It's nice to know that, if everything else fails, you can still get authentic Italian cuisine at Olive Garden.
Anyways...
I walked into my ultrasound feeling good. Despite my friend putting the fear of the untimely boner in my head, and despite the thoughts of nut cancer (The best cancer, hands down. Suck it, boob cancer!) or the threat of sexually transmitted diseases, I was walking tall.
On a quick side note...
Does anyone else need to wear counter-weighted tighty whiteys to help offset the uneven weight distribution caused by enormous junk?
Keeps the back pain-free?
Just me?
The major suckiness factor involved with seeing my doctor for this sort of thing is that I know all the girls who work there. I may have even let one of them take me on a date. So the embarrassment factor was high. That was probably my only true concern.
Ultrasound lady figured different.
I had gone to the bathroom to drain the weasel and give it one last pep talk before some strange lady was going to be fondling him.
Let's be a good boy today, OK?
This will be clinical fondling.
I don't want to see any shenanigans, alright?
Whoa! EASY BIG FELLA!
I heard her asking about me before I saw her. It was at the moment she turned the corner that I realized there wouldn't be any worry about boners. This woman was as unattractive as a thin woman could be.
She was clearly impressed with my looks, which is probably why she launched straight into one of her patented anti-anxiety speeches.
I'll bet you stayed up all night last night, worried about this. You probably couldn't sleep worth a shit.
Nice. An obscenity.
I wasn't anxious or worried about having her fondling my thrice confirmed huge junk, so at this point I was actually intrigued. Her style was undeniable.
Most guys will yank it twenty times a week but they won't feel their balls for lumps. I see it all the time.
Wait. You see guys yanking it twenty times a week or you see guys not feeling their balls for lumps? I'm confused.
But it's really nothing to me. I've been doing this for 30 years. I've seen so many butt-holes and dick-holes that it ain't no big deal to me anymore.
I'm not going to lie. I kinda wanted to ask her how mine stacked up.
"How's my butt-hole?" I'd say, "In comparison to all the butt-holes you've seen."
"Impressive, right?" Making the universal sign for world class butt-hole, "It's gotta be top ten. Am I right, or am I right?"
But what I actually did was explain that I wasn't all that worried about it.
She explained that I'd be getting up on the exam table and covering my midsection with a sheet. I told her the sheet wasn't big enough. In my mind. Maybe I was a little nervous. But not of the findings. I was still a little nervous that mini-bracelet would decide to make an appearance.
She asked why I was in and I explained that I had what I thought was a hernia but my doc figured it might actually be an infection and wanted the ultrasound to be sure. She responded to this by drawing a crude set of nuts on the exam table paper and explaining what balls look like before asking me to clarify what I had said using her scribbled nutsack as a map. This was definitely going to be interesting.
She must have decided to try and relate to me because she was using slang or expletives for everything.
As an example, she explained how sexually transmitted diseases can be obtained.
HER: Let's say you and I are going to fuck.
ME:
HER: You're clean, but I have Chlamydia.
HER: If you fuck me you have a 70% chance of getting my Chlamydia.
ME: OK.
HER: Now, let's say I'm clean and you've got Chlamydia.
ME:
HER: If I fuck you I've only got a 5% chance of getting Chlamydia.
ME: So you're saying you think that if I have it I got it from her?
HER: Well, I'm just saying.
It seemed to be a habit with her that she would rather dance around the question she really wanted to ask, trying hard to be cool and on my level with her choice of words. It took close to 3 minutes of banter before I was able to uncover that she was attempting to ask me if Elizabeth was faithful to me.
She first asked me how often I saw her. Then she asked if she was "sexual," to which I had to ask for her to clarify how she meant that. Once I explained that, yeah, she gets it good and I'm the giver, she moved on.
"Is that enough?"
Um, how do you mean?
Oooooooh, you think she might be banging other dudes while I'm 501 miles away!
Classy.
So the subject moved back onto Chlamydia.
"Did the doctor swab your dick-hole?"
No, and I don't understand what you mea....Oh, you want to know if the doctor swabbed me to check for bacteria, or whatever. No. He didn't think it was necessary.
HER: Oh, because if he did it that's a normal thing. I didn't want you to be worried about it. Chlamydia is very common and you can have it and never know it. Hell, I've had Chlamydia. The doctor told me he wasn't a hundred percent sure but that he could give me an antibiotic to cover it, among other potential causes. He also said I should just give my boyfriend at the time a course of antibiotics to be sure to kill it if he has it as well. No sense having him come in to get his dick-hole swabbed when he can just take an antibiotic.
No joke, this lady said "dick-hole" at least 50 times while I was in the room. She dropped F-Bombs all over the place. She also spent what seemed like an inordinate amount of time rolling the wand over my nutsack. (Medical term)
My biggest concern was accidentally unleashing the monster. She had me holding my baby maker up towards my chest so that she could have free reign of my balls. Eventually I figured the combination of my hand on my penis, with what amounted to lube on my ball-sack, (medical term) and a woman slowly working her wand back and forth over my nuts, was going to be all I needed to come to attention.
Thankfully it never happened. (Because, in the past, my unexpected boners have been known to poke holes in the ceiling before I can do anything about it. That shit gets expensive.)
Alas, my boys were healthy and oddity-free. The doc started me on an antibiotic that covered normal infections rather than one that could treat Chlamydia. He didn't believe I had anything more than either a little bacterial infection or maybe even a small hernia that was hard to detect. In the end, everything came back clean and the antibiotics didn't really work.
It appears I have a small hernia after all.
No more worries about my dick-hole. I'm clean. Ultrasound lady says that you could eat off my dick-hole it's so clean.
Well, no she didn't. But it wouldn't have surprised me if she did.
If any of you ever need an ultrasound, give me a call. It's worth it for the entertainment value. Plus, she's a dick-hole expert, so you'd have that going for you. Which is nice.
Bobby Bracelet is a penis pills salesman from Michigan.
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