back to Texas, demand a re-"scan," crawl into that machine and place an open pocketknife under his shirt just over the ribcage. Let 'em scan THAT!

Later, after all the commotion dies down - go home and take your pants off in the den. That's my recipe for recovery:
Step 1: cause trouble.
Step 2: remove pants.

Regardless of who’s to blame on this one (clearly Beau for giving himself cancer) I will point out that, in a very Beau-like fashion, he's maintained an upbeat, cheerful demeanor without anyone threatening to beat him (http://jimmyewing.blogspot.com/2010/08/being-thankful.html).

Maggie overheard the following exchange in the barn the other day and I figured I'd report on it to illustrate:

Beau: John – whats been going on? What have y’all been up to lately?
Uncle John: Not much. Just keeping up with the kids. Working. Just trying to keep my head above water. You?
Beau: Just trying to keep my head above DIRT ... BHWAH AHAHAHA!!!!
Uncle John: That's not funny.

Keep it North of the dirt, Beausie; we're pulling for you.