Mighty Joe Young

I've been sent to the bush with the brothers Gladyz for the last three weeks. Tim every day; Joesph, Mondays

Wednesdays and Fridays. Sweating's not bad, my face drips with filth like an ugly icecream cone by the end of the

day. When Joe Gladyz sweats, he smells like old fruit and oil. It's rancid. He doesn't expire liquid, he expells

muck. Tim takes it in stride and so, in the efforts on making our well lubricated work machine run smooth, I've

ignored Joe's problem. That's until he stopped going to work. his brother Tim told me that Joe's been progressively getting worse. For the last couple of weeks, his stomach has started to bloat, distending

to strange proportions. The way that he describes it, when he's naked, Joe looks like a starving African child, except, you know, white. Joe went to the hospital earlier and it turns out that there was a hole in his stomach. That bloating and the smell were caused, from what I understand, from rotting food stuck in the area between the food sack and his skin. The situation is so dire that he's going to have to get a stomache transplant, an incredibly rare procedure. Tim and I have been crossing our fingers for a fatality in the next couple of days so that Joe can get back into the work force. Failing that, Joe'll have to be sent off to Calgary where U of C students have been working on transplanting cow stomaches to human ones. No one is sure if the operation will be sucessfull, but you have to try somewhere. Willful ignorance only gets you so far