Stand-Up

Lyrics

I washed my hair with beer until I swallowed one The thought of it is enough to make me gag I tried to wash it down in various ways ?, gargling, filling my mouth, swishing it around

I heard that something that is hard to swallow Can leave an impression at the back of the throat Enough to sensation that feels as though the article is stuck I can corroborate this There have been times when it felt as though A hair was still on the back of my tongue Long after I got it out or down

The sensation has been that intense that I stuck my finger down my throat to shift one so I could swallow it or work it up by reverse reticulation Where the tongue is rubbed repeatedly against the upper palate or along the teeth Or by hacking

This is not funny The gag reflex is difficult to override There have been doctors who specialize in treating swallowing disorders The Queen Mother of Great Britain has had to be treated more than once

Once it was a fishbone I once had a fishbone stuck in my throat From a yellow-tail 5 centimeters long The bone, not the fish I caught it off of Florida The yellow-tail is also known as jack I drove to a hospital the doctor said I had a bone stuck in my throat When he reached in, I gagged, every time I gagged He grew impatient said it had to come out that it could come lose, go down, that it was that large it could puncture my esophagus he warned me If he couldn't get it with forceps he would have to take me upstairs, anesthetize me and operate My gag threshold remained what it had been despite his warnings Before operating he decided to try a muscle relaxant Hoping as he said that it would lower my threshold It slowed me down but I still gagged He got angry A passing nurse saw what was up Gave him a longer forceps and he got it first try

Chronology

• The Red Krayola
  • Mayo Thompson - vocals
  • ? - guitar
  • John McEntire - drums
  • ? - synthesizer

Interpretations

Similar to Lydia Davis' short story "The Bone" (1986)

[...] One night, though, I cooked some fillets of fish for dinner. These fillets were not supposed to contain bones, and yet there must have been a small bone in one of them because my husband swallowed it and it got caught in his throat. [...] we left the apartment and walked out into the dark streets of Paris to look for help. [...] We walked on some way and found the hospital in the rue de Vaugirard. [...] Inside, I waited on a folding chair in a wide hallway [...] while my husband sat behind a closed door nearby in the company of several nurses who wanted to help but could not do more than spray his throat and then stand back and laugh [...] Finally a young doctor came and took my husband and me down several long, deserted corridors [...] to another examining room in which he kept his special instruments. [...] Under a single pool of light, in the darkened room, he inserted one instrument after another down my husband's throat [...] Every time he inserted another instrument my husband gagged and waved his hands in the air. At last the doctor drew out the little fishbone and showed it around proudly. The three of us smiled and congratulated one another. [...]