I Don't Have Cancer...Yet

This post is a candid look into the last 16 hours of my life. Last night while innocently watching pirated films on the couch and fondling myself (as per usual routine), I came across a protruding lump on my right testicle. After I finished the movie I reexamined myself and determined that my battle-dick had been sunk and after a grueling surgery I would be an exclamation point for my waning days. Needless to say my sleep last night consisted of a mixture of flashbacks to my circumcision and purgatorial cold sweats. When I finally got out of bed I decided that a solid day of work would distract me, but everything I saw reminded me of my impending ailment (most prominent a picture of Gonzo from the Muppets cutting Kiwis). After abandoning Nick to do the day's plowing I made an appointment at a hospital and left post haste. The grueling journey there consisted of me listening to a compilation of sad sack music that would make Roberto Benigni stick his head in the oven (Elliot Smith, Radiohead, Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 14 in C Sharp Minor, Op. 27, No. 2 'Moonlight': Adiago Sostenuto, Frank Sinatra's I Don't Like Goodbyes and Aimee Mann's "One"). When I got to the hospital I was asked to explain my ailment to series of administrative officials. None seemed to understand. Finally I was ushered into a room and an Asian doctor who spoke perfect English came in and examined me. By examine, I mean did what I do to myself on the couch. "There's definitely a lump, let's get you an ultrasound immediately." Aimee Man playing quietly in my head. After depantsing a beautiful ultrasound technician came in and began using a ray gun to spread a fun, slippery jelly KY substance over my satchel of unmentionables. After about 6 minutes I lost my nerve, "Is it cancer?" "No, not cancer." She continued to rub the ray gun with spermicidal lube over my gradually increasing Muppet, to the point where I had to proclaim, "I'm sorry, finding out I don't have cancer makes me super horny". After 20 minutes of infatuation with my hanging huevos and a lot of Kleenex the examination was finished, I repantsed and went back into the waiting room. The very cordial doctor Yuen called me into his office and closed the door. "This is going to sound a bit odd..." "Cut the formalities doc let's be family". "When's the last time you ejaculated?" I looked at my watch. "Your right tube that provides semen to your penis is swollen and basically needs to be released more regularly." "Basically what you're telling me doc is I need more relief in my life." "I'm saying that you should try to increase your sexual activity in order to minimize swelling in that area." "Can I have that as a written prescription for that?" I left with doctor’s orders (greatest remedy since African myth about dispelling AIDS), a refillable prescription of love and a new lease on life. I implore you women of the world only you can save me from myself.

Post Script: My ultrasound technician and I are going steady.

Post Post Script: Also in the news today; Pakistan destroys morale of upcoming law enforcement, 300lbs man hates old people, Afghanistan bombing kills 8 and the auto industry looks like me after a weekend in Vegas without a hotel room. Great Day.