Greasy Beasely and the Two-Ton Dermoid – Part 1

January 18, 2013

A dermoid is a cyst full of hair, fluid, blood, and bones. My buddy Beasely has one on his butt. It’s soft to the touch, and if you poke it hard enough you’ll notice a gooeyness that feels like pudding. Beasely’s dermoid has patches of bristly black hairs. If he forgets to wash his dermoid for a while it will start to smell. That’s true for every body part, but it’s especially true for dermoids.

Beasely has a good attitude about having a dermoid. “Some folks got a tumor, some folks got a conjoined twin. I got a dermoid,” he says. “Life goes on, say la vee.”

“Thata boy, Beasely. Don’t let that dermoid bring you down,” is what I say to him when he talks about his dermoid, which isn’t often. If you had a dermoid on your butt, would you want to talk about all the time?

If you ask Beasely why he has a dermoid, he’ll say it’s hereditary. “All the men on my dad’s side have dermoids.” But that’s just Beasely saving face. Truth is, he has a dermoid because he eats grease, and eating too much grease causes dermoids. Beasely eats all sorts of grease: bacon grease, hamburger grease, eggy grease. Even the grease that oozes from his dermoid, which is borderline cannibalistic.

The internet says dermoids range in size. Small dermoids are typically the size of a quarter, while large dermoids can be as big as grapefruits. Beasely’s dermoid is not on the dermoid-size spectrum. His dermoid is the size of a small car. It’s bigger than most dermoids because even after his dermoid started growing, Beasely never stopped eating grease.

Doctors warned him: “Beasely, you jaggof! If you keep eating grease, that dermoid is only gonna get bigger and bigger.”

He wouldn’t listen. “I’d rather be a happy guy who eats grease and who has a giant dermoid than a sad, dermoid-free guy who doesn’t eat grease,” he said one day while eating grease.

Geez Lousie, Bease. Does stubbornness run in your family, too?

Last summer I asked Beasely how much his dermoid weighs. He said, “Oh hell, I don’t know how much my dermoid weighs. The only scale that’s big enough to weigh this dermoid is at the State Fair probably.”

“What else are we going to do today?”

“I have plans to buy grease and eat it.”

I said that I would buy his grease for the week if he weighs his dermoid at the fair. He agreed.

So we walked two miles to the state fair. We would have driven, but come on, get real. Who has a car that can fit a dermoid as big as Beasely’s?

The fair was crowded. It was so hot out, the dermoid was dripping with sweat and emitting a pungent dermoidal odor.

Beasely got in line with the hogs who were waiting to be weighed. When it was his turn, a crane was brought in and it hoisted his dermoid onto the scale.

The scale said it weighed two tons.

Even now, after everything that has happened, I was never as shocked as I was when I saw that it weighed two tons.

The crane operator dropped his donut. “Hey everyone! This kid has a two-ton dermoid on his butt!” He called the fair manager over and told him Beasely deserved a ribbon for growing such an impressive dermoid.

The fair manager walked over to Beasely. “Let’s see here. A classic gargantuan dermoid on the posterior. Anatomical class 45-J.” He poked it with his fingers. He poked it with his cane. “Gooeyness? Indeed!” He took three long sniffs of it. “Smell? Putrid.” He climbed on top of it and stomped three times. “Durable.”

He took out a Swiss Army knife and cut a slit in the dermoid, causing fluid to ooze forth. The fair manager collected a handful of the fluid and tasted it. “What is your name, son?”


“It’s great to meet you, Beasely.”

“Well? Is this an award-winning dermoid, or what?”

“I’m sorry, no. This is the worst-tasting dermoid I’ve ever come across. Good day to you,” and he started to walk away.

“Wait!” Beasely said. “I meant its size. Is it big enough to win an award or whatever?”

The manager thought about it for a minute and then shook his head. “I’m sorry, no. I’ve seen dermoids this big before.”

“Bullcrap! Where?” Beasely said.

“On the internet. Yours is big, for sure, but in the grand scheme of things, this dermoid is what I like to call a no-big-whoop anatomical curiosity. Come back to the fair when it talks or plays a musical instrument or something truly maaaaarvelous.”

The crane lowered a bummed-out Beasely to the ground.

Two giddy boys ran up to him and poked the dermoid hard, and dermoid fluid covered their hands and faces.




ryanthomasgrim [AT] gmail
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