Phuc: Now Polyp-Free!!11!!!
A comedy article
by Phuc | 03/21/2006 01:42 PM | 296 views
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My dad died of cancer in his liver. Of course, it didn't start there; it started in his colon.
Don't be sad. My dad and his colon had a great run. Pig snouts, chicken feet, thousand year old eggs, groundwater contaminated beyond superfund levels by Uncle Sam... You name something you're too much of a Poe to eat and it probably passed through my dad's colon at some point in time.
Since the difference in age between when ol' Raden Achmad Effendy passed away and his youngest kid is less than ten years, the doctor figured it'd be a good idea for yours truly to get an anal probe. The bloody stool I've been having for the past, oh, three years was just icing on the red velvet cake.
The cornhole detectives faxed me a shopping list that contained two items:
1. Phospho Soda
2. Dulcolax (It ends in "lax." You guess what it's for.)
I was to take thrice the regular dosage of #1 the afternoon before the procedure and thrice again the regular dosage of #1 a few hours later, plus quadruple the regular adult dosage of #2. Overkill, you think? It appears as though they want a crystal clear view of the plumbing. Shoulda called Roto Rooter.
It took less than 20 minutes for this cocktail to work its mojo.
Needless to say, the way my bowels evacuated should be a model for homeland security. If the people at the World Trade Center had been taught five years ago to do what every last trace of organic matter in my digestive tract did last night, we'd be reminiscing about "The Miracle of 9/11" over mojitos in twin tower-shaped oversized cocktail glasses today. By the time the first cadaver hit the pavement in The Sopranos, my plumbing was so clean, you coulda ate off it. Might I suggest a fine Merlot to go with that?
I awoke the next morning craving everything from a hot fudge anchovie sundae to general gau's dog. But the hunger was overshadowed by a creeping dread. I dreaded the procedure. I dreaded the invasion of an orifice over which God HimSelf has placed the holy "Exit Only" sign. I dreaded what the results might show.
And I dreaded pain. You see, ten years ago I had a similar procedure called a sigmoidoscopy. It was painful, humiliating, and the nurse gave me the heebie jeebies, like my butt was two piles of heroin and he was Jerry Garcia. You don't want to be exposed, greased, and open to invasion when you're being checked out by a guy who would make George Michael nervous.
But the fear of what was to come was far overwhelmed by the fear of what could be. Rather an hour's anal agony then a lingering painful death. So I girded my loins, unclenched my buttocks, and lit a candle for my backdoor virginity.
I arrived at the hospital right on time. I filled out the forms, including one signing away the rights for any polyps or tissue removed to be used for medical experimentation or as extras in Eli Roth's next movie.
After an excrutiating 45 minute wait , during which I had the choice of either watching morning infotainment ("The Buzz!") or letting my imagination run wild with thoughts of metastisizing tumors devouring my organs one by one until all that remained of my innards was an Al-shaped mass of hardened, pulsating cancer. I tuned out telly while visions of neoplasm danced in my head.
Then came the call. "Al... Nah... Nata... Naaataaa... Not gonna have his ass-cherry after today, that's for sure!"
I was told to change out of my clothes and into a hospital johnny. There went the remaining shreds of my metrosexuality.
My hairy ass hanging out, I was mercifully escorted--stat--to a gurney where I was questioned about my health history and whether or not I had followed the "cleansing ritual" the night before. I responded in the affirmative, adding that I had also offered the entrails of the neighbor's cat to appease the Orisha, that they might grant me long life and a digestive tract cleaner than the Hubble Telescope Mirror (no klingons around uranus, cap'n).
I was told that I would be given Demerol. Ah, Demerol. When you're facing the invasion of your poop chute, those are the three sweetest syllables in the English language after "chastity belt" (I failed math). I knew then that my fears of suffering and humiliation were for naught and that the sweet sleep of pharmacology would take me away.
...
And that's really all of the story that's worth telling. Once I got the shot, I don't remember anything. I awoke farting, thirsty, and trying to shake a dream of aliens wearing pointy straw hats.
My ass feels fine, the results were negative, and there's a jar of pickled pig's feet with my name on it at the corner bodega.
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Like This? Rate It!
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Hilarious
39 votes
4.6
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Hilarious
1 votes
4.0
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Millie
03/21/2006 05:28 AM
Jesus, what's with the bowel stories tonight?
I'm glad your colon is squeaky-clean!
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Funny
1 votes
3.0
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Fratberry
03/21/2006 01:22 PM
Heh. Miracle of 9/11. Awesome.
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0 votes
0.0
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Ditdah
03/21/2006 01:25 PM
<span style="font-style: italic;">The Sopranos</span>,
Nice formatting, computer boy.
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0 votes
0.0
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Dogs Akimbo
03/21/2006 01:28 PM
Millie got pictures of her breast. Where's da fotos of yo butt?
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0 votes
0.0
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Mrs.JM and her basket of goodies
03/21/2006 01:38 PM
Tell your ass I said congratulations. It's a very nice ass and I wouldn't wish anything bad to ever happen to it.
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0 votes
0.0
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Phuc of the Ascension
03/21/2006 01:43 PM
Nice formatting, computer boy.
Blame the editor.
Millie got pictures of her breast. Where's da fotos of yo butt?
Right here.
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0 votes
0.0
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Fratberry
03/21/2006 01:42 PM
Who do we blame for that?
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0 votes
0.0
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Whistler P. McManus
03/21/2006 04:28 PM
Well done, Al.
You could have asked, though, and any of the old folks would have told you you'd sleep right through the whole thing. Did you forget that the world's best amateur proctologist* hangs out here.
*my brother, dumbasses.
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0 votes
0.0
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Phuc of the Ascension
03/21/2006 04:50 PM
You could have asked, though,
"Beg pardon, Mr. McmAnus. But have you ever had your bowels inspected and if so, how did that feel?"
Not my everyday conversation.
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0 votes
0.0
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Whistler P. McManus
03/21/2006 04:57 PM
Not my everyday conversation.
Perhaps not, but an easy enough question to slip in unnoticed here at GAB.
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0 votes
0.0
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Phuc of the Ascension
03/21/2006 05:43 PM
True dat.
We do love teh poo.
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0 votes
0.0
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Fratberry
03/22/2006 06:52 PM
Phuc: I have blood in my stool.
Fratberry: Bright or dark red?
Yeah, we have no shame once we hit 40ish.
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0 votes
0.0
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Phuc of the Ascension
03/22/2006 06:56 PM
Yeah. When you look at your "work" and see that you've passed a few tbsp of bright red blood along with that constipation-buster and you heave a sigh of relief that it's not dark red or black, you're an oldster.
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0 votes
0.0
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Professor Nutbutter
03/22/2006 06:56 PM
What does it mean if my poo is a deep shade of orange?
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0 votes
0.0
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Phuc of the Ascension
03/22/2006 06:57 PM
What does it mean if my poo is a deep shade of orange?
That it won't get shot at during hunting season?
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0 votes
0.0
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Fratberry
03/22/2006 06:59 PM
Talons, claws and beaks will all perforate your colon, you know.
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0 votes
0.0
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HC recites ZUG 3:16
03/22/2006 07:08 PM
the way my bowels evacuated should be a model for homeland security.
Love it.
Thanks for the laugh. Great article!
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0 votes
0.0
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Professor Nutbutter
03/22/2006 07:09 PM
Note to self: HC likes the poo jokes.
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0 votes
0.0
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HC recites ZUG 3:16
03/22/2006 07:16 PM
And that's some good Shakespeare.
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0 votes
0.0
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Fratberry
03/22/2006 07:22 PM
What does it mean if my poo is a deep shade of orange?
It means that Ollie's been jacking off after eating cheetos but before putting it in your butt.
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0 votes
0.0
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HC recites ZUG 3:16
03/22/2006 10:40 PM
I just love stories with a Shakespearety ending. heh.
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0 votes
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Trae
03/23/2006 03:23 AM
I had a colonic treatment not too long ago. Nothing like the expression of ones bowels to make you feel oh so clean and fresh.
My Shakespeare don't stink, cause I ain't got no Shakespeare!
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0 votes
0.0
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Phuc
08/28/2008 06:27 PM
Bumping this one for the lobster.
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