I don't want to hear it, Freud

Ever since Legal Counsel and I obtained a juicer we've been juice crazy. I think I've consumed more fruit in the last few months than the rest of my life combined. This might be related to the fact that my mom referred to fruit as "the devil's testicles" and refused to let me eat them. We got Fruit Roll-Ups and Kool-Aid instead. Oh yeah! Check out our rig:

That's a lot of fruit! It's like we decapitated Carmen Miranda. Yes...just like that...

The beauty of the juicer is that it requires a minimum of preparation. If it's small enough to fit in the entry hole, just toss it in. That's actually my motto in many facets of life, now that I think about it. Got an apple? Toss it in. Kiwi? Down the hole. Grapes? Juice town. Human brains? Make yourself some zombie juice. Vodka? No! No liquids in the juicer! Just add it later. Also, no bananas. Sorry, Gwen Stefani.

The one major exception to the rule is fruit with a peel. You can juice the peel, but it'll make your juice bitter. More bitter than my ex-wife. Most of the fruit we use is peel-less, except for the large amounts of orange we juice. So much orange juice...drool. I've peeled a lot of oranges lately, like a pirate fighting scurvy. Yarr.

It's during this peeling that I discovered my secret love: pulling that little bit of peel from the inside of the orange. You know what I'm talking about? That little shoot of white peel that protrudes through the center of the orange? It gives me some kind of sick thrill to pull that thing out of the center, still attached to the out peel. It makes me happy and I have no idea why.

But I realized it doesn't end there. There are other pulling-something-from-another-thing actions that give me that warm, fuzzy feeling. First off is pulling weeds out by the root. *grin* When I pull weeds, I get a little turned on by the sight of the glistening white root. I feel so proud and, dare I say, virile?

The last one I can think of off the top of my head (with suggestion from Orang) is pulling crab meat from the shell. Drool... When you rip the flesh from those little arthropod bastards, it feels amazing to get a solid chunk of meat from the leg. You can't really do it in the claw or body, but the long part of the leg is the money shot.

I'm sure there are more, but those three examples should suffice.

It occurs to me that all three of these actions share a similar theme: pulling a long, thin white thing from a tight space. I, um, I feel a little awkward right now. I'm sure Freud would have a field day with this. But that little man loved him the nose candy, so can we really trust him? Don't listen to his lies, I'm mentally fit as a mental fiddle. Plus, he's dead. And I'll be first in line to put down Zombie Freud - his fascination with the human brain will go from scientific to culinary. That's it, I'm flying to Europe and camping out on his grave with a shotgun and some oranges.

I tried to come up with a medical job which would allow me to employ my particular fetish, but the options are slim. Plucking out human eyes with the optic nerve attached is not a high demand skill, unless you know where Daryl Hannah is hiding. Which I don't. The market for head-and-spine removal is pretty much dominated by Sub-Zero, and I'm not going to challenge his monopoly. I suppose I'll just have to make a career out of bowel resection, which works with my oft mispronounced name. It would be especially fun if I could get my hands on those Shankara Stones...