Ryan is my brother, his nick name is Watermelon head because he has a HUGE head. Seriously, if I want to know where Ryan is, I just look up, and I can see his head towering over the buildings. His head just has so much fat, when he was born his head came first and just busted out of my mom's Vagina and filled the whole operating room with his fat. The doctors had to use giant flesh colored staples to hold in all his fat. He still wears staples today. See, he doesn't even know how big of a freak he is because my parents never told him about how he has giant, flesh colored staples holding in all of his fat. If just one of those staples gave way, all his fat would explode out and break down the house, seriously, his head is really freaking big.
The stapes do get worn down and need to be replaced from time to time. When this happens, the doctors, with the help of my parents, sedate Ryan with powerful sleeping drugs, and then the doctors take Ryan to a very large operating room and remove the staples. Removing these staples is very tricky business. As mentioned earlier, his fat can take down a house if he is inside it when a staple is removed. Luckily we live in a grand culture where our great society helps those that have special needs, like my brother. A giant operating room made especially for my brother was made for him. The inside of the building is a giant white room with an operating table in the middle and doctor equipment spread along the edge walls. The staples are removed by a hook on a very long pole, the doctors know how far the fat will spread out, and stand behind a line indicating how far Ryan’s fat with go. Then the doctors take the hook on a pole and pull out a staple. The fat explodes across the room, the flood of fat and fat-juice bellows towards the doctors at high speeds, and because of the careful measurements, the nasty fat train stops just inches from where the doctors stand. The fat flood makes a very icky and squishy sound, it is quite nasty, but the site is truly amazing and jaw-dropping.
My parents and I view this stupendous site from a viewing room on the second floor. When I was 6, I snuck into the big operating room and was within the danger zone when the doctors pulled a staple. The fat flew over me, and I was trapped beneath it. The fat rolls forward like a wave in the ocean, and right before the wave crashes there is a safe spot where the fat does not hit as the wave moves forward. I was safely protected in this spot, and then the fat slowly fell on top of me. I was still in danger. The fat weighs a lot, not enough to kill me just from slowly falling on me, but enough to stop air from getting to me. There was very little time before I would suffocate. I crawled on my belly in a random direction. I had no idea which direction would be the quickest way of escape. I crawled for about 3 minutes when I found a fat pore.
It turns out that in the phenomenon that is my younger brother’s giant head, there are fat pores. These are huge pores in his fat, these pores are about the size of a World War Two fox hole. I squeezed into the hold which covered me on all size. I was only six, so sitting on my rear I had about 3 feet of head room. I was like in a little, stinky dome. It smelled horrible in there. If you have ever cleaned out your ears or finger nails or touched your balls and then smelled your hands, then you have an idea of the odor I had to smell. But in all these other ways you smell this stench, the source of the stench is very small. The source is just a little residue on your hand and therefore the smell is not very strong or bad. In that fat pore, the source of the stench was the circular ceiling above me that had a 4 foot diameter and was about a foot deep. The source was also quickly becoming the once white floor below me. There was a disgusting yellowish liquid that layered the top of the fat pore, and this liquid was slowly dripping down to the floor. The liquid was all around me and under my bum. It was even dripping down onto my head. I wanted to hurl, but somehow I did not. In many ways being in the fat pore was worse than crawling with fat right on my head, but I chose to stay within the fat pore because I knew I could easily suffocate before I found my way out of the fat. Although I found a source of oxygen in the fat pore, the source could not last too long, and it could take a long time for the doctors to find me and get me out.
Now, my brother had about 4 or 6 staples in his head, I never really counted. It only takes about 10 minutes to take out and replace each staple. After the fat comes out the doctors just get another staple and attach it to a hydraulically powered machine that jams the staple into my brother’s head. The machine has a long arm that just propels the staple though all the fat. The staple catches all the fat as it is propelled forward and when the staple reaches bone it folds under the fat like it is geniusly designed to do; making all the fat stuck in the head and making my brother look like a relatively normal human being. The staple is not noticeable at all unless you know what you’re looking for. It really is genius. But with me under the fat, if the doctors had activated the hydraulic machine, the force that the fat would return to my brother’s head with would be so great that I would be dragged along with the fat and then crushed underneath the force of my brother’s massively nasty head fat.
Although my mother noticed I was missing, she did not think anything of it, and the doctors did not know I was under the fat. I had to let the doctors know I was there before I was crushed to death by one of the most repulsive things on Earth, my brother’s head fat. I was only six, and did not even think of my doom to come by being compressed by fat and hydraulics. I was only worried about suffocating, for some reason, the other, more immediate doom did not cross my mind. Fortunately, the fat did not block out all sound and the hydraulic is very noisy. I heard the machine pulling back the staple in preparation for its plunge into the fat, this meant I only had 30 seconds to stop the machine!
I yelled and screamed, but to no avail. My tiny voice could not penetrate through the thick layers of sickening, ghastly chub. I knew I only had about 15 seconds to live when I gave up and curled into a little ball and starting crying. I was only 6 years old and was already going to meet my asshole of a maker. I was devastated and cried as hard as I could in my little ball. The thought of being crushed to death by 70 megatons of nondiplaginated head fat was unbearable. If I had a gun I would have blown my brains out right there. As I was crunched up crying in my devastated ball, I started to feel pain in my balls. Something in my pocket was being pressed in-between my legs and making my tiny 6 year-old balls hurt like hell. I reached in my pocket and pulled it out, it was my handy-dandy whistle! I had begged my mom to by me it just a few days ago, she was reluctant to buy it at the time because she thought I would annoy the hell out of her with it, she was right, but it turned out it would also save her little boy’s life! I took that whistle out and blew it as hard as I could; I blew it so hard with my little lungs that I almost passed out. It was a well made whistle, made in America, not crapily made in China. The whistle’s tone was loud and strong like a horned opera singer’s voice at an opera concert and the doctors heard it with ease. The head doctor who was a old, scary looking, German guy yelled in his thick German accent, “SEIZE THE MACHINE SEIIIIZE IIIT!”. Another doctor slammed his hand against the big, red emergency stop button and stopped the machine in the nick of time. I was safe from that threat, but still had to worry about suffocating.
The doctors were prepared for such a crisis and had vehicles that were shaped like giant wedges to drive underneath the fat. I kept blowing the whistle and in a few minutes I was helped out of my fat pore by smiling, sweat drenched doctors.
Anywho, that is a true story about Watermelon head’s giant head, and the dangers that can come of it. Sadly my parents do not have the guts to tell my brother about his massive head fat and about the staples. I tell him all the time, but he does not believe me. He is 19 now, I guess my parents will tell him when he is 21, I think he should have been told about his condition a long time ago, but I do not have the power to make him aware of it. Oh well. It is amazing how he lives such a normal life, with such a humongous head.
Ryan AKA Watermelon Head, is one big headed kid.
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