Friday, March 11, 2016

Assteroid Apocalypse!

I have a secret. A dirty, dark secret. For twenty years, I've been living a lie. I've been putting on a happy front but have been covertly living in agony.


Okay, let's all get it out in the open, have a chuckle or two about it. Hang on a minute, I have a picture from my ANALysis here somewhere...

You know what it's like to sit on razor blades? I do!

Why, you ask, have I suffered in silence for twenty years without doing a dang thing about it? Chalk it up to stupid male pride. And embarrassment. I mean, honestly, who wants to 'fess up to having bottom issues? Even worse, spreading cheeks wide for a stranger. Gah. Besides, when I'm on the slender side of things, the pain subsides. But, human yo-yo that I am and currently tipping the scales again, the pain came raging back. With a fiery, itchy vengeance.

I thought to myself, "Hmm. Something's not right down south."

So. After much cajoling from my wife and constant burning torture, I bit the bullet. Made an appointment with a rectal specialist. (And what a thankless job that's gotta be, right?)

Here's the thing...I was expecting a mean, round, elderly doctor. Who wouldn't be dour after looking at troubled arses year round? Alas, she was younger, nearly a super-model. Uh-oh. I didn't sign up for that.

With great hesitation, I dropped trou. The doctor then brought in her entourage, two other women. More women came in, nurses, receptionists, next door neighbors, gawkers. I think even the janitor moseyed in.

"Hey, you gotta check out this guy's butt, Allison! It's one for the record book!"

A party! Everyone checking out my bottom. Just, you know, not in a good way. I was prodded, poked, probed, pickled and deeply mortified. The physical pain was unbearable. But when the doctor exclaimed, "Oh!" things took a decided turn toward the dark side (not my dark side, but...ah, never mind).

Ladies and gentlemen, I hit the anal trifecta! Huzzah! The doctor was frankly stymied, said it was unusual for anyone to have the three--three, count 'em, three!--arse trauma issues I suffered.

I won't bludgeon you with the gory details. (Where are those damn photos?) But, through the miracle of modern science and operations, over the months to come I should make a recovery. Don't know if my fragile male ego will, though.

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  1. Wiping my tears away, but not because I feel sorry for your derriere!

  2. Uh, sorry for your misery, but I'm still laughing!

    Oh, and I just finished your second Killers Incorporated, Strike. Excellent! Congratulations!