In Which A Casual Conversation Turns On You Like A Pitbull

This photo is my life right now.

Fact. I am a victim of extortion.

Okay, so last year at my annual gyny visit, I was handed a script and told "You're old. Go have your colon scrubbed." To which I said, "not until I'm good and ready, Round Eye."

In passing one morning, I casually relayed this conversation to Geo. He was livid. He had assumed I'd already done this disgusting dance of the macabre. Um... hello? Did you go to the hospital with me? No. Ergo, no medical close-up of my colon.

Anywho, words were exchanged, teeth were gnashed, yadda yadda yadda... Geo gave me the big "Or Else". I have to let the surgeon tickle my innards, or else we don't go see Rhett Miller perform in September.

It's extortion, I tell ya. EXTORTION!

I called to book the OR the next day.

What I won't do to hear the lovely blue-eyed one sing.

Blerg.

So, today is "prep" day, meaning I can't eat any solid food stuffs until my procedure tomorrow morning at 9am. 9AM!?!!

Good God, man!

I'm relegated to some hideous voodoo liquid that will twist the insides of my backside, expelling every reasonably solid substance until mere water gushes out of my soon-to-be baboon-red butt with the same intensity as 4-time strongman Magnus Ver Magnusson ringing out a Sham Wow.

he's my hero
if we ever get to Iceland
we are definitely looking him up

Yaaaaaaaaaay...

So since I started the Great Cleanse of my Cornhole, there are a couple of things I've learned about myself.

1. I am MEAN when I'm hungry.

No lie. Trust me. I would NOT be your friend in a plane crash in the Andes. After ten hours, I would totally chow down on Mr. Chunky over there in 11D. And in the completely literal sense. Not at all in that fun, hey-let's-have-a-pantsless-tussle way, either.

"Donner Party of seven... Party of six... five... "

I'm so ornery right now, I started listening to Gangsta Rap in the car with the windows down and the bass cranked to teeth shatter. And it's early in the day yet. Clearly, I cannot handle having no food in my belly after a couple of hours.

2. There is NO FUCKING NUMBER 2!!!

See what I mean. I'm snarky and short fused and hating on nearly everyone and everything. I will kick you square in the nut sack with the pointiest of pointy shoes today... just because.

Nasty-Ass White Chick.

For the record, that's my new rap name. Either that or Come-Near-Me-With-That-Bag-Of-Fresh-Popped-Corn-And-I'll-Rip-A-Vein-From-Your-Neck GirlieO.

That's the other thing. Everywhere I go today I'm assaulted with the sweet, sweet scent of simmering, mouth-watering foods. Barbecue chicken, hamburgers on the grill, fresh baked bread...

I'm drooling like Homer Simpson over here.

mmmm...donuts

Warm popcorn fresh from the popper is truly the Siren's song that sets me salivating. I had no idea how much I could fixate on a snack food, not to mention all the gorgeous, fresh produce from the Fabulous King Boys I got lying around. When this is over, I'm going to slather myself in sunflower butter, chocolate syrup and potato chips and have a big, fat, sloppy food orgy.

Until then, I'll drink the (non) grape Kool Aid of the damned and forge a lasting bond with my Kohler.  All this so when the masked doctor, who I hope to God has washed his hands, shoves a 100 foot garden hose in my hindquarters, it will be all sparkling clean and shit. Pun intended.

Thank the universal health care stars for drugs. Fentanyl and Versed are the meds most used when being medically violated, er... having the "fun" put back in your fundament. Fentanyl helps with the pain of the procedure. We suckers, or patients if you prefer, need to be awake and talking during the charge of the butt brigade just in case the Doc sneezes and you know, accidentally hits the pressure washer setting, sending a veritable geyser through your navel.

I imagine the conversations that go on in the OR as ones similar in nature to talking with someone who has pounded down a few glasses of wine. All slurry and I love you, man-ish. Ohmigod, wouldn't that be hilarious to tape record? Of course I have no idea what crazy crap I'll be saying in there tomorrow, so hey, keep your recorder at home Dr. Derriere. Having your poop shoot telecast on a ginormous 60 inch hi-def TV is bad enough, right?

And that's why on the seventh day, God created Versed to make one forget the horrible humiliation one just endured. Not unlike being zapped by the white light ifrom Men in Black.

this won't hurt a bit

"Oo, Ow it hurts!"
ZZZZZZzzzz
"Aaaah... pretty colors..."

I contend they should package Versed in pill form for every day use. Having a horrendous day? Pop one of those babies and it's gone, baby, GONE! I could make a killing selling these at the Special K.

Better living through chemistry.

Now back to Satan's elixir.

*shudder*