I had not seen my old friend Paul Brandenburg for several weeks, so I was looking forward to our lunch appointment. But about an hour before noon he gave me a terse phone call.

“Cashman? Brandenburg.” He was almost whispering. “Something came up. I’ll have to cancel our lunch today.”

But I couldn’t let it go at that. “What’re you talking about?” I asked. “What’s come up?” He was quiet for a moment, and then said, “Something big, that’s all.” Then, he hung up.

So I got in my car, drove directly to his house and knocked on the front door. When he answered, I saw what had come up---and why he was hiding from public view.

Sitting front and center, directly between Paul’s eyes, was the mother of all zits. No, not just the mother, but the entire extended family---a pimple so impossibly gigantic that I couldn’t believe the guy was able to hold his neck erect.

He had become the two-headed man.

The thing loomed like a great, red dirigible---the Brandenburg---potentially more explosive than the Hindenburg. Oh, the humanity! Or perhaps better stated as the “huge manatee. “

The great orb was not merely a headlight---it was a searchlight. If it had been a bit longer---and came to a point---Brandenburg could easily have passed for a unicorn.

“Can you believe this monster?” he sputtered. “It’s Godzitta!”

Then, as if I might have missed it, he pointed an index finger at it.

“Oh THAT!” I said. “It’s barely noticeable.”

Brandenburg looked hopeful. “Really?” he said. “Barely noticeable?”

“No, I’m lying,” I admitted. “It’s the hugest, scariest, newly-arrived body part I’ve ever seen.”

After all, there was no denying it. I have seen prize-winning tomatoes smaller than that whopper---although none redder.

It was as if a deranged scientist---in a sadistic, overnight experiment---had transplanted a major portion of a baboon’s backside to the Brandenburg face. (You know the part of the baboon backside I’m talking about, don’t you? Yea, THAT part. )

Brandenburg is no teenager---but he’s been there. And like a lot of us, he knows all about such skin eruptions. Sadly, pimples and acne have always been the great scourge of growing up for generations of kids---unbelievably cruel stuff at a time in life when young people are their most insecure.

When I was in high school, I was convinced that my complexion looked like one of those connect-the-dot puzzles. One time, just out of curiosity, I DID connect them with a crayon. The result actually spelled out a word: Loser.

Days like that can be the most hellacious of a lifetime.

I remember practicing zit-hiding techniques in the bathroom mirror: Like resting my hand on my chin---or on my cheek---as if thinking deeply.

Combing my bangs down to just above my eyebrows was another way of disguising a smorgasbord of swollen forehead sebaceous glands. (The preceding sentence has been submitted as an entry in the 2016 Disgusting Phrases Awards.)

Luckily, by the time we become adults, pimples are usually no longer an everyday malady---just an occasional, and very unwelcome surprise.

Still, when an unexpected blemish comes along in adulthood---especially a doozy---it brings back all those old horrible feelings again---the kind that Paul Brandenburg was having.

I tried to make a weak joke---pointing out that under his current situation he and his temporary new companion might make him eligible for driving in the HOV lane. There was not even the hint of a chuckle from Paul B. ---although his pustule seemed to grin slightly.

Brandenburg told me had first noticed “Elephant Man, Jr.” developing the night before---changing moment by moment like the transformation of the guy in “The Fly.” But at least that dude was lucky enough to skip the pupa stage.

Brandenburg said he had gone to an evening stage play and complained to his wife that he could not see the stage because of the guy sitting in front of him. There was, of course, no such guy.

That night, Brandenburg slept fitfully---and could not remember much the next morning. But he had a weird dream about a twin he never knew he had.

In the morning, when he awoke to find his full-blown, bulbous new appendage lying in bed with him, it was like the horrific horse head scene in The Godfather.

Except the horse did not have a zit.

NOTE TO THE NEWSPAPER COPY-PROOFER: I realized after submitting this column that it would be quite embarrassing to Paul Brandenburg if his actual name were used. Please substitute it with another. Thanks. Please don’t forget.

pat@patcashman.com
Pat can be seen on the weekly sketch show “Up Late NW” airing Saturdays on KING 5 and throughout Washington and Oregon. He also co-hosts a weekly on-line talk show: Peculiarpodcast.com