Jim Varagona

Category: odd

Adventures in Diabetes: Spraying

I am a Type 1 Diabetic. I wear a pump which contains 3 days worth of insulin which is delivered to me through 4 feet of tubing that I stuff in my pants and that is connected to a catheter in my belly. Multiple times in the day I check my blood sugar. This is a story of what happened during my blood sugar check last night.

I was getting ready for bed around 1 a.m. One of the last things I do is check my blood sugar. I admit I reuse the lancets which pierce my fingers. They say they get duller with every use, but I’m all about being a Green Diabetic and reusing. So I pricked my finger to check from and I squeezed it to get the blood out. Instead of making a droplet which is the normal thing to happen at this point, blood sprayed onto my face. I have encountered a spray before but never onto my face. It was quite an experience.

Here is a depiction of what happened:

I’m not sure if this was from my dull lancets or from pricking a calloused finger too much. Either way, if I could figure it out, it could make for some great Jackson Pollock influenced, blood based art.

Here is what it really looked like on my face:

Blood spray on face

I know it’s not much, but I stopped squeezing.

For more Diabetes art by me, here’s my video “Diseased Sensations.” It’s a tad dramatic, but it does the trick.


Murder Was the Case

The other night we celebrated my wife’s birthday. We hit up Boogooloo in Maplewood then capped the night off at a friend’s place. We were feeling good when we arrived home around 4 a.m. As we approached the front door, a middle aged, rough looking, white guy asked if we had a cell phone for him to use. I tried to blow him off by saying “not on us right now, sorry.” However the birthday girl decided to ask him what he needed it for.

“The cops questioned me and dropped me off over there, and I don’t even live around here. I just need to make a call and get a ride.”

My wife was intrigued. “They questioned you? For what?”


We gasped. And he tried to explain.

“Well, I found a body and they just wanted to ask me about it. I just need to get out of here.”

At that point we went inside, but he was expecting to make his call after giving us his story. We argued a bit over why she even said anything more to him. I said my plan of blowing him off would have worked enough to get him away from our house. She argued that he would only leave if we essentially took part in his leaving. She went back out.

“So what’s the number? You stay down there (at the bottom of our steps) and I’ll call. I don’t know you and you’ve been questioned for murder.”

He proceeded to give his mother’s number and my wife called. She told the woman on the line that her son was questioned for murder, dropped off near our home, and needed a ride. My wife suggested a cab, but the woman was quite discombobulated by the situation, especially at her age and at 4 a.m. She said my wife should call the hospital and apparently a man in the background seconded that suggestion. My wife said either a cab would be called or the cops and after some more back and forth without any progress, she hung up. She called the police and told them the situation. They asked if he was armed, but we saw nothing–we just wanted him gone, because the longer this went on, the more he stared at our house waving his arms.

We went upstairs where my mother-in-law was sleeping. She had watched our son for the evening. She was planning on going home, but I told her to sit tight as I cocked a prop gun I had from one of my high school videos. I kept it to help myself feel like a hard ass in situations like this. I looked out the window and our new pal was looking right at me and waving frantically, wanting an answer from our conversation with his mommy.

The police arrived shortly thereafter. Two cars pulled right up to him and got out. They asked him if he was armed and what was going on. As he tried to tel his story, which stayed consistent, they had him put his hands on the hood of the cruiser. I tried to listen out the upstairs window while the ladies bickered behind me about what would happen. The cops put him in the car and an officer rang our doorbell.

I ran down to answer and as I did, I had a huge grin on my face. I was asked what happened and gave our account as well as what his own mother suggested we do with him.

“So like he’s crazy?,” the officer said.

Well put. She walked back to the car and we watched on. The paddy wagon pulled up as well as another cruiser. This was great excitement, like watching COPS at some strange hour of the night except in front of our own home. I doubt the guy’s story. If you find a body and the police question you, would they really drop you off somewhere? And why nowhere near your home? And why tell people that story, true or not? I should’ve just pistol whipped the dude with my fake piece.

>Where a Kid Can Be a Kid


I don’t like to rip off others’ blogs, but this Pope made a nice discovery.

Oh how I miss my youth spent at Showbiz Pizza Place with Billy Bob and the rest of the Rockafire gang. Why, oh why did the evil cousin Chuck E. Cheese overthrow this great haven for the children??

Anyway, I came upon this local blogger that came upon a YouTuber that apparently owns the old animatronics from ShowBiz and programs them to new music. Fantastico!

The Beatles’ “Free As a Bird”

Oasis’ “Champagne Supernova”

“Ms. New Booty” and more vids to select from…

An interesting history of ShowBiz and the Rockafire Explosion on WikiPedia.

YouTube user Chris Thrash’s full selection of videos.

>Dirty Work

>On a recent walk in the park with my wife and dogter, Sadie, something interesting occurred that I must share.

Just as with any other walk, Sadie had to make her BM. We waited by patiently as she made her waste and I proceeded to pick it up, like a good citizen. Sadie began walking strangely, like a dog does when it has some poo that wouldn’t come off. Sometimes this is followed by the dog doing a fun trick in which it sits and uses its front paws to drag its butt across the most handy surface, which sometimes is the carpet.

Sadie doesn’t really do that though. She just walk funny with her back legs squatting like she’s being held down by a substantial weight in the rear.

I must note that more often than not with our dogter, it isn’t poo on her butt, but my wife’s long blonde hair that are hanging halfway out of Sadie’s rear. And yes, sometimes I put a plastic bag over my hand to pull them out.

This time though, the wife noticed that something was hanging. I did my fatherly duty and used my protected hand to pull at what most likely was hair. The problem is that it kept flowing out. When I had removed the entire item, we realized just what it was. It was a giant spaghetti noodle coated in poo particles. And to Sadie’s relief, I had removed it from her butt hole.


>Buy a Badonkadonk

>Times are a bit too busy for blogging, what with the being married and servicing so much retail, but I’m trying my best to put finger to the key.

Anyway, I was bored and browsing Amazon earlier today. It’s amazing what folks get away with, but still very amusing. Check out this tank someone’s selling. A real Badonkadonk tank for $20K, or is it?! I really enjoyed the comments below the description.

You too can find bizzare items for sale (?) on Amazon, like this inflatable party sheep. I wonder how many usable orifices it has, or if that’s the kind of gag sheep it is.

A nice throwback item is the family size pack of stink bombs. There’s nothing better than strategically placing those around the office or at school. I never did it though, because I was poultry dung as a child.

Glancing at some of these items led me to this Amazon user’s guide, which has links to more listings that got through the cracks, like pennies and nickels from 2003. He also lists my favorite real item, Anti-Monkey Butt Powder.

Feel free to comment with more links if you find them.


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