The Throat House

Let's be true-faced with one another. Everyone loves swallowtube surgery! Even my crab-apple Aunt Croak. It's the funnest procedure anyone could ever wish for. You get to lay like a hotdog in a warmbun for hours while man hands and silver-sticks go inside of your gizzard. It's like having a fun-time exploration of a wet-cave like back when you were a young-whisker.

It's true... I didn't have black-balls in my neck. Nor did I have any kind of white-smoke disease. I just wanted to have some fun-tyme surgery. So I went to a place around the corner from my Dad's trailer. It's called "The Throat House." It's a good old fashioned fun-palace if I might say so.

The first thing they did is ask me how much money I wanted to spend on neck-cuts. I said about nine hundred cashpounds. Then the owner, Dr. Poark Hamglaze came out with a burlap sack to take my money. After that... they took me in the back put a gigglemask over my mouth to make me sweet-headed then I laid down like a hotdog.

The experience was a grum-dugger! I smiled a tooth exposure-face for Dr. Hamglaze the whole time! He was laughing at me and he kept calling me "Tube Jim" even though my name is Henry Thomas. It was terrible. I hated it.

After all the fun, I got to walk around in a flower-robe and meet all of the other Throat House patients. I met a kind-man named Rimshot Gorgonheim who had is bulsa exposed to a wild Grook. Then I met a young-boy by the name of Boober Wetcliffe who showed me his throat wound. It looked like a sour-apple after a wormfeast! After that I met the woman who would become my wife, Schroeder Junkhole. She was just like me. She had some extra greendollars to throw around so she got her gagger slashed just for the kick! We connected right away and signed up for second surgeries. I'm going in next week to have the right side of my asparagus boinker gnawed on by a razor-claw. She's going to see if Dr. Hamglaze can make a custom rip on her cough-bone. I can't wait!