Barney the Dinosaur Gave Me a Vasectomy: Difference between revisions
Barney the Dinosaur Gave Me a Vasectomy (view source)
Revision as of 06:35, 30 August 2023
, 8 months ago→top: replaced: … → ... (3)
m (→top: replaced: “ → " (24), ” → " (24), ’ → ' (33), ‘ → ' (3)) |
m (→top: replaced: … → ... (3)) |
||
Line 7:
I bit into the Taco Bell Doritos Loco taco and fantasized about what life could have been before I heard a bloodcurdling scream. This actually didn't bother me: it was Atlantic City, New Jersey, and having a gun and showing it off was the norm (that and standing on a streetcorner padding your foot down on the gravel going 'Hey, baby!' In other words: prostitution). It was at that point that I realized I was an antinatalist. If life is suffering, what's the point in having children? Besides, the taco meat resembled an underdeveloped fetus, and had approximately the same texture and consistency. In my mouth.
When I got home I scheduled my vasectomy operation. I'll admit that the phone number
The next day I enjoyed my traditional breakfast of Mountain Dew and Taco Bell products before catching an Uber over to the doctor's office. I offered to tip the driver, but instead he tipped his cabby hat and offered me a tip: some friendly words of advice from a concerned stranger. "They say they're extinct, but personally, I'd say he stinks." I asked him to elaborate but instead he licked the side of my baggy gray sweatpants, so I immediately got out of the cab and left him a 1-star review.
Line 19:
A nurse with no sign of love for life slightly twisted open the doorknob, and there was the doctor. I couldn't help but let out an audible gasp when I realized what it was. Not that he wasn't a doctor, but something seemed to be not quite right.
A doctor in a purple t-shirt, green jeans, and slight, conical protrusions—slight, but enough that I could eye them with the naked eye—protruded from his back. "Come on in. Have a seat.", he enunciated clearly but in a distinct monotone. I was having second thoughts about this. Maybe I could just practice abstinence. "Sit.", he addended, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. I did just that, planting my buttocks on top of the paper of the examination table. At that point I expected him to ask me some questions about my medical history, but instead he started tapping me with a reflex hammer—not just elbows and knees,
I can't begin to describe the pain, terror, and agony of the next half an hour, which extended into days, if not weeks, of torture and tingling in my nether regions. Somehow, as startling as my misery was, the drastic manipulation of his tone of voice was even more stand-offish. So nasally. Like a cheery Bullwinkle the Moose, or Anthony Kiedis from the Red Hot Chili Peppers (I could never tell the difference between the two). "I love you. You love me. That's the point of humanity." Was he singing? It sounded an awful lot like singing. "With a big bang burst, and guiding light from me to you, you have strayed too far from the root." I shielded my ballsack with my hands to guard myself from continued penetrations from his pointed-hammer before I high-pitched mumbled an inference that may seem silly to anyone who hasn't experienced what I have gone through. "Are you god?".
Line 33:
"Your transsexual surgery was a sweeping success, ma'am. Oh, by the way: congratulations on your nephew. Your sister is so proud of her little George."
I also never received my vasectomy.
| |||