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›comments[6] ›all comments ›post #131 ›bio: katie ›bio: victoria ›perma-link ›4/30/2005 ›11:22 ›archives ›first post ›that week |
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Art Colony: Bring your Pepto-Bismol to Work Day Saturday, April 30, 2005 › by victoria  please remind me, next time I am tempted by a choice morsel or the thought of a delicious food treat, that food is the enemy. one of my friends who was kind enough to treat me to free dinner yesterday at one of the residence halls--a li'l bit of cod, some roasted potatoes, those bland veggies, and a bit of frozen yogurt with jimmies--little did they know that they were initiating me into cholera-like hell. Urrrrrggghhh. My stomach sounded like Berlin's Love Parade....slosh slosh und rave und rave und rave. And then this morning it was like ohNo! Today is Bring Your pepto-Bismol to work day. My 18 year old sister is also getting married today. I am not going to the wedding, because a lot of my italian relatives will be there and I don't want to get yelled at. I wish her the best of luck, and I promise that as soon as I earn enough $ I will send her a great present or something. Plus, I mean, when someone feels just like the little girl in this poem which I memorized back in 7th grade, you gotta cut them a little slack... GOLDIE PINKLESWEET ... (from Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator) by Roald Dahl Attention please! Attention please! Don't dare to talk! Don't dare to sneeze! Don't doze or daydream! Stay awake! Your health, your very life's at stake! Ho-ho, you say, they can't mean me. Ha-ha, we answer, wait and see. Did any of you ever meet A child called Goldie Pinklesweet? Who on her seventh birthday went To stay with Granny down in Kent. At lunchtime on the second day Of dearest little Goldie's stay, Granny announced, 'I'm going down To do some shopping in the town.' (D'you know why Granny didn't tell The child to come along as well? She's going to the nearest inn To buy herself a double gin.) So out she creeps. She shuts the door. And Goldie, aftermaking sure That she is really by herself, Goes quickly to the medicine shelf, And there, her little greedy eyes See pills of every shape and size, Such fascinating colors too -- Some green, some pink, some brown, some blue. 'All right,' she says, 'let's try the brown,' She takes one pill and gulps it down. 'Yum-yum!' she cries. 'Hooray! What fun! They're chocolate-coated, every one!' She gobbles five, she gobbles ten, She stops her gobbling only when The last pill's gone. There are no more. Slowly she rises from the floor. She stops. She hiccups. Dear, oh dear, She starts to feel a trifle queer. You see, how could young Goldie know, For nobody had told her so, That Grandmama, her old relation Suffered from frightful constipation. This meant that every night she'd give Herself a powerful laxative, And all the medicines that she'd bought Were naturally of this sort. The pink and red and blue and green Were all extremely strong and mean. But far more fierce and meaner still, Was Granny's little chocolate pill. Its blast effect was quite uncanny. It used to shake up even Granny. In point of fact she did not dare To use them more than twice a year. So can you wonder little Goldie Began to feel a wee bit moldy? Inside her tummy, something stirred. A funny gurgling sound was heard, And then, oh dear, from deep within, The ghastly rumbling sounds begin! They rumbilate and roar and boom! They bounce and echo round the room! The floorboards shake and from the wall Some bits of paint and plaster fall. Explosions, whistles, awful bangs Were followed by the loudest clangs. (A man next door was heard to say, 'A thunderstorm is on the way.') But on and on the rumbling goes. A window cracks, a lamp-bulb blows. Young Goldie clutched herself and cried, 'There's something wrong with my inside!' This was, we very greatly fear, The understatement of the year. For wouldn't any child feel crummy, With loud explosions in her tummy? Granny, at half past two, came in, Weaving a little from the gin, But even so she quickly saw The empty bottle on the floor. 'My precious laxatives!' she cried. 'I don't feel well,' the girl replied. Angrily Grandma shook her head. 'I'm really not surprised,' she said. 'Why can't you leave my pills alone?' With that, she grabbed the telephone And shouted, 'Listen, send us quick An ambulance! A child is sick! It's number fifty, Fontwell Road! Come fast! I think she might explode!' We're sure you do not wish to hear About the hospital and where They did a lot of horrid things With stomach-pumps and rubber rings. Let's answer what you want to know; Did Goldie live or did she go? The doctors gathered round her bed, 'There's really not much hope,' they said. 'She's going, going, gone!' they cried. 'She's had her chips! She's dead! She's died!" 'I'm not so sure,' the child replied. And all at once she opened wide Her great big bluish eyes and sighed, And gave the anxious docs a wink, And said, 'I'll be okay, I think.' So Goldie lived and back she went At first to Granny's place in Kent. Her father came the second day And fetched her in a Chevrolet, And drove her to their home in Dover. But Goldie's troubles were not over. You see, if someone takes enough Of any highly dangerous stuff, One will invariably find Some traces of it left behind. It pains us greatly to relate That Goldie suffered from this fate. She'd taken such a massive fill Of this unpleasant kind of pill, It got into her blood and bones, It messed up all her chromosomes, It made her constantly upset, And she could never really get The beastly stuff to go away. And so the girl was forced to stay For seven hours every day Within the everlasting gloom Of what we call The Ladies Room. And after all, the W.C. Is not the gayest place to be. So now, before it is too late. Take heed of Goldie's dreadful fate. And seriously, all jokes apart, Do promise us across your heart That you will never help yourself To medicine from the medicine shelf. |
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