I stay up late a lot. Oh well my dick is in the shit cappuccino isn't it?! , I seem to have started a node with 'I'.
So sorry everybody, I'll correct my mistake:

"getting to know you" nodes fucking suck

There, now that we've dispensed with protocol you can recommence your selfless yet irritatingly cloying adoration of me.

I was saying? Oh yeah, I stay up a lot. In the way that children can instantly make best friends through such subtle signifiers as their shared scabies infected status, I make the television my instant best friend at such times.

No infomercial is left unwatched. In my mind, I've personally received the Nativity Cross from Ricardo Montalban over and over again. How could I not buy it? They had a *real* Jewish guy sharing the result of his *personal* research into the *probable* location of the cave (they explained the whole 'what up with the cave?' thing in detail) in which Jesus (the non-Latino one), was born. Then Ricardo himself described the manner in which highly trained artisans placed with great subtlety and the type of craftsmanship that makes me dewy eyed every time, a rock chip from that very cave, on an already resplendently beautiful *actual* 24 ct gold plated crucifix. Sure, the product name itself was carelessly mined from a very detritus strewn memory, but on Christ's rock hard buns..I do swear to thee:

"I (ToasterLeavings), being of arguably partially sound mind, Saw This infomercial".

The testimonials began. Those sweet, wholesome, shining (and not even all pink!) American Christian faces spoke of the wonders that had entered their lives since receiving the Nativity Cross. Miracles! Happenings! Immense Closenesses to Christ. They stopped just short of breathless descriptions of having been actually felt up by the holy disembodied hand of GOD himself...but I can read between the lines people! These lucky lambs were in all probability having rancidly hot holy sex with Christ Him-fucking-self as a DIRECT result of purchasing the necklace. They'd virtually been beatified in a dazzling jizz-fest straight out of letters to the editor page in the sealed section of Genesis.

Having been brought to the brink of holy rapture by these revelations an uncomfortably large number of times, I had believed that this was as good (and probably as sticky) as my early morning was going to get. But television, and I suspect, yes...you guessed it; Christ himself, had more in store for me.

There were Televangelists. They were earnestly discussing their mission, and the sweet lord's redemption with all the involved sincerity that reminded me of Bryant Gumble and Jane Pauly when they were in their best form:

Bryant: "You know Jane..I've got this lemon tree in my backyard...and it has those yellow things. I think you call them lemons? Anyway, I made lemonade out of some of them the other day."
Jane: "Did you put sugar in it? You know, someone told me once that if you add sugar, it takes some of the tartness out of the juice from those yellow things. What did you call them? Lem-ons?"
Bryant: "I think so. Lemons sounds right. Anyway, It's 7.45, and you're watching Kill Yourself Today on This Good Morning America. Soon up, we'll be talking about things so boring that you may actually spontaneously die of brain cancer from sheer good old fashioned will to die. But right now, here's Willard Scott going for some hardcore action with a 97 year old hoochie-mama from Seattle."

Anyway, so I'm watching these televangelists, and I was still wearing pants. One of them went off camera for awhile (in an earnestly outreaching christian sort of way naturally). She came back and apparently, she had received a vision or message...I can't remember the exact term she used, but it sounded pretty damn official. Today GOD had a focus; that focus being in most cases paired, and located within the body in the lower back region. Your friends, my friends, the kidneys. If I prayed with my new found earnest friend, and I also happened to be lucky enough to either be:

1. missing a kidney.
2. the proud owner of defective kidneys.
3. waiting for a kidney transplant.
4. (this one I intuited)..someone who just has a fucking powerful love of kidneys.

...strange yet holy and miraculously funky things were bound to happen for me. To say I was touched by the notion that GOD was willing to off some stranger in a non-organ damaging fashion so that I could have his/her (I'm not sexist) kidneys stuffed in my back, is somewhat of an understatement. And...all for the price of a prayer. I was even willing to go for the more inexplicable option; spontaneous kidney regeneration, of one or both kidneys! Man, that televangelist must be in tight with GOD.

So, to wind it up...the whole revelation left me with somewhat of a quandary. There was I pretty happy about having decent kidneys, but also really wanting to take advantage of this fabulous offer. If I acted now, I could be know to all and sundry as '..that guy with the kidneys from GOD'. I wasn't sure if it was safe to remove your own kidneys with nothing more than a driving desire to be the recipient of divine intervention and a sharpened spoon. It was a tough judgement call, but in the end cowardice (..and I still believe, Satan) won the day. I remain the possesor of mundane, biologically generated kidneys, uncaressed by the shining digits of Jehovah. Will that day, 'the day I listened to the Televangelist's special kidney prayer with deaf ears', be the day that haunts me as I hack out my last breath? I do think so.