Toxic Bliss (8)

   
   "Toxic Bliss (8)"
    
   Simon contacted his neighbor dubbed Buzz.  Dude delivered pizzas for a local Mom and Pop pie establishment--yes, they were true, hairy Italians, mixed a little with French; hence, the delicious and exotic pies were to be elegantly delivered, and Buzz was the man.
   Buzz had just ran some anchovy miles in his Dodge Dart.  He had improved intake; plus, outtake, redesigning the exhaust in his parents' garage, like Iron Man, and like a Middle-Aged Jack Kerouac--he lived with his Mom, Dad too though.   Anyway, Buzz had just dropped off a steaming anchovy with Gummi Bear pizza, and, extra cheese, "please" said the pregnant housewife, so single, and Buzz was in love, getting an Alexander Hamilton tip, ironed, or so it seemed, and very very crispy, totally so.  Yup, it was love, and the single housewife blew him a kiss before hungrily opening the box like a devouring wolverine and burning her esophagus on the hot cheese, but still going:  "Yummy."
   So, Buzz was Simon's babysitter for his frail father.  And having trust in the quirky neighbor, Simon took a lime-green taxi to the gastroenterologist for his yearly colonoscopy.  As always--it was a nightmare.  The day before always consisted of torturous cleansing, crapping poop juice until running clear, and with it, a bit of slimy gore included in the runny pseudo-stool.  If only he lived in the American West, they'd try cannabis oil to reduce inflammation and pain; then, do a fecal matter transplant, but the South was years behind; indeed, they are changing the world out West. 
   At least Simon got the Michael Jackson medicine to put him night night.  He started to tell the anesthesiologist about Bubbles, Mr. Smiley, or whatever the hell Michael Jackson's chimp was named; next, he went out as easy as cheesecake with a dash of cherries on top, as if a Mafia Hitman had turned him off like a delicious light.