Nuts To You

Midlife is really all aboot having medical procedures and avoiding episodes.

Apparently once you turn 55 the medical profession cannot wait to reel you in and try out every machine that goes 'ping!'. 

During the last few months I've had a heart catheterization-coronary angiogram, a lovely 12 dart prostate biopsy, and a dreamy drug addled colonoscopy for good measure.

Since I went to such great lengths to overshare and document my vaswrecktomization-neutering here, today I am about to enjoy my first scrotal ultrasound, which would make a great name for a new wave-grunge band. 

I am hopeful that it will not be a squishy ball-busting affair like a mammogram...and let's hope that I get an invisible resonance imaging technician  with warm hands to gently guide me through this next awkward episode.

Seriously?

POST POSTING: Well the experience turned out quite different than I had imagined.  As Fate would have it, my technician was a very attractive woman who led me in to a dimly lit room and then proceeded to cover my "swimsuit area" with warm soothing lotion, and then she gently rolled a soft scanner over and over and over my boys.

As you can imagine I was quite concerned about..popping a you know..

...however I was concentrating so hard on disassociating through mindless banter, that I inadvertently set what is probably a new  Commonwealth record for turtling shrinkage!

Dammit I should make another appointment to restore my manly manlihood.  Nothing my imagination, a few Viagra and a pump couldn't restore..... SCHWING!

BUNIONWRECTOMY

Comforting my sole

Like many of you, I am a survivor of well

intentioned excruciatingly painful

medical procedures.

Last year I had the misfortune of having my

junk lasered thanks to a highly contested and

very public court ordered vaswrectomy...

the entire nightmare is meticulously preserved in my archive.

Today I shall try to summon the courage

to relive the horror of my Bunionwrectomy.

You think that's funny eh?

Think you can handle watching 2 short

animations of Buniowrectomy?

I dare you to watch the SAW thingamajiggy

and the DRILL doohickey!

Time has partially healed my wounded sole(s)

and I take a modicum of solace in the

knowledge that there are important celebrities

who are afflicted by this merciless blight.

If you were to Google "Bunion" one would

discover images of not only the legendary

woodsman Paul Bunion,

but also Iman, Oprah, Posh and Paris who

boldly parade about with gnarly feet and refuse

to disguise their disfigurement

...courageous Ladies one and all!

Nowadays everyone knows that bunions are

induced from wearing high heels, but back in the 60s it had not yet been scientifickily proven.

My Mommy still blames herself for the way

she dressed me in grade school...

but I know that my Mommy and her cohorts

of the Baby Boom Era, 

were unaware of the long term effects of

stylish footwear.

By the early 70s my dogs were barkin' on a

daily basis and my Mommy made the

decision to incapacitate me with her "helper",

an ether soaked rag,

then under cover of darkness,

delivered my limp, unconscious, body

to the experimental podiaphile procedures

wing of the Children's Hospital.

When I awoke my arches had fallen and my

very first thought was that my promising

lucrative career in track & field was finito.

The year before I had surprised the staff,

my schoolmates, and myself, by placing

first in 2 sprinting events.

My dream of being a studly jock had vanished!

Now my school days were ruined!

I know that my Mommy mean't well,

but if I couldn't be a Track Star,

how was I supposed to be uber-popular and

procure a perpetual panoply of spontaneous

random sexual favours from biologically

accomodating nymphomaniacal

cheerleaders plagued with self-image issues?

From that day forward I had been sentenced

to the drudgery of serial monotony!

Were it not for the Morphine,

which was totally AWESOME,

I may have fallen into deep despair.

Yet I went on with my life,

and somehow made the most with what

I had left of my now horribly mutilated

and disfigured body. 

Out of the agony of defeet, 

one can find a deeper understanding of Life,

and soothe their sole.

POST-POSTING HISTORY



It's Summer so I am totally oot & aboot.
You know how I love History..so I dragged everyone off to another Museum last week.



Have a lash and hopefully you will learn something new about the past :)



I remember watching this come down.

One of my bona fide History-in-the-making experiences.

I would place it along with watching the Beatles on Ed Sullivan, the ethereal horror of 9/11, Neil Armstrong walking on the Moon (so-fake), the 1st Gulf War (video game), and the LA Police chasing OJ Simpson in the White Bronco.

EIGHT AIN'T ENOUGH

I am so dumb. Why oh why oh why did I get a vaswrecktomy? I could have had my own TV show on TLC and made million$!

The trouble is, in this day and age I would need to procure more than 20 children in order to be considered "special".

At first viewers were satisfied with gawkin' at the GOSSELIN Family.

Jon and Kate Plus Eight.

Unfortunately they only have 8 kids so whatever pffft..

I would have called it "Jon & K'8.. Is Enough Already!"

Now the DUGGARS are the latest entry in this spawn-a-thon category. These crazy Duggars are a fresh-faced Fundie Family from Arkeesaw whose literal interpretation of go forth be fruitful and multiply to replenish the Earth has blessed them with 18...

talk about begat'n it on!

Not only does the "Mrs" home-school her brood, but even more shocking, is that Jim-Bob (I kid you not!) gave all of his kids a "J" name...

Jordyn, Jennifer, Johannah, Jackson, Justin, James, Jason, Jeremiah, Jedidiah, Joy, Josiah, Joseph, Jinger, Jessa, Jill, John-David, Jana, and Joshua...

you'd think that the oddball, the Mom, Michelle, would atleast change her name to Jichelle.


My hunch is that the next spawn-a-thon show on the horizon will be FOURF*CKIN'TEEN?! starring NADYA SULEMAN ...who is still a little camera shy so here is a paparrazzi photo of her defensive Father "Ed" who apparently is moving back to Iraqistan because there isn't enough room in the shoe.

His 33 year old daughter is an unemployed/student/single/Mom who now has 14 children under the age of 8. She had 6 kids and thanks to the miracle of invitro spermilization just pupped a new litter of octuplets last week.

Ed was living in his own house and then bought his daughter a home but he was forced to move in with her because he declared bankruptcy...but somehow he doesn't seem very excited about the idea of sharing a 2 bedroom/one bathroom bungalow with 14 grandchildren?

By my calculations Ms Suleman needs to acquire atleast 7 more kidlets in order to qualify for her own show.

A storm of controversy concerning how the f*ck this procreational absurdity was ever allowed to happen may present a glitch in securing sponsors...

but my guess is that some tabloid will come through and throw tons of money at her so that Middle America can feast on this freak show.

I can still remember when The Learning Channel wasn't a freak show. Somehow the tall foreheads in the corner offices decided to abandon the scientificky stuff and let The Discovery Channel have at 'er. Obviously there aren't enough advertising dollars to support two scientificky channels in North America.

I'm not surprised.

More people want to read about the innane lives of the ever expanding constellation of vapid Celebrities rather than learn about the so-called "Real World".

This is exactly why I refer to my pathetic species as Homo Escapeons. The great unwashed choose to escape dealing with real issues and would rather be entertained..even at the expense of being subjected to the mindnumbingly tedious drivel such as the aforementioned programming.

We totally deserve the next EXTINCTION LEVEL EVENT because we are obviously doing sweet f*ck all with our brainpower...which is supposedly the pinnacle of 3.5 billion years of evolutionary tinkering.

99.9% of all species that have ever existed are now extinct!

In order to give TLC a fair shake I must confess that I do love the zany antics of the gals on L.A. INK ...especially Kim..

isn't she adorable?

I intend to adopt her and another 25 "babes" just like her so that I can have my own bloody show...although my program might not be as wholesome and Family Oriented.

The Proof Is In The Pudding

VASWRECKTOMY PART 4

The proof is in the pudding is an old proverb that was popularised three hundred years ago by Cervantes in Don Quixote. Of course Cervantes had no way of knowing that pud would be slang for semen in the 21st Century.

Welcome to the wacky world of analyzing post-vaswrecktomized men known as Sementology.

This proverb implies that you won’t know whether food has been properly cooked unless you try it. For recently vaswrecktomized men, it means that you won't know if you're shootin' blanks until they examine your pudding.

Like most of you, I had no idea how this sticky subject would be handled.

This form letter attempts to explain ..

Now the first obstacle for the man is to determine how one goes about manufacturing a sample without breaking your marriage vows. Hmm?

If your good-lady-wife happens to be unavailable and miles away, this means that an ethical dilemma presents itself.

Rather than fantasize about another woman and perpetuate an act of mental adultry, a husband would need to recall a romantic encounter in vivid detail in order to procure the act of self abuse and produce a sample for the friendly staff at Wank & Hoff Laboratories.

Unfortunately the romantic antics of most married couples tragically succumb to the pressures of modern living and after a few years the incidence of chandelier swingin' monkey-love becomes more sporadic.

As Milton Berle said, ''You know, my wife and I have sex almost every day of the week...Yes, almost Monday, almost Tuesday, almost Wednesday.."

If such lustful thoughts of the act of procreational marital bliss are not readily available, then a stimulating visual aid of video/photographic library of your spouse...some husbands receive tastefully staged yet awkwardly executed "boudoir" gifts at Valentine's Day. Naturally these momentos cannot be displayed, EVER, and most end up in a box in the basement or after an acrimonious divorce, on the Interweb labelled with a disparaging remark.

Therefore the average monogamist, isolated from the helping hand of his one true love and bereft of the aforementioned titilating erotica, must man-up and make the dreaded call.

He must phone his wife at work and explain to her that he is being forced to entertain improper lustful thoughts about another woman for a few seconds in order to complete an important medical procedure.

He must calmly explain that the solitary frightful act of beastiliness is for the greater good of the relationship. Some short term pain for long term gain sort of nonsense. He will promise her that it will only happen the one time, that it won't mean anything, and that he won't enjoy himself.

She'll prolly say "Oh for gawdsake" and hang up..which in his mind is her roundabout way of conveying her acceptance. Yes! You are now cleared for takeoff...lift off in 10..9..8..

15.8 seconds later

Many of you may be unaware that extra precautions are now taken in order to guard against theft of the collection sample. The main threat are semen-addicts such as the the single mother of 6 children who recently underwent in-vitro fertilization and had a litter of octuplets!

She and others plagued with her condition would obviously do anything to get their hands on some more nice, warm, sperm. Wank & Hoff Laboratories have now made it company policy that all samples must be flown in by helicopter.

The helicopter ride to the Clinic seems to take forever but believe me, you will need to use this time to think about how you will maintain your composure when you deliver your swimmers to the dour disapproving harridan at the reception desk.

Hopefully the media won't show up at the drop-off like they did at the procedure

..the horror...the horror.

What will the receptionist think of you...she knows exactly what you've been doing within the last 30 minutes and will no doubt heap burning coals of shame upon your soul!

"You filthy, disgusting, selfish, little, pig!"

"Place your container of wasted baby making fluids in the box..say hello to Satan when you roast in hell you animal!"

She then hands you this poster.



After returning to the deafening silence of your empty home you will probably experience remorse, guilt, and shame. To alleviate these feelings, carefully scrub your swimsuit area with bleach, iodine, and steel wool.

Now it's time to contemplate how you will make it up to your longsuffering spousal unit. Especially since this entire procedure must be repeated next week!

Try to remember that you made this sacrifice so that you would enjoy the freedom, whether tepid or torrid, to engage in limitless encounters of spontaneous, guilt-free, acts of state sanctioned carnal pleasure.

You did it for Love...and the proof, is in the pudding.

ONE SMALL SNIP FOR MAN..
WELL TWO ACTUALLY

I made it!

Oh sure I was nervous in the waiting room but it was all over in a flash..a few flashes..and much to my relief, my manhood remained intact.

The surgeon's laser wielding hand was steady and my worst case scenario of him sneezing and accidentally slicing my scrotum off like a Jedi light sabre never happened.

I had prepared myself for a terrible accident and decided that if I became a eunich, that I could always find work singing falsetto with the Vienna Boys Choir or the Nylons...

and of course only geldings are allowed to guard harems. HEllO?

My good-lady-wife has made it quite clear that men are wussies and that we don't know the meaning of PAIN, so I shall forgo any useless pleading for sympathy.










Actually, aside from 5? unnerving plumes of smoke rising from my swimsuit area, it was relatively uneventful.

Which is comforting when you consider the fact that all male Earthlings spend every day of their lives trying to avoid having their bag perforated by a sharp object!

The Doctor did mention that my boys put up a brave fight and valiantly tried to hide from him. I wanted to hide too, especially when the receptionist walked in to drop something off. Not only is she presented with the sight of my freshly shaved manbag, but my terrified and totally turtled willy has been unceremoniously strapped to my shirt...

find a happy place.

Naturally the local News media caught wind of the story and I had to dodge the scrum outside the doctor's office by sneaking out the back door.

UGH!

Once home I devoured handfuls of happy pills and reclined on the sofa with my bag of frozen peas. ((Aaaaaaah))

I will be following Doctor's orders and taking it easy for a few days..fortunately there is a Parliamentary Coup taking place so I'll have plenty to blog about.





Thanks to one and all for your comforting words as well as the good natured and well intentioned admonishments.

Now let us never speak of this unpleasantness again..