Taking One For The Team

So my gastro - entronologist (professionally known as a Butt Doctor because no one, including myself, can spell worth a gastroentronologist's occupation) vanished. Like a fart in the wind. (More of these puns are coming.)

I had to go see a NEW butt doctor, who told me my OLD doctor was doing all the wrong butt stuff. I was taking the right medication, "but" he said, (multiple times with varying numbers of the letter T) I might be taking it through the incorrect entry point.

I accept and acknowledge that there are people who would not be upset to hear this information, but, uh, I was. Horrified? No, I've eaten Brooke's She-Crab Soup, so it's not THAT bad. But upset? That's fair. the doctor said he was going to give me enemas to do myself for a month. That's about the third most horrible thing you can hear from a doctor.

I think it goes 1.) Mortal Disease 2.) Amputation 3.) Insert this capsule/squeezy bottle of liquid into your bumhole. 

Yes.

His name, and this is not a joke, is Maanus. The perfect portmanteau of 'Man' and 'Anus.' A marvelous gift of fate I know give, in turn, to you.

Anyway, I think to myself, "Sure. I got this." I don't have to wear a colostomy bag (probably #4 on the list) and if I can get used to putting a thin plastic membrane directly onto my eyeball, I can get used to this shit.

So the doctor forgets to call it in, so I have to call my pharmacist and have my first experience saying in the loudest whisper I can manage "WHERE IS MY ASS JUICE? I WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE ASS JUICE AND I HAVE NOT HAD ANY. I AM UPSET THAT I DO NOT HAVE JUICE FOR MY ASS. PLEASE. GET. ME. IT."

So that was fun, but it's over the phone, in private, in a closet in a shack in the middle of the woods in the dead of night just within range of a cell phone tower, so you feel fine with it, because you know that whatever crazy stuff you're asking about, these guys have had other guys asking how to remove a marital aid from the bumhole or something like that, and no one will hear you either, so you're very mildly shaken, but good.

So the doctor gives me the old 'Oops!' and calls it in! I get a text from the pharmacy with it's cryptic pharmo-text message saying 'YOUR MEDICATION- AS* JU****- IS READY FOR PICK UP! DO YOU WANT TO PICK UP YOUR AS* JU*** NOW OR HIDE YOUR SECRET SHAME UNTIL TOMORROW?'

You always hide until later. Anyway, I went in to the pharmacy and waited. Thankfully there was no one there, and the really cool pharmacy bro, Justin, actually mostly knows me now, and he's a pretty cool guy. I like him! Anyhow, as he answers calls about using a different type of tamiflu so as not to waste it (he's a cool guy! Really!) People start to line up behind me. Down wind, as it were. He finally calls me over and brings over the biggest f****ing box I have ever received. No tiny pill dispenser. It's a case, like you might receive a 20 pack of diet coke in. It also isn't shy about what's in it. It doesn't just say, for example, "PHARMACOLOGICAL SUPPLIES: SEE INSIDE FOR DETAILS."

And then this guy walks up - the typical Florida man, which is an ex-New York man, wearing a tank top/wife beater, a gold chain, and a lot of product in his short, black hair, which is angled backwards in an angle not unlike a shark fin. He wants to ask a question. And Justin suddenly get his Tamiflu call returned and needs to talk to Ye Olde Drug Company Nazis. So he leaves me there -- with my giant case for everyone to see, and a hint of apology in his eyes. I look around at the old woman, trying not to be embarrassed for me, the young mother with her five year old who undoubtedly needed something for an ultra-nose blow, the nerdy, skinny guy who I guess assumed it included one MASSIVE WATERMELON SIZED SUPER ENEMA, which he appeared to be imagining, and Justin, who had one lonely drop of sweat slowly beading down his forehead.

"EXCUSE ME" New York/Florida Man said as Justin walked back over. "EXCUSE ME."

Justin politely told him he would be right with him and started asking me in a rushed whisper if I wanted to know how to use the stuff.

I declined. Quickly.

"I JUST NEED TO KNOW, MAN, IF I NEED TO PAY FOR THIS HERE!"

Justin then raised his voice slightly, letting me know there were like, lots of bottles for the bum. And that they had little applicators.

The New York Guy got really agitated. Justin became a bit louder. As the New York guy got closer... and closer, and spoke more loudly, it finally came down to the following exchange:

New York/Florida Guy: "HEY! HEY! HEY MAN. HEY!"

Justin: "ONE SECOND SIR - JUST PULL THE CAP OFF AND INSERT IT INTO YOUR RECTAL CAVITY."

New York / Florida Guy: "HEY! HEY MAN! HEY!"

Justin: "No sir, you have to pay for that up front. I'm sorry."

New York / Florida Guy: "See? That wasn't so hard! I could have been gone. I just wanted you to answer my question!" ::walks off::

Justin: That's why... we have... a line? ::Florida/New York man gone::

Me: ......HAHAHAHA.

Justin: So.

Me: I'm good. I promise not to try to use them all at once. That guy was an asshole. Maybe *HE* needs these.

Justin: Would you like a comically small bag you can cary with oddly placed handles to draw attention to the giant awkward rectal box I'm giving you?

Me: Don't mind if I do!

I left.

I'm attaching a picture, for your viewing enjoyment. I will avoid describing this product. I generally like providing reviews, but I mean, how do I do this one for you? Regardless if I tell you that it's strangely warm or strangely cold, or thick or watery, you will all end up picturing my bum and a bottle. 

So I'm sparing you that embarrassment in the way I wasn't.

If you must, maybe imagine I'm a duck, or a cow, or some other animal of your choosing. Preferably a really cool animal, with an adequately sized rectal cavity.

So... you're welcome?

Diet Coke / Man Hand for scale:

Chamomile Flower CLEANSING WIPES? Fuck. You.