vituperation

As things stand right now, I’ve won my first Fark Photoshop contest. I’ve only won by 7 votes, but hell. Right now it’s a winner.

“Unfold this and use it to cover yourself,” Dr. Judy said, handing me a giant pink napkin. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

My annual physical was nearly over, and only one part remained: the invasive one. The part that no one enjoys, or shouldn’t, where the doctor examines those parts of the human anatomy that aren’t normally mentioned in polite societies, or America.

My friends always ask me why I have a woman doctor, especially for physicals. I always ask them why they have a man. Then I raise one eyebrow knowingly.

(It’s well-established that women, Ann Coulter notwithstanding, have small hands. Think about that for a minute, men.)

Slowly I unfolded the napkin and dropped my pants. As I climbed onto the end of the exam table, my big size twelve clown foot got hung up in the napkin and ripped it, right up the middle. Right through the parts of it that were supposed to cover parts of me. I heard Dr. Judy outside the door, and quickly covered myself as best I could. A difficult thing, given the rip in the napkin and the size of the appendage I was hiding.

Dr. Judy entered, along with the chief nurse, Jane. I stared up at the ceiling tiles as Jane raised the napkin for Dr. Judy to begin her inspection.

“I’ll just lie here and think of England,” I quipped.

Jane smiled in a patronizing manner.

“I don’t think I’ve heard that one before,” she said.

“It’s a historical reference.”

Often, we geniuses find that our genius goes unnoticed by the great unwashed masses.

Down below, Dr. Judy began with a move I think of as the Wonderbra, where she lifted and separated. We progressed through the push, the squeeze, the lift, and the funky chicken. After forty-five minutes of exploration, just when I thought I was going to have to pay extra, she stood up straight.

“All right, stand up and turn around,” she said.

I got down from the table using one hand for support and one hand for the napkin. As I dropped to the floor, I let the napkin lower some.

“The napkin, Fred. The napkin!” Jane said.

I pulled the napkin up.

“Sorry,” I said. “I don’t think you’re going to see anything you haven’t seen before.”

“That doesn’t mean we want to see it.”

I get no respect when I’m at the doctor’s office.

I bent over the table and let Dr. Judy do her thing.

“I’d just like you to know that you deserve whatever you find back there,” I said, about the time I felt her fingers tickling the back of my throat.

They had a good laugh over that.

And speaking of a good laugh, I had one when Robyn handed me this yesterday and asked me to carry it upstairs:

I never progressed much past 12, mentally.

Last night, I finished scrubbing my newly clippered head and turned off the water, watching the last remnants of hair swirl around my feet. I swiped a hand through the half-inch buzzcut I’d left, and realized I’d cut it a little shorter than I meant to. That’s not a problem when your hair’s short, though. It grows fast.

I heard the strangest sound from outside the shower stall, which I immediately recognized. I opened the door and looked out, expecting to see Mister Boogers.

Plopped in the middle of the tub like plump calico frog, Miz Poo looked up at me and mewled helplessly. The three inches of water I’d run before realizing I needed to cut my hair swirled furiously around her, evidence of the mad scrabbling I had just heard.

She leapt for the side of the tub again, and again didn’t make it. She ran in place furiously for a second, her front paws and about a third of her body on the lip of the tub, her back paws scrambling for purchase. Then she slid back into the water, giving me a mournful look as she did.

Cats sure are fun sometimes.

Tom Cullen raced into the bathroom this morning as though his ass were on fire and, before I could even contemplate what he was doing, leapt into the toilet. While I was peeing in it.

This gives me the opportunity to type a sentence I never imagined I would:

I peed on my cat Tom Cullen this morning.

Here’s a second one: Two hours later, I peed on his brother Sugarbutt when he did the same thing.

Based on their actions, it would appear they’ve all learned a bit from their experiences. All in all, I’m not sure who got the worse end of the deal. Miz Poo got the wettest for sure, plus the panic and embarrassment factors.

Yes, I am convinced animals can be embarrassed. Watch a cat sometimes when it does something foolish. It’ll run a few steps, plop down, and start furiously licking. That’s embarrassment. I’d do the same thing if I could. I’m sure it beats a blush.

On the other hand, Tom Cullen and Sugarbutt got peed on. Tommy caught the wakeup pee, which is all concentrated and gross (bonus points for it being after-junk-day pee, too), but he didn’t get a lot. Sugarbutt got the diluted post-workout-water pee, but he got doused.

Me? I just got to laugh a lot (and dry them off).