New Science

I've spent the last two years of my life feeling like some sort of artifact dredged up from the Titanic or a new species of monkey or something. I'm walking science and doctors don't quite know what to do with that. They keep taking my blood and running tests, hoping that one day they'll run the right one and end up with a Nobel Prize in medicine. I actually wouldn't be surprised if another one of me is growing in a test tube somewhere in Seattle. Meanwhile, I'm injected with what I can only assume is some sort of vibrantly colored Kool-Aid while giant magnets are used to look at my insides. The skin above the vein in my arm has turned into cork board and the scars on my stomach and chest seem to provide convincing evidence for my wild stories about carjackings in New York and knife fights in Amsterdam (I've actually never been to either place). I suppose it's kind if ironic that I work in a museum, seeing how I'm always on display.