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NEW YORK - YOU GOTTA PUT YOUR LUNCH SOMEWHERE


My mom is a nurse and for a brief stint she worked at a minimum-security women's prison. She's always had the most disgusting jobs ever. She could never just be satisfied working at a hospital or something. For the longest time she worked at an old folk's home, wiping butts and stuff, and then she got fired for stealing people's meds and switched over to working with prisoners.

She was really jazzed because a requirement upon being hired was that she had to take shooting lessons at the firing range, which was down by the river. So the picture I have painted for you now consists of a short blonde nurse who steals pills from old people, popping off a gun by the muddy banks of Kankakee, getting ready to maintain the care of local prostitutes who got pinched turning tricks in the parking lot of the A&W. Are you with me?

So a few weeks into her new job at the women's prison, a new shipment of prostitutes were bussed in for lockdown. My mom's job was to check them all out, catalog their scabs and cooties, and then get them filed away. Everything was going along fine, nothing really spectacular happening, and then, while feeling the abdomen of an HIV-positive lady of the night, my Mom came across a weird blockage. She reached up into her hoo-ha and discovered that she had shoved a small red apple, a plastic milk chug of 2% milk, and a sealed package of Lee press-on nails inside her flesh purse. The prostitute acted like this was as normal for her as a squat in the park. She had all sorts of infections up there as a result of many odd things of many odd sizes being grouped together with whatever other funk she had in her gunk. Much to her chagrin, my mom didn't get to shoot her.

FANNY DIFFERENCES