Concussions of a Dangerous Mind

I was vacationing in the 1,000 Islands at the family camp when the life altering event took place. This particular weekend it was just myself, my son, and cousins of various sizes and ages. My two cousins...whom from here on out shall be known as the Brain Trust....inform me that Cousin #1's nieces are going to go tubing and asked if my son like to go too. He was game, and so we all piled into the boat and headed out to the deeper parts of the channel.

My two little cousins hit the waves first, and their uncle takes it easy on them as was to be expected, and for the next 15 minutes I watch the girls get tugged behind the boat having the time of their lives. Up next I assume my son would be taking the reins, but my older cousin decides it's time to tempt fate. It takes all of 6 minutes for my cousin to get banged around on the waves, eventually succumbing to the call of the surf and getting dumped ass over tea kettle into the sweet by and by.

My cousin hops in the boat after his less than spectacular wipe-out and begins the traditional hazing ritual, egging me on and letting my son know that his dad is less of a man if he doesn't go tubing. I'm not fooled by his transparent chest pounding. He just wants to see me get dumped into the water at ludicrous speed...so after my son enjoys a leisurely tug around the islands, I put my foot down and say...

I put on the water floatation device and discover that I....may have grown out of it some time ago. My cousin, whom is built like a brick shithouse, assists me with putting on the vest. Of course by assisting I really mean forces the buckles to come together, thus making my manboobs squish together like the first wonderbra for men (patent pending). After the emasculating moment has concluded, I climb awkwardly into the tube.....or should I say I fell out of the fucking boat into the tube and then promptly flipped out of it backwards into the river below. *sigh*

I make my way through the indignity of climbing back into the boat, made more difficult by the fact that the vest is stiff and does not have any give when I am trying to hoist my fat ass out of the water to try again. I then "fall" out of the boat into the inner tube, landing in the seated position. My cousin then drives away leaving me to wonder if my girth will make the inner tube's tow line tear free of the tube leaving me behind in a rapidly shrinking body condom....and then it hits me....

You see, my cousin neglected to mention the fabric bottom of the tube. I mean this not a real inner tube from a tractor tire...it's made for kids to be pulled behind a boat, and when an adult sits on the tube with his arse plugging the giant hole at the top like a cork, it creates a heretofore unforeseen problem. When the tube gets pulled, it pulls everything taut. I was under the impression that the front of the tube would be the only part of the tube that gets yanked when the boat pulls away. WRONG. The middle of the mesh bottom gets gets pulled as well (as the middle of the tube is being pulled away and the mesh is attached to said tube). This means that the first sensation I have is of my colon being forcefully pulled out and the second sensation is that my tender arsehole is being greeted with a constant horse-powered watery battering ram!

I...um...WHAT? yeah. You heard me. My anal cavity was getting brutalized by the world's first boat powered water pik! OH THE HUMANITY! First I get the five finger fandango from my doctor during my physical the week before, and now I am being ass raped by a large body of water! "But couldn't you clench up?" says one of the three people who read my nonsensical rantings.... geeletmethinkNOOOOOO! Let me remind you people of the fact that I am sitting in the tube LEGS AKIMBO HERE PEOPLE! Oh, just an FYI...an unpleasant side-effect of all this was that the constant battering of the colon makes it feel like you have to take a dump worst than that time I mistook week-old Mexican food as a light snack.

As if feeling like my intestines are being power washed by Hurricane Irene and the feeling that I was about to crap a Volkswagon Beetle wasn't enough, there was also the fact that my neck felt like it being crushed under a sadomasochist's leather boot heel. Two years ago I had a slipped disc in my neck removed and fused together with a piece of cadaver bone, and so rides like this...where centripedal force is a given...feels like my throat is collapsing.

Coincidentally, Michael Jackson passed away at roughly that same time though I have never been able to confirm that the bone in my neck was donated from him...although this would explain why I moonwalk to the bathroom each night at 2am when I get up to take a piss. Anyway...doing this shit made my neck fuckin' hurt.

It was at that time that Mother Nature decided to throw the first curve in my face in the form of a rouge wave. Ok wave may be a slight exaggeration, but it felt like I had been bitch slapped by a phone book. The spray smacked me dead on and cleaned out my sinuses like I had just snorted Liquid Plumbr. As I rocked back and forth on the LATEX OF DOOM I did the next most logical thing I could think of....Taunt the driver of course! I mean really...I can't pat the top of my head (which indicates I have had enough) because that would mean my son would known how unmanly I am (as if the lack of coordination and the general poor state of my physique wasn't already enough). So despite the fact that I was being raped by a large body of water, I pressed on. Nay, I SOLDIERED ON. I laughed in the face of danger (more of a nervous laugh really) and proceeded to put on the greatest exhibition of muscle flexing my 2 inch pythons could muster.

My cousin accepted the challenge and begin driving in circles trying to whip me off. At this point I am skipping across the wake trailing behind the boat like a stone hanging on for dear life. I got to tell ya...I don't see what all the rage is about doing this shit...cuz it fuckin' HURT. Where is the fun in getting whiplash and a 12 inch deep colon? ::shrugs:: Still pondering that question, I made it through to the straightaway once more. I contemplated pantomiming the Y-M-C-A dance but thought better of it as it would require taking both hands off the tube handles. I guess it was at that time that Karma paid a visit. My cousin yanked the wheel to the left, I went to the right, and all I remember is having time to glance at the 1.5 foot high wake wave I was about to hit and remark to myself "oh THIS is gonna HURT."...and then

WHAMMO!

I have my first sailing experience.

....Except it doesn't involve a sailboat.

No....no....I hit the wave and was sent careening in the general direction of Canada, sans water, doing the best Peter Pan impression I can muster.

I know it was sans water, because for the split second I remember before I crashed like the stock market in 1929 was looking up and seeing water and saying to myself "That's the water and I'm not in it." before I crashed to the watery grave before me. And hit it I did! My head hit first...kind of like a plow till dragging through the soil behind a tractor during planting season, and then my body slapped down like the clapper they use on movie sets when someone yells ACTION!

My boat-load of cousins swing around and drive back with the no-doubt blood covered LATEX COLON ENHANCER tube and my pain and sacrifice for my son's amusement is met with gales of laughter. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! TEN FEET! YOU WERE TEN FEET IN THE AIR! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!" taunts my cousin. He even remarks that the people on the shore were even laughing at me because they saw it too. Great. Thanks. Glad I could be of service. I hadn't realized I went that far and high as I had roughly enough time between the collision and the splash down for my sex life to flash before my eyes...so I was truly unaware of the amazing performance I had unwittingly given.

Like an idiot, I then unbuckled myself from the life vest so I could breathe at full capacity once again without thinking that to get out of the damn thing, I would have to allow myself to slide down under water out of it because being as it was a life saving floatation device, the sumbitch floats...and being as I am dead tired from hanging on to that fucking tube...I was not so floaty.

Luckily I managed to hold on to the vest and was able to haul my fat ass back into the boat and safety. Well...safety from the water, not my cousins' pointed barbs. (YA DICK!) My son gets another ride as well as my two little cousins as I relive the gory details of my Mary Lou Retton-like dismount from the WEAPON OF ASS DESTRUCTION. By the time we get back to the dock, we are greeted by my Aunt and Uncle. While I would have liked to have had a great laugh at my expense with my family, I was over-taken by the sudden urge to evacuate my stomach contents in the worst way. Not wanting to show weakness to my son, I walked calmly to the bathroom and then dropped onto the seat like a two-ton....heavy thing. (hee hee...a Queensryche reference!)

It occurred to me that I was nauseous and had a headache, which are two signs of a concussion, and my aunt (the former nurse) was right outside. So I did the logical thing. I pulled myself together and went out to tell her my symptoms....and by tell her about my symptoms I mean go straight to bed and take a nap to feel better. Yah. I know. Sleeping with a concussion is probably the stupidest thing to do, but it must not have been one because I awoke, battered and bruised (well my colon did anyway) and relatively none-the-worse-for-wear.

Moral of the story : Never listen to my cousin Harold.

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On a whim, I decided to check out the latest craze in music entertainment. The MEGA CONCERT. This mega concert was entitled "Q-Ruption", a clever name play on the radio station Q103 and it's general lack of originality. What this means to ME is that between every act, those WACKY DJ's from the Free Beer and Hot Wings show come out on stage to speak to the crowd and to make poor attempts to get the crowd whipped up into a lather. Free Beer and Hot Wings? This is the best they could come up with when Howard Stern left terrestrial radio? Really?

Anyway, The concert was all set to start at 6:30, but the mongoloids at Ticket Master conveniently moved it back an hour and told everyone two days before the concert. Thanks assholes! So this meant that I had to hop in the car and drive so fast that there was a risk of going back in time....well....if I was driving a Delorean and had enough Plutonium to get the 88 Jigawatz required for such things. But I digress.

We get to the concert and are forced to park all the way in the back, along the fence line. I guess this makes sense, as we are getting there right as the concert starts (THANKS AGAIN TICKETMASTER!). As we make our way up to the venue, they start parking every one who came in even later up front by the entrance. Thanks Saratoga Performing Arts Center (flips bird in general direction of Saratoga).

So we head in and find our seats after taking a moment for my friend to grab a $20 beer and for me to point out that a few shitheads brought their 6 year olds to the concert. REALLY??? I can only imagine it is so Sully from Godsmack can sing "Cryin' Like A Bitch" to them. Boy will THEY feel silly when they get called out...

Anyhoo....here comes the opener :


These guys came out with the best of intentions with the bald lead singer pulling off the David Draiman look and the bass player thrashing and beating on his bass like there's no tomorrow. The drummer is louder than everyone, which is ok because the manic beat he is pounding out gets all 20 people at the front of the stage jumping up and down. The first song they play is Taking You Down and even though I have no idea who the fuck these guys are...I enjoyed it. The band then rocks out four or so other songs, including their first single White Rabbit (which I had also not heard of). I give them an A for effort though because they tried hard.....well....too hard. Ok actually I am demoting them to a solid B because in between every single song they made the rookie rock band mistake of trying to get the crowd on it's feet. DUDE. There are like ONE HUNDRED PEOPLE ASSEMBLED HERE. The next 200 are in the beer and food area not listening and the other 1,500 people are still on the road and either didn't know of the concert start time change (THANKS TICKET MASTER!)....or they are being fashionably late as they are here to see GODSMACK and simply don't wish to rush here to see the next SemiSonic/Tantric/Cowboy Mouth/Insert-Flash-In-The-Pan-Band-Here. The lead singer and bass player took turns telling us to get to our "motherfucking feet". Sorry pal. If there were more people out there then I guess I wouldn't feel stupid getting up in row DOUBLE J out in the middle of left fucking field.

Anyway, they are off to the concession stands to sell T-Shirts but not before asking the audience if they were ready to see all the bands coming next. They must have been told to read off the list one at a time and then pause to allow for the audience to scream in excitement. man that has to suck. You just sang your ass off for five songs straight trying to win over new fans and then you have to say "ARE YOU GUYS READY FOR SICK PUPPIES? HOW ABOUT SKILLET? AND WHAT ABOUT THAT BAND FIVE FINGER DEATH PUNCH?" while all the while making the audience forget the name Egypt Central!

So they take off, the stage is struck and the next band is ready to go up. We can see from the banner that it will be :


...I guess Egypt Central didn't rate a banner as I don't remember seeing one....and that's when the mutiny begins. Now I understand that in the front row...you're gonna jump up out of your feet to stand in front of the stage, thus making yourself an astounding FIVE FEET CLOSER to the sweaty performers, and thus making it virtually impossible for the poor bastards behind you to see the lead singers ankles and prompting those people to stand as well causing a chain reaction where MORE people behind THEM have to get up, etc etc.....but I'm in fucking row DOUBLE J fer cryin' out loud. There are perhaps 20 people in the back left hand corner of the audience seating...and the fucking douche nozzle couple three seats in front of me have to stand up and shake their hips. REALLY MOTHERFUCKERS? Thankfully they have a video camera on each side of the stage so I can watch the video screens instead.

Anyway, they rock out to several tunes of theirs, including their radio friendly hits, Riptide, Maybe and You're Going Down. The lead singer is better on the mike than the E.C. guys were. He has a bigger crowd than the last band, and he plays up to the crowd with a rousing combination of smirks, jokes, and middle fingers....and knew enough to not scream GET THE FUCK OFF YOUR FUCKING FEET to the beer soaked audience. The best part had to be somewhere in the middle of the set when the band played up to the crowd with a cheap crowd popping teaser of Killing In The Name Of...before stopping half way through and switching to Cee Lo Green's Fuck You instead. Yeah I don't think this would end so well for these guys normally....but it was such a shock when he played that song out of nowhere that it worked and the crowd gleefully screamed FUCK YOU at every opportunity. (did I mention that there were several 6 year olds or so in the audience?)

Sick Puppies finish their set and then those WACKY DJs come out to ask us if we too are ready for Skillet (YEEEAAAAHHHHHH), Five Finger Death Punch (WOOOOOO) and Godsmack (AHHHHHHHH) (you get the point) They thank everyone for coming out and blah blah blah get the fuck off my stage.

20 minutes later and it's time for Christian rockers :
Now this band I wanted to see more than S.P. because they have some good rocking tunes...and they are a Christian band so you just know I am getting some good Karma with God for liking them. By this time a couple in their late 40's/early 50's take a seat behind the dancin' fools from before....and when Skillet comes out...it is at that time that I realize that this tall drink a' cocksucker is 7 feet tall and HE LIKES TO STAND TOO. *GARRRRRRR* So now I am forced to stand up for the entire set. Bleah.


Skillet made up for it by sending out a violinist and a cellist clad in an all white ensemble...yeahbutwhaaaaaa? No shit. A fucking cellist. But it's ok...His cello was TOTALLY METAL. It was stripped down to just the neck and strings and it had not one but TWO kick stands he used to stand it up with. He was all like "MOTHER FUCKIN' POPSICKLES BITCH" and I was all like "WOAH BABY! YOU CAN PUT SOMEONE'S EYE OUT WITH THAT" and he was all like "FUCK YEAH."


Like I said....TOTALLY METAL.

So Skillet has even more asses in the seats and the crowd was really into Skillet's set. They played some songs off their last album and off the current album...and then they almost lost their audience when the lead singer reminds us that we are in a war....and I think to myself "please don't say for our souls" and he says..."not in Iraq....for our SOULS" (I slap my head like I could have had a V8). He says something about not being embarrassed about the Gospel of Christ and then they jump into one of their best songs (of the uh....four that I know)....Awake And Alive. Totally rocked. They then rock out Monster for us and soon their set is over....that is, once they ask us if HEY! ARE YOU EXCITED ABOUT THE NEXT BAND?? DID YOU KNOW THERE WAS ANOTHER BAND COMING? REALLY? Ugh. The things people have to do to get their stage time. Poor bastids. I do find it amusing that a Christian band is opening for a band called GODSMACK. Let that sink in for a moment....heh. Honestly though, Godsmack got their name from the story of one of the band members making fun of another band member for having a cold sore on his mouth and then a week later the sore was gone and the band member who made fun of his friend now had the sore on his own mouth and the first guy said "See that? That's God smacking you down for making fun of my cold sore!" and hence, a band name was born.

So Skillet takes off and we suffer through the douche crew from Q again..And then it's time for :

I wasn't expecting much....but I have to admit...they impressed me. Skillet was awesome because they had a lead guitarist who actually had interesting solos to listen to...and so did FFDP. FFDP had two guitarists and they seemed to share the solo's...Which was cool. The lead singer was also more charismatic as well. It seemed that every singer got more and more charismatic as the night went on. This guy though...he slayed me. He comes out with no socks or shoes on, and talks more with his hands than I do. I mean this guy can't say two words without his hand moving up, down or side to side. He looks like a mime with Downs Syndrome. The band runs through part of their set and then they too start playing cover songs....beginning with Pantera's Walk...until the lead singer's like nahhh nah nah forget that....try something else....so the lead guitarist switches to Crazy Train by Ozzy. nope. The singer is not satisfied. So to placate him, he tries Smoke On The Water by Deep Purple and the lead singer is like "Are you kidding me!?!?!?!" and then starts wagging his fist in front of his crotch to let the guy know how he really feels...which contrary to the motion...is not too good. Then they break into the real reason they are here, which is their cover of Bad Company's Bad Company (no that's not a typo for anyone born circa 1990 or later). Then, before they play Under And Over It, the singer lets us in on some rumor control. He hates the internet and just has to clear things up.

Rumors he cleared up :

He has 14 kids from various women - MMMMMaybe True.

He is addicted to drugs - False.

He has a huge penis - .........False. he is Irish and hung like his pinky.

Oh well you can't win them all.

So FFDP wraps it up and it's time for the main event!


When they finally come out ...the people are off their seats and goin' banana. God comes out and runs through Cryin' Like A Bitch out of the gate. I'll admit...I was kinda underwhelmed by this one. I wanted more. They then cracked out other classics throughout their set like Straight Out Of Line and Awake before hitting on one of the other hits I wanted to see and that was Love, Hate, Sex, Pain (or as I like to call it, "Booty Call From My Ex-Girlfriend")...not to mention Voodoo and Keep Away.

That's when they got to the highlight of the entire night for me. Battala De Los Tambores...also known as the best Goddamn drum solo I have ever seen. No shit. The drummer's set drives out into center stage and he starts bashing the skins. Ok...I dig the beat. What-evs. Then Sully drives out in a second drum kit and he's bashing on the bongos so hard it would put John Stamos' drumming in that Beach Boys video to shame! So Sully drives the crowd into a frenzy with his showboating on the bongos and I figure he is done...little realizing that he was just getting warmed up. he then turns around and starts bashing the skins himself, and he and the drummer go at it for five minutes of synchronized drumming while the guitarist and bassist keep the rhythm going on the ramp behind them. I mean I haven't seen something take a beating like that since Rodney King (FUCK YOU THAT'S FUNNY). Sure, if you are a big Godsmack fan, you probably already know this shit happens on probably every dang tour they do...but I was not prepared for it. Loved it.

Unfortunately due to prior commitments, I had to get outta dodge before the encore...which was Serenity and I Stand Alone. We actually left during Whatever (heh...appropriate...) and that would have bummed me out had it not been for the mind blowing drum solo. That, and being on my feet for the last three out of five acts...yeah I am fuckin' tired too. Five bands in one sitting is still five bands in one sitting.

The Good :

Godsmack's Battala De Los Tambores (click link below)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MTXv8xPBGww

...And the rest of the Godsmack drumming. For a drummer he looks a little on the lean side. I mean someone hand him a sandwhich! Stat! Other than the fact that his arms are skinnier than Iggy Pop or your average aborted fetus...his drumming was kick ass. He played in the vein of Rikki Rocket from the Poison videos of the 80's. I mean he was NOT boring AT ALL. He was really fun to watch.

Skillet's set in general...and the lead guitarist. His solos always kicked ass.

Sick Puppies doing Fuck You by Cee Lo Green.

Five Finger Death Punch's cover parade followed by their Bad Company cover...and their two lead guitarists. They shredded pretty good by my estimation.

Egypt Central's Taking You Down - It got me in the mood for live music from that first note.

The Bad :

The Bass playing. Sure Egypt Central's bassist tried hard and had a ton of energy....it didn't even look like he was playing that thing. Same goes for the hot female bass player for Sick Puppies. She plucked, strummed and finger popped the strings but the wall of sound I kept hearing was like....the same wave of of one-note sound as the last song. Once in awhile she would play a progression of notes and it sounded like she could play, yet she always had her back to the crowd so I have no idea if she was actually the one playing. ::Shrugs:: The bassist for Skillet was okeedokee...but he is more of a Kip Winger bassist...IE he plays a minimum of notes and does not play any rhythm outside the vocal posts he is hitting....still better than FFDP's bassist who tortured his bass and looked like was rubbing a cheese grater on it (and sounded about the same). Can he play? Yeah I'm sure...but when the sound is turned up to 11 no one is ever going to know. Godsmack's Bass player was great, plucking his way through all their hits....when he wasn't passing out drum sticks to the front row.

The lead guitarist for Godsmack also goes in this category as he had ZERO energy. Looked like he had about a million better places to be. Strike that. he had NEGATIVE energy...he actually sucked enjoyment out of me because I felt bad for making him entertain me! That and he is guitar solos were a mess of wiggala wiggala weeeeer over and over again. Slash does a solo...it's different from the last. Same flavor...so you know it's him...but different from song to song. Didn't feel that way here.

Actually a lot of the guitar work was more feedback than actual notes. Again, you turn that shit up to 11 then you hear a wall of sound more than intricate notes.

The UGLY :

The women there. I mean holy shit. I was surrounded by either Goth chicks, fugly chicks, or OLD chicks. That was the surprise there. Yah I'm forty now...but there was some 50 year olds there and people with white hair. I was like....seriously WTF? Shouldn't you be at a YANNI concert? There is nothing more sad than the woman wearing some kind of sequined mini skirt looking all shiny....and seeing that she had a pair of flannel shorts underneath, because she obviously realized that she hasn't been able to pull that look off since Reagan and the Iran Contra Affair (look it up n00bs).

Now go click on my feedback or risk making me come to your house and ask you why. Trust me....the last thing you want to see is this in your living room...

Think of the children!

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LET'S GET (a) PHYSICAL! PHYSICAL!

Of all the mysteries of the universe I have pondered....how far a man can jam his finger up my ass was never one of them. Today's story of Chinese finger-cuffs-gone-wrong came about because I had not had a get-yer-freak-on physical in two years and whether I liked it or not...being as I am 40 now...unfortunately I was due.

So I make an appointment with the new doctor (my old one had retired) and I head over to meet my fate head on. The nurse checks my vitals (presumably to make sure that I won't have a heart attack when he does the five knuckle shuffle on my battered colon) and then has me put on a gown. ugh. This emasculating moment is almost the worst part of the exam..I mean why don't you just have me put on some lipstick and an ankle bracelet at that point? *sigh*

My new doctor impresses me right off the bat by being 15 minutes late, and when I meet him, I feel like I can't really hold it against him because he looks like Morgan Freeman...and dammit...no one can be mad at Morgan Freeman for very long.


I guess it's an upgrade from my last Doctor, whom looked like he belonged on the set of Slumdog Millionaire....or the one who looked like Long Duck Dong from Sixteen Candles....which now makes this the fourth ethnicity that has lost a knuckle in the recesses of my ass...so I got that goin' for me (#3 was a white bread honky).

So anyway, Prior to the doctor arriving (without a dozen roses for our first date I might add...I mean Jesus is it too much to ask for some romance once in a while?)....er...where was I....oh. right. Um...so ok! So the new doc comes in and he asks me a few personal questions like do you smoke, have you ever been raped on roofies, does this smell like chloroform etc etc...and then it's go time.

LET THE SEDUCTION BEGIN!

The doctor starts out by blinding me with his pen light followed by the tongue depressor routine (or as I like to think of it...mood lighting and a quick check of my gag reflex wink wink). He follows this "routine" by touching me all over, pausing at my moobs. I assume he was looking for lumps (cancerous lumps as opposed to my humps...my humps..my lovely lady lumps) but regardless, I am getting nervous and start to sweat worse than a whore in church. He then proceeds to have me do some seductive heavy breathing while he listens through the stethoscope after which he lays me down and starts touching my belly playing a rousing game of "Does this hurt?". I've got to say...there's nothing quite like heavy petting followed by heavy foreshadowing....

He asks me to stand on this platform thing that he pulled out of the exam table and then it's time for the final phase of the exam.

(or as I like to call it....THIRD BASE)

He putters around by the cabinetry prolonging my agony while he takes out a tube of anal lube which had the picture of those two guys from Brokeback Mountain on it (oh come on...you didn't see at least ONE Brokeback joke coming out of this now did you?) and the rubber gloves. *gulp* It's.....that time.

....or not. He sits down in front of me, wanting to savor every moment of my uncomfortable experience. He pulls up my dress and asks me to hold it there like a woman from the 1700's doing a curtsy. He then grabs my Fruit of the Looms and begins yanking them down with one hand. This takes a few tugs because there is a reason they call them "tighty whiteys". I cannot explain how awkward it is to be de-panty-ed by another man. I mean I have done my fair share of de-panty-ing to the opposite sex and for the love of God it felt like I was being seduced.

AWK-WEEEEEERD!

So there I am....dress up around my treasure trail, undies 'round my knees, and he starts playing with my balls. He must have thought they were going to tell him something akin to the answers you would get from one of those Magic 8-Balls and apparently the answer he was getting was "Ask again later" because then he starts feeling up the other one. Dear GOD the pain was excruciating. if only the Doctor would do something to take my mind off the indignity of this man grabbing my change purse and playing with it like an X-Box controller (which he did next whilst having me cough). And then it was over. *phew*

What comes next was kind of a surprise. I mean I know the prostate check was next, and every doctor likes to do things his own way....but his methods made me wonder if he has watched the movie The Secretary one too many times. In other words, he has me turn around on my little diving platform, lean forward, and rest my forearms on the exam table.


The first few guys that checked my prostate, did so with incredible speed. I mean they are setting land speed records with their exams here....almost as if they were doing it on a dare, rather than trying to actually get an accurate reading on whether my prostate is getting large and needs to go on the Atkins Diet. I mean if you want to point to my brain, there are easier ways of doing it. Just sayin'. Anyway, these first two gentlemen did your standard bend-over-the-table-like-a-prison-guard-searching-you-for-contraband technique. Now my last doctor, he favored the lay-on-your-side-and-curl-into-the-fetal-position-so-I-can-mine-for-gold technique. This was fine for me because I was already in that position sucking my thumb as I attempted to block that 15 minutes of my life out. Wait. Did I say 15 minutes? I mean...15 seconds. yeah that's it.

Now I have to say that since I am standing on this little platform, I have to keep my feet together to maintain balance....and if my feet are together, then so are my arse cheeks. So in order to uh.....drive his point home....he makes like my marshmellowy ass cheeks are THE WORD....and he needs to spread the word. I resist the urge to utter a sound effect like velcro being undone as he parts my cheeks like he's opening up a newspaper....I mean the guy spread my arse cheeks so far apart, I thought he was going to put his face in there and peer through my eyes like a Human View Master!


Inevitably....I feel something slide into place. I have just enough time to think to myself "gee...that finger looked deceivingly small when I spied it earlier..." before the doctor started rooting around checking my prostate. I mean if he was any further up there I'd swear he was going to strike oil, but before I could ask him if he was looking for an answer to the high price of gas or if he he was playing a solo game of Rock Paper Scissors back there (and I think Rock just won)....he pulls out. *phew* It's OVER. It's finally...*WOAH*...and in it goes again....and by "it" I mean his wrist.

At this point, my fractured psyche was busy blocking out this second violation with images of puppy dogs and Christmas trees so I was unable to ask him the questions burning in the back of mind. Questions such as..."Was I born with two prostates?"..."Are you trying to check my prostate or REMOVE IT?"...and "What do you think Tiger Wood's chances are at the Masters this year?"...but alas. It was too late and the psychotic break from reality was complete. On the plus side...he removed his appendage (or was that a coat rack from the lobby?) and we were done. Well. Thank the Good Lord Above that this unpleasantness is finally behind us thought I, as I pull my thumbs out from where I had buried them (in my eye sockets)....and that was when round three of what would be forever known as the Colon Blow Trifecta happens....

Yep. He rams his BOOM STICK back in for Round Three. At this point I can't be sure I trust my senses, but I BELIEVE he said something akin to "THIS IS FOR SLAVERY!" as he assaulted my tenderized back door man cave yet again. I can't be sure, but my anus was either completely numb or had been burned off from friction. I don't know. At the very least I was going to have to downgrade my asshole from a brown eye to a black eye on account of the bruising. "Doc...Seriously.....are you trying to solve a braille rubik's cube in there?"

...and then at that point, he snaps out of it and removes his forearm.

I half expected to turn around and see Dennis Hopper wearing an oxygen mask from Blue Velvet screaming "DON'T FUCKING LOOK AT ME!!!!" but no. It was just the doc. The guy then refused to cuddle or make eye contact and I was forced to do "The Walk of Shame" down the hall to the Nurses' station where I was passed off to the nurse on duty. I then hobbled out of the doctor's office looking more bowlegged than a novice cowboy whom had just been on horseback for the past 8 hours not knowing what day it was...but certainly glad to be alive.

I don't know if there has been any permanent psychological damage....but it does seem like more than a coincidence that I am now addicted to poking myself on Facebook. That and the fact that every time I take a dump...sooner or later my finger ends up lodged in my asshole.

The Moral of the story is : Always pay your medical bills on time because the late fees they impose on you are a BITCH.