By Sean Pearson
My original plan this week was to discuss the overall feasibility of detachable arms. I know, initially, this sounds rather odd. However, if you hear me out, I think you’ll see I had a relatively good premise for making the argument for said detachable arms in the first place.
(I’m not sure I actually followed that last thought completely through, but it’s too late to turn back now.)
Certainly I can’t be the only person on the face of this massive and overly inhabited planet who can’t figure out where to put their arms at night while they sleep.
I see the confused looks of all you “back-sleepers” out there. If you happen to be one of those successful snoozers who have somehow trained yourself to sleep only on your back — thereby facilitating adequate circulation and optimal sleep — congratulations. You are welcome to either sit back and enjoy the ride into what we side-sleepers often refer to as the “dead zone,” or cruise on down a few paragraphs until you see where we’ve worked our way into “Zoo It Yourself” territory.
If you sleep on your side, you know how difficult it is find a comfortable spot to put that awkward arm underneath you. You toss. You turn. You wake up with 10 million electric stinging needles pulsating through your entire arm, furiously throbbing to the beat of your over-taxed heart that’s trying desperately to pump out enough blood to keep that wayward limb from sure amputation because of severe vascular interruption.
And then there are all those tiny screaming voices in your head begging you to just go ahead and gnaw off the arm before the rest of your body follows suit, and you’re permanently sucked into a numbing vortex of comatose pallor.
Maybe I’ve shared too much now.
It was during those waking moments throughout the night — where I spent a good 10 minutes trying to talk my right hand down from an anxious ledge of bloodless terror — that I began to consider the practicality of making arms temporarily removable.
Remember how you’re trusting me?
So, my first prototype involved a series of Velcro straps and Duct tape, but I just couldn’t figure out how to manage all the blood. And nothing ruins a good night’s sleep like bleeding out in the middle of the night. Then, I considered Super Glue.
This seemed like a win-win solution from the get-go. I had certainly used the miracle bonding agent before to seal a number of heinous and bloody wounds from my Rambo experiences. It doesn’t really burn as much as you’d think, and the holding power is pretty decent. Unfortunately, the smell of all the distillates, cyanoacrylates and anthrax in the stuff is enough to bring tears to the eyes of a small pack of rabid skunks.
I kept passing out before the wound could really start to clot.
Finally, I came upon the idea of the whole “ball-and-socket” thing. Obviously it’s been working fairly well for a vast majority of folks for quite a while now, and I figure, why reinvent the wheel? Just look at all those plastic dolls and jointed stuffed animals. Heck, even Barbie jumped on the ball-and-socket bandwagon. And what’s good enough for Barbie is certainly good enough for me.
Unfortunately, trying to pop my humerus out of my shoulder socket for initial testing purposes proved a bit too painful after the 17th attempt.
Amazingly, through that pain of slamming my shoulder into the wall over and over again to dislocate it a la Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon(s), I learned something very important about the whole ball-and-socket system:
It’s not recyclable.
So, to all those Tupperwear Zoo It Yourself animals out there that I so cruelly and violently pulled apart in my overzealous toddler excitement, I offer my sincerest apologies. By now, many of you probably suffer some pretty devastating effects from my constant twisting and shoving of your green giraffe head onto the body of a blue and red dog. I didn’t realize the impact my actions would have on your plastic world.
I also apologize for any species identity confusion I may have caused you.
So … perhaps my idea of detachable arms has yet to truly come to its fruition. But I haven’t given up hope. Trust me, I have people working on it as we speak.
In the meantime, the only thing I can think of to do with these offensive appendages that interfere with my blissful slumber is either cut them off, or continue to endure the throbbing purple fingertips that scream for oxygenated blood.
Obviously, I’m still open to suggestions.
After all, you can’t slay dragons if you don’t have arms.
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