On Colonoscopies

It occurs to me that if I ever need a colonoscopy, it might be comforting to get a gay male doctor.


I'm sure my regular guy is well versed in the procedure, he might even be technically gifted, but I feel like, at least subconsciously, with a distinct stereotyped bias, the new guy might just be more gentle about the whole procedure.

Scented candles, warmed instruments, maybe some relaxing music, I'm not asking him to take me out for soup and steak, I just think he'd be a little less clinical about the whole experience and understand the position I'm in.

Also, he'd probably take all those accidental innuendos and just run with them. How funny would those jokes be?

"Innuendo? In your endo!" Ah-ha-ha. So good. Thank you, Doctor; that really lightened the mood and set me at ease. I am now ready for the large metal snake to check my internals for signs of ill-health.

Health Care Mini-Post

I joked a while back that all the couching I did during my flu was going to give me ripped abs.

Well, it might have specifically ripped my right oblique.

I never quite shook that cough. Basically, the stress of trying to coordinate a major career and housing shift made me susceptible to illness, which might have put a little liquid in my lungs. Not full-on pneumonia, but I think just enough phlegm to keep me coughing and perpetuate the whole nonsense. That in turn had me coughing so viciously when I lay down that I may have kind of sort of could have pulled a muscle in my side.

Seriously, it's like a nine year old hit my in the ribs with a softball. This is stupid.

Being the big-shot adult I am, with health care cards and all, I've got a doctor's appointment at 9:15 this morning, so I'll update you all with the hilarious results on my prescribed prodding.

With any luck, he'll tell me I need mind-altering medication and bed rest.

Of Stand-Up Routines You Will Never See Me Perform

Surprisingly, the popularity of Knock-Knock jokes has not been adversely affected by the advent of the doorbell.
Knock-knock.
"Who's there?"
"Doorbell repair man!"
"Doorbell repair man who??"
"Really???"

If I were Jesus I'd run the Rapture like a big game of Simon Says. "Come on, everybody get into heaven, now. Let's go.…HOLD UP! Haha, alright, all'a you fuckers gotta go to Hell now. Okay, Pete! Got enough room for the Jews, now. Let 'em on in!"

I just drove in from New York and boy are my arms tired! … Seriously, I think we stopped at every glory hole along the way.…Gas is expensive.

I actually came out here in part to visit a friend of mine. She's here tonight, so if everyone could just turn around and embarrass her right now we call all assure that I'll have absolutely zero chance of scoring with her tonight.

No, actually I have a girlfriend back home who I'm faithful to. She's really pretty … kind of an airhead but she's a real doll.…and by that I mean she's made out of polyvinyl acetate.

I love the look that comes over her face right before I do.

It's always so … surprised…. :O

Do you think cows go people tipping? I don't, but look at bullfights. So maybe.

Sometimes I think that I'm not depressed enough to be emo, and that makes me sad.

So I bought myself some horn-rimmed glasses and a woman's plaid shirt. They say, "I want to write you bad poetry," and "I think Streetlight Manifesto is totally not gay."

Now I'm so cool my pillow flips over to get to the other side of me.… I'm not even sure how that works.

Speaking of being asleep I used to hope that one day I could walk through my own apartment at night and not have to worry about zombies or ninja assassins. Nowadays I just figure if I'm about to be killed Austrian robots from the future will appear and save me. No, I'm not getting too much of an ego.

The zombies I don't worry about much anymore, but it's getting to the point where in my dreams I'm bored with the idea and just start taunting my subconscious. "Oh, a zombie dream? Alright. You never let your guard down? Well how about I zombify your friends and loved ones. Also, you have no guns. Oh, you need a knife? How about tiny Russian throwing knives? And you don't know how to throw those. Well just stab around blindly until you wake up. Then I'll make you dream you're naked in high school again. Fuck you, Dave."

One of my old roommates used to have a life-sized cardboard cutout of Xena he'd place randomly about the house to scare us. I knew her thin, pliable body said, "No," but her screen-printed eyes said, "I know you furiously masturbated to me in the nineties … and that makes me hot."

So yes, I like to fashion myself something of a sex-pert. I'm not accredited or anything; I'm self-taught.

They say most guys look for girls who remind them of their mothers. I'm looking for a short, twisted, argumentative and emotionally distant egotist. I'm looking for a girl like my father.

The last girl I dated was actually a semi-delusional insomniac, which makes me either imaginary or a rapist. I'm not sure which'd actually be worse.

My father once told me, after his third glass of whiskey, "Son, sexual attraction, in any relationship–even a brief one–is directly proportionate to emotional commitment…

… except in this case."

I said, "Wow, Dad! This is the best bar-mitzvah ever!"

"But could you please stop trying to set me up with my cousins? That's just gross."

"I mean they're from New Jersey…."

I like to be the smart one in a relationship, but I'd prefer not to be the pretty one.

I like tiny girls. I'm not that tall a guy, so I like to feel big around women. Having a huge dick just doesn't come up in conversation as often as you'd think.

Beyond that I'm really just looking for a girl who's not afraid to say, "I love you," or "Let's try it up the ass tonight.…Now bend over."

I've dated a big girl, who was very good with her mouth, probably because she was hungry. I've also dated a bulimic girl. She didn't have a gag reflex. I've dated a blond, a brunette and a redhead, a straight girl, a girl who said she was bi in order to attract men's attentions and a girl who really was bi because she was a complete whore with daddy issues. What I'm really saying is I just want to try all 31 Flavors.

Except tuna fish.

I'm actually a little worried about going to the doctor now. He's going to ask me if I'm sexually active and all I can say is, "Well, that depends on how long you take with my prostate exam."

And then I'll cough.

They say "an apple a day keeps the doctor away," but I find letter bombs are just as effective.

For the less extreme of you, the next time he asks you to drop your pants, just start talking dirty to him. If he doesn't immediately ask for a follow-up you're golden.

Of Health and Well Being, Part II

So I got my genitals fondled by an old man today. An old man who has fondled both my father and grandfather. Awkward.

So yeah, got my physical. If I'm not perfectly healthy, my blood pressure is a little high which is normal for my family. Of course I wanted to placate my doctor's fears so when he went to retake my BP at the end of the check-up I consciously lowered my heart rate to around 70 BPM and dropped my pressure a good 10 points for both systolic and diastolic.

Did I not mention I moonlight as an Indian yogi? I'm fairly certain I mentioned I moonlight as an Indian yogi.

Anyway, yes, my biggest decision today was whether it was more important to leave things be and get a positively certain check-up or masturbate and reduce the chance of autonomic response at the frenzied testicular examination of a sexagenarian geriatric specialist.

For the record, I closed my eyes and thought of England. Somehow that was an excellent erectile dysfunctor.

Of Health and Well Being, Part I

Today's post shall come in two parts, this one to sate your brains' lusty desires for my lofty prose, and then an other to see how things went.

Tomorrow I have what is ostensibly my last doctor's appointment with our family physician. I lose coverage under my mom's insurance as of the new year and have already been dropped from my father's, so it's now a mad scramble to get me all the medical treatment I'm legally entitled too while I'm still eligible. Tomorrow.

At noon.

Dear God, what is wrong with me that I have to go into the doctor and explain to him that noon is 3.5 hours earlier than I usually wake up? That I've vanquished all but the sociologically learned behaviors associated with being nocturnal? That I'm truly happier avoiding all news shows and daytime programming?

How can I explain the benefits of recently cutting out my vitamins or eating and sleeping now only when and any time that I'm actually hungry or tired? Will I have to explain my choice of turning down the N1H1 vaccine if he recommends it? Will that old bastard try to take my blood himself again? Buddha come down in your magic lotus car and save me now.

On the up-side, I was totally gonna ditch this guy anyway. Granted it's convenient that he has my entire family's medical history memorized, but that also means he's been practicing medicine for like 40 years already. Also, he's a geriatric specialist.

Call me crazy, but I'd prefer my doctor to be more familiar with new and interesting medical options which can be offered to patients who are not old enough to qualify for social security.

Now all I have to do is convince my mom that I simply don't need health insurance as I don't get sick or injured. I mean alright I've been to the emergency room but that was like one time and I got hit in the head with an entire 'nother Jew.


[If you were wondering, no, two Jews to not cancel out and annihilate each other when they collide. Only everyone else annihilates Jews. HEY OHHHHH.]