The End of My Manhood

I've never really had much manhood to speak of. In my whole life, I've never felt the need to get into fist fights like a lot of other guys do. I never wanted to drive a Camaro and peel out in the parking lot of The Rusty Bucket to impress a crowd of drunken skanky hos. And I never learned how to change the oil in a car.

Well, that last one is not entirely true; somebody did once try to show me how to do it, but I didn't pay any attention. I figured, why change your own oil when you can pay somebody lower in the caste system to do it for you?

Whatever gene it is that makes guys try to be really manly and "out-manly" the other men, I'm fairly certain that my gene was damaged at the moment of conception. And sadly, I'm pretty sure that whatever amount of manhood I did have up until now was completely removed from me today.

Three reasons. I'll work backwards chronologically.

First, I just finished watching the movie Mamma Mia! with my wife. That movie was so incredibly gay that my right testicle just whithered and fell onto the floor in the first 10 minutes.

Before that, I watched another movie. It has been 25 years since I saw the movie Footloose. Either I must be absolutely brain damaged or I must have a really bad memory because I thought, Hey, let's watch this thing again. You wanna talk about extraordinarily gay movies, that's one for the ages. When I saw Kevin Bacon storm out of his house, drive to some farm warehouse, and start doing this Broadway dance stuff in an effort to alleviate his burning rage... well, that was when my left testicle plopped onto the floor and rolled under the TV cabinet where it now lives with many neglected dust bunnies.

But the biggie today was my first colonoscopy.

Here's what everybody told me who supposedly knew anything about colonoscopies: Oh, it's no big deal. The preparation is the worst part, where you have to drink that stuff. You won't even be awake during the actual procedure.

Liars. All of them, liars. I was conscious and wide awake for the whole thing.

But first things first. Yes, the preparation part is pretty bad. Here's the deal...

First, you can't eat anything the entire day before the colonoscopy. So the second that I finished dinner the other night, I became hellishly hungry, and it stayed that way for the next 36 hours. Jodi was watching that Bizarre Foods show on TV and I was even getting hungry and jealous when the guy was eating the eyeballs from something (probably from one of the billions of missing orphans in Manilla) and a donkey's butt skin.

Second, they make you go to the pharmacy and buy this big gallon jug with some powder stuff in it. They won't tell you what is in this powder, but I suspect that it's Satan's soul. You have to add water to the Satan powder, mix it up, and drink a bunch of it every 10 seconds until it's gone. This vile elixir is designed to "clean you out" (i.e., make you pee out your butt until you cry). And by the way, Satan's soul tastes nothing like chicken. It tastes like the bottom of the boots from a city sanitation worker.

Then you have to go to the doctor place to do the actual deed. This is where they're supposed to give you a magic pill or magic shot that will zonk you out. And then when you wake up, they're supposed to say, "There's nothing wrong with you. We made you drink Satan's soul for nothing."

But it wasn't like that for me. After getting undressed and putting on my giant napkin, they wheeled me into the colon room. They hooked me up to some stuff and made me turn on my side. This is when I thought I would be falling asleep. But noooooooooooo.

After a little small talk, the doctor starts putting the really long bendy straw thing up my yoo hoo. Well, I felt it at first, but then I didn't feel anything. This means that either my colon has no nerve endings that are supposed to tell my brain, "Hey! Get this thing outta here!" or they did in fact give me something that made me not feel anything, but allowed me to stay awake to enjoy the delightful matinee.

Right in front of my face was a big monitor where we were all watching the bendy straw move through my colon. In case you don't know what my colon looks like, watch the scene about the "Mines of Moria" from The Lord of the Rings. My butt tunnel looks just like the Mines of Moria, minus Frodo and the dwarves. And at one point he came across a polyp, which looked just like Gollum. I watched as he lopped it off. (By the way, he said he didn't think the polyp was anything to worry about. Just that it looked like it was probably filled with Skittles, which we all know are harmless.)

So I'm watching this and my first impulse was to ask the doctor, "And you chose this specialty on purpose? What in the world made you say, 'You know, breast implants are okay, but what I'd really like to do is spend my life inside people's poo holes'"?

And my second impulse was to say, "Hey! I was told I didn't have to be awake for this! I was planning on pretending that it was a bad dream when I woke up! This is killing my manhood!"

After this, they rolled me into what they called the "recovery room," with all of the other people who just had colonoscopies. Recovery room... Right... It's not like the recovery room on M*A*S*H or ER. When you go to a colonoscopy office thingie, a recovery room is the place where they put everybody after their procedures so they can all listen to each other fart. I haven't heard that many humans fart in the same place since the last time I went to a movie theater.

There's just no way to summon any kind of manhood, let alone dignity, after they've explored your butt regions with a bendy straw and then rolled your helpless ass into the big fart room.

I was simply drained from it all.

Really, it was all I could handle for the day.

So then I went home and watched two gay movies that made my balls fall off.