Cinlach Goes to the Doctor…AGAIN!

I thought I’d update the two of you who give a shit…

but first…a dramatic recap!

Cinlach’s last doctor visit was a result of what at the time was believed to be a kidney infection. It was only after the tests came back negative that Doctor Mengele decided to shatter the patient/doctor relationship with the dreaded “Flaming Fist Prostate Punch”, which Dr. Mengele had learned from the torture camps of Southeast Asia. After suffering the indignity of being gripped like a bowling ball, Cinlach was given some Celebrex and sent on his merry, albeit sore, way. Alas, the Celebrex proved to be useless and Cinlach’s symptoms persisted. Desperate for relief, he contacted Dr. Mengele’s office and begged for them to either cure or kill him. An appointment with an area Urologist was scheduled…Cinlach would have to wait two weeks. But during the subsequent wait Cinlach’s symptoms almost completely disappeared.

Yesterday the event I had dreaded for two weeks finally arrived…I had my appointment with a Urologist. Even though I didn’t feel like I had to pee every 5 minutes I knew that only a fool would let something like that happen to them and then not seek medical attention. Unfortunately for me my wife refused to let me be that fool.

As you might imagine I was absolutely thrilled at the prospect of getting “handled” by another dude. I spent the weeks leading up to the appointment pouring over the internet, entering my symptoms on numerous medical related websites and trying to get an idea as to what I was looking at diagnosis-wise. The stuff I was finding was less then optimistic. Conditions like “bladder cancer”, “cystosis”, and “irreversibly fucked” all popped up more then once. So yeah, things didn’t seem so spectacular.

Add my fear of needles and doctor’s in general onto the wonderful things I was reading on the internet and I’m sure you can imagine just how excited I was at the prospect of having a garden hose, wrapped in sandpaper and with a flashlight taped to the end jammed up the end of my dick. I was thinking all kinds of crazy shit. What if they wanted a “sample” and not of what they normally took. Somehow I doubted a stunning, large-breasted, red-headed, nymphomaniac nurse would be coming to retrieve the sample. They’d probably chuck a National Geographic at me and tell me to “let it rip big boy”. Man, this was really going to suck.

When I arrived at the doctor’s office I noticed that I seemed to be the only person in the waiting room who wasn’t drawing a retirement pension. Super…even more evidence that the “terminally screwed” diagnosis was probably correct. They all kind of stared at me, as though they’d never seen someone my age before except in Mentos commercials and on the news as “persons of interest.” As I sat down a little old lady nervously moved her purse to her other side. I must’ve appeared to be quite the hardened criminal in my blue jeans and black t-shirt. I wondered if it was my neatly trimmed hair, stubble-free face, or courteous manner that gave me away as a serial kleptomaniac.

After an hour of uncomfortable silence broken only by the occasional mutterings of “watch that young whippersnapper over there…he’s got an ill-favored look about him” when new geriatrics arrived, my name was called and it was time to go see the professional nut-grabber guy.

I was weighed (I predicted my weight within 3 lbs…the nurse didn’t seem impressed) and happily pissed into yet another cup. In the bathroom there was actually a sign showing in extraordinary detail how to pee in a blue plastic dixie cup. Personally I never realized it was so fucking difficult. I can speak only for myself but I found it ridiculously easy to manage. Of course I had previous experience or perhaps I was simply a cup peeing prodigy. The world may never know.

Afterwards I was ushered into a small exam room and after a few short minutes a nurse came in. She wasn’t stunning, large-breasted, or redheaded…and I prayed to God she wasn’t a nymphomaniac. She asked some questions about why I was there and unfortunately for her I get really, really talkative when I’m nervous. So I gave this poor woman entirely more information then she’d ever need to know…from kindergarten to getting up that morning. We covered it all.

Once the nurse had collected enough information (or had enough thrown at her) she excused herself and I waited for the doctor to arrive.

My wait wasn’t a long one. The doctor walked in and asked me what had brought me to their office today. I immediately thought of a smart-ass answer (Well, a 2001 Buick brought me to your office! BA-DUM-CHEE!) but thought better of it considering that for all I knew this man would be privy to some very delicate family jewels. I figured that perhaps risking making him angry wasn’t the smartest course of action. I was not willing to see exactly how firm this man’s grip actually was.

I laid out all the symptoms, and again thanks to my nervousness, I inundated this poor fella with a torrent of information. I went into the details of my symptoms, the medicine that had been recommended and did no good, my struggles to keep from sticking a shotgun under my chin, the subsiding of the problem, my internet diagnosis search and my own personal suspicions as to what the cause might be.

I told him I regularly drank a large number of Pepsi and Coke products and wondered if my bladder/kidney’s had finally decided “Dude, it’s time to lay off the fucking caffeine.”

To my surprise, his diagnosis was exactly that…he said that he did think that all the caffeine consumption had caused an irritation and basically my bladder was telling me “Dude, it’s time to lay off the fucking caffeine.” So we chatted for a bit more and I shared with him how totally relieved I was that it wasn’t going to be necessary to draw blood, get shots, or get my fellas handled by some strange dude with a latex glove. I also told him that while I knew he was right I was concerned about kicking my caffeine since I am in all honesty a full blown addict. It’s kinda like telling a heroin junkie “if you don’t stop shooting up you’re gonna fucking die.” I mean it’s a great idea in and of itself, but a junkie will always have an urge to do what a junkie does. And junkies like myself love nothing more then a nearly non-stop supply of sweet Pepsi Cola products.

He told me to start slowly bringing my caffeine intake down and warned me that going “cold turkey” was not something I wanted to attempt. I agreed and told him that slow weaning was something I didn’t want to attempt but it was infinitely better then the constant and maddening urge to pee 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

So I bought my first pack of caffeine free soda on the way home from work yesterday. Yippee…I can hardly wait.

This morning the grass was a little less green, the sky a little less blue…by tonight I’ll be a raging madman bent on caffeine gratification.

I expect divorce proceedings to be coming in short order.

Cinlach wants to punch Michael Bay in the mouth…

Ok, I’ll admit it. I’m a nerd.

So when I heard they were making a Transformers live action movie I was pumped…frightened, but pumped.

As news started to trickle out of Hollywood I became a little more optimistic. Word was that Steven Spielberg was going to produce the movie. Then the annoucement came that Peter Cullen, the voice of Optimus Prime from the original TV show had been cast to reprise his role as the voice of the Autobot leader for the new movie.

This was great news! They were going to give Transformers a real shot. They weren’t going to change it all around and fuck up the series. They were going to stay true to what’d come before.

Then, quietly, things began to reach my ears. Things were changing and immense plotholes were uncovered.

Bumblebee, the plucky Autobot scout would be appearing in the movie but not as a Volkswagen Bug…but as a Chevy Camaro. This wasn’t that big a problem for me, but I will say that I’m quite used to seeing Bumblebee like this :

When Bumblebee first appears in the film, he’s going to be a 70’s era junked out Camaro. The main character’s father will buy the car and customize it until it looks like the brand new Camaro concept car.

So Bumblebee will start out looking like this :

And then he will end up looking like this :

Ok, I think I’ve found a staggeringly huge plothole. So they’re telling me that Bumblebee in 70’s Camaro garb undergoes an extremely radical transformation (pardon the pun) into an entirely different style of car and no one…NOT ONE FUCKING PERSON…happens to notice while they’ve stripped the car down to the frame that they’ve got a shitload of extra parts lying around the shop?

Nobody says “Whoa! Where the fuck did that head come from? Was that stuck under the seat? What the fuck kinda car has a legs and arms stuck under the chassis?”

Nobody says anything about all the extra wiring and shit running throughout the entire car. No one mentions the fact that there appears to be a reactor of some sort mounted in the trunk.

I’m afraid I’m going to have to call a resounding “bullshit” on that.

But hey, if I wanted logic and reality I sure as fuck wouldn’t be seriously considering going to see a movie about gigantic robots who turn into cars, jets, helicopters and other varied shit and then fight each other all over town would I?

Then the first picture of Optimus Prime as a vehicle from the movie was revealed :

I was less then thrilled but not destroyed. I mean, I’m used to seeing this :

Sure they’re entirely different looking, with the only similarity being they’re both red…and yes, the new Optimus Prime appears to have faggy-ass flames painted all over, but surely the robots would be cool. How could a self-professed “fan” like Michael Bay ever fuck up that aspect of the movie? Surely he knew as I did that no one was coming to see the cars, planes and trucks the Autobots and Decepticons turned into. No way…we wanted to see the robots. The robots would be cool.

Then, the day I’d both waited for and yet feared was upon me. The robots as they were going to appear in the film were released…and guess what. Michael Bay had totally fucked them up.

Let me share some info with those of you who “aren’t in the know”…

Optimus Prime is supposed to look like this :

He is NOT supposed to look like this :

Megatron is supposed to look like this :

He is NOT supposed to look like this :

Starscream is supposed to look like this :

Starscream is NOT supposed to look like this :

Bumblebee is supposed to look like this :

Bumblebee is NOT supposed to look like this :

These designs are entirely too detailed. Obviously no one involved with the “design” of the Transformers robots had ever heard the saying “K.I.S.S. - Keep It Simple Stupid”

And I thought George Lucas had butt-fucked the hell out of my childhood already…I was wrong.

Thanks Michael Bay! You fucking numbnuts.

You took the one thing that virtually every single fan of the series wanted to see and completely and totally fucked it up.

We could’ve lived with the different vehicle modes, we could’ve dealt with new characters and a different storyline. We might even have been able to overlook a different origin. But how the fuck do you expect us to overlook the fact that as far as being a “fan of the original series” goes you’re pretty piss fucking poor.

Transformers is coming dangerously close to Highlander II : The Quickening territory.

As in, there was no Highlander II…the studio made Highlander I, then for some strange reason decided to skip Highlander II entirely and proceeded directly to Highlander III. Aliens from the planet “Zeist” my ass.

I’m kinda starting to feel that way about Transformers.

“What Transformers movie? All I heard about was Armageddon II : Big Mother Fucking Robots With Vaguely Familiar Names…the movie looked like ass so I stayed home.”

Karma is a fucking bitch.

I was eating my work-bought Pizza at the office today when I noticed 2 fluorescent light bulbs propped up against a window in the break room.

I looked at J, who was in the break room with me and said :

Cinlach : “Is it just me or does the idea of propping 2 fluorescent lightbulbs against a slick glass window on a slick tile floor seem like about the stupidiest thing possible? I mean seriously, what the hell was someone thinking?

J : I agree…it was pretty stupid. I was actually the one who did it. I put them there and then forgot about them.

Whoops! I’d like to tell you that I didn’t usually cram my foot in my mouth like that but sadly I can’t. Shit like this happens to me all the time. My wife constantly cringes everytime I open my mouth. You couldn’t make this stuff up if you tried.

Cinlach : Oh, well shit. My foot tastes wonderful by the way. I didn’t mean any offense, I thought the building guy had done it. I’ve seen him do stuff like that before.

J : Nah, it’s cool. I didn’t take any offense. I’m about to take them out to the dumpster anyway.

Cinlach : No dude, let me do it. It’s the least I can do. I can make up for being an asshole.

So I get up, grab the bulbs and head out the back door to the dumpster. I’m always real nervous when handling shit like this because you do not want these fuckers popping on you. I’ve seen the afterschool specials baby, they end with blood, tears and urine stained clothes.

As I saunter up to the dumpster I open the side panel and carefully…oh so very carefully…put the first bulb in. So far so good. I start to dump the 2nd bulb when I hear it.

BBOOOMMFF!!

What the fuck just happened? My whole left side stings…my face, my neck, my arms and my hand especially.

The fucking fluorescent bulb just busted in my hands…inches from my face. Super, this sucks.

I glance around, my arm is bleeding and I’m covered in glass. I must’ve hit the bulb on the side of the dumpster as I moved to put it in. I don’t remember hearing it or even feeling it hit. The fucking thing just popped.

I turned to go back inside, still kinda dazed. Holy shit, I just had a fluorescent bulb pop only inches from my face. If I had been looking in that direction then I’d have glass all in my eyes. I was now offically scared.

I walked in, still stinging from the explosion (that’s really all I can explain it as…the fucking bulb exploded). My arm was bleeding pretty good from what looked to be a very, very small cut.

J saw me…

J : Cinlach, are you ok? What the hell happened to you?

Cinlach : Karma is a fucking bitch J…Karma is a fucking bitch.

J : What happened?

Cinlach : One of the bulbs popped in my hand about 8 inches from my face dude. I’m covered in powdered glass. I also appear to be bleeding. It seems God was unhappy with my condemnation of the placement of the fluorescent bulbs. Sorry about that J.

J : Seriously, it’s ok. Hold on, let me go get somebody.

Cinlach : Nah, I’m cool. I think I’m just going to go home and take a shower. I can’t scrub this glass off. I think that’d be an extraordinarily bad idea.

So I told my boss what had happened and that I was going home to take a shower and try and make sure I didn’t have glass framents in my ears.

I got in the car and called my wife…I started the conversation off with “don’t freak out, I’m ok” she LOVES when I do that. I had her check the internet to see if there was anything in particular that people who’d been smited by The Almighty with a fluorescent bulb needed to do in order to stay healthy and all. She didn’t find anything so I decided to carry out my “shower and more shower” plan.

So I trashed my clothes, carefully got undressed and stood in the shower for about 30 minutes. I tried to not move my feet since I knew the glass was coming off my head and neck and the last thing I wanted was to have to pick tiny flecks of glass out of my feet for fucking hours.

So yeah, I’ve had better Saturdays.

Cinlach’s Prank Goes Awry!

I was soooo busted. There was no way out and absolutely no way I could explain myself out of this situation. So I did the last thing he’d ever expect. I looked him in the eye and told him the truth.

Perhaps I should have given you some background information first.

Recently, My office decided to do some redecorating. They’ve added about six 43 inch flat screen monitors, painted the whole office khaki brown and added a soda fountain and popcorn machine to the break room. So with all that finished they turned their attention to…the shitters.

Someone decided that it’d be “cute” to paint the mens room pastel blue and the ladies room pastel pink. Get it? Blue for the boys and pink for the girls! Yeah, the idea made me nauseous too.

The end results are a sight to behold. The mens room is so blue it’s like having to shit in an Easter Egg while the ladies room is so pink that you can see the pink glow from under the door when it’s closed. I liken it to having to piss in Darth Vader’s lightsaber.

In addition to the lovely Miami Vice motiff, they’ve decided to put cute-sy little pictures up in each bathroom. One of these pictures contains a caricature of our new company President. The picture has a pedestrian-esque crossing figure with spikey hair and this goofy grin on his face.

Ever since I saw that picture I knew there was humorous potential to be had and a small piece of office anarchy to be showcased. I originally considered putting a sticky note on it that read “W?”. But knowing the extreme Republicanism and Conservative nature of some of my coworkers I figured that’d be poorly received.

So I decided to contemplate it a little more and see if something else came to mind.

At 5:25pm this afternoon, the solution presented itself.

I decided that I was going to turn the picture upside down and thereby make the spiked hair on the figure be a result of the inversion of the pic. Look, it’s the small things that go unnoticed for months at a time. This would’ve worked because no one would ever have noticed it and I would’ve been hailed as a genius.

I took the picture off the wall and began to place it upside down. I quickly realized that the nail in the wall wasn’t out far enough and I became concerned about the fucking thing falling off and breaking all over the floor.

So, as I’m standing there trying to figure out how to make my upside down President picture prank work, who should walk into the fucking bathroom? That’s right…the goddamn spikey-headed President of the Company.

Shit! Here I am trying to put this fuckers picture on the wall upside down. He’s obviously noticed what I’m doing and explanations were in order. It was time to get drastic.

President : Hey Cinlach…whatcha doin’ with my picture?

Cinlach : Just trying to pull off a prank on you.

President : Really. Well, that’s straightforward of you.

Cinlach : You’ve just busted me attempting to pull it off. There’s not much chance of bullshitting my way out of it now is there?

President : I guess not. So what were you going to do?

Cinlach : I was going to flip the picture of you upside down. Your spiked hair in the pic was going to help sell the inversion. It was simple enough to pull off easily and subtle enough to potentially go for weeks before anyone noticed it.

President : Clever…

Cinlach : Not really, but it’s easier then trying to steal the hubcaps off your car.

President : I suppose so. Well don’t let me get in the way.

Cinlach : Nah, it’s ruined now. Besides, I’m concerned about the frame falling off the wall and busting the glass. I was just about to abandon my Presidential prank plan.

President : Oh there’s no need for that…I’m all for a little looseness around the office. Don’t let me stop you. Carry on with your prank.

Cinlach : Nah, that’s ok. You’re not stopping me, I just reconsidered is all. I don’t want that frame to break. There’s a big difference between acting stupid and being stupid. I don’t think busting your picture could ever be considered very intelligent no matter what the circumstances.

President : I can see where you’re coming from there.

Cinlach : Don’t worry though, I’ll think of something. This isn’t over by a long shot. I’ll get you soon enough.

President : Uh, ok then.

Cinlach : So anyway, have a good evening.

President : Yeah…you too.

Dammit…foiled again.

And to make matters worse, he thinks his intimidating presence caused me to pussy out and scrap my plan.

I’ve got the shittiest timing of any man on the face of the planet. I was so close to pulling off a delicious little jab only to have it not work and get busted during the attempted execution to boot.

Maybe I should just Vaseline the doorknob of his office instead.

Cinlach comments on “Historical Landmarks”…

Sappy Chick and I went to nearby Lake Hartwell (located between South Carolina and Georgia for those of you who are geographically challenged) and on the way back home I saw a sign on I-85 that read “Come Visit Historic Downtown Anderson!”.

Something bugged the hell out of me about that sign, and it wasn’t until this morning that I realized what it was.

What exactly is so fucking “historic” about downtown Anderson, SC anyway?

So, I decided to do a google search for “historic downtown anderson sc” just to see if there was some heavy duty historic shit that I, as a native South Carolinian, absolutely had to know about.

My search came up with the following :

Preserve America Community:
Anderson, South Carolina

The City of Anderson, with a population of 25,514, is the Anderson County seat. In the mid-18th century, Revolutionary War hero General Robert Anderson and General Andrew Pickens surveyed the land in the area. Cherokees, who lived in the area until 1777, ceded the land to the colony by treaty.

In 1826 the area, known as the Pendleton District, was divided into two districts: Anderson and Pickens. Settled by pioneering small farmers of Scots-Irish and English descent, the area’s agrarian economy did not include slaves. Anderson saw a manufacturing boom in the 19th century and the city’s nickname, “The Electric City,” comes from the fact that it was the first city in the South with unlimited electricity due to the first long-distance transmission of hydroelectric power. The first cotton gin in the world to be operated by electricity was in Anderson County in 1897.

Anderson’s “Fish out of Water, Hooked on the Arts” project has helped bring together the community, revitalize historic resources, increase tourism, and bring more development to downtown. In partnership with the city, Anderson artists decorated six-foot bass fish replicas to raise funds for renovating the Arts Center Warehouse, an important structure in the downtown National Register Historic District.

In addition to classrooms, artists’ studios, and galleries, the warehouse will also provide space for a visitors’ center. The large mouth bass design was chosen because it ties in with Latke Hartwell, a local tourism amenity. The fish were displayed throughout the community, and a weekly trolley tour was offered.

A second interesting effort featuring local history is called “Wednesdays with Fred and Ed” at the Anderson County Museum. Twice a month, the public is invited to share memories and ask questions about the history of Anderson County. Everyone is encouraged to bring photos, artifacts, and stories. Topics have included textile league sports and the experiences of those who have served in the military from Anderson County. Museum staff accept donations of artifacts and photographs and record oral histories.

The City of Anderson has both locally and nationally designated historic districts, and offers a self-guided walking tour of the Boulevard Historic District. The city is a Certified Local Government as well as a Main Street Community. It is also part of the South Carolina National Heritage Corridor, designed to promote economic development through regional heritage tourism.

Ok…waita-fucking-minute here. Seriously…is that it? That’s the best Anderson could come up with?

Just because a couple of half-assed Revolutionary War generals stood up on a hill and thought “Goddamn, this’d be a killer fucking spot for a town!” doesn’t mean it’s “historic”.

Then when everyone realized that the generals had fucked up and made the district too big and it needed to be broken into two districts instead it didn’t make it “historic” either. All it meant was that the 2 generals were just shitty surveyors with a limited grasp of the layout of townships. Stupidity is a poor basis for history. Unless it’s stupidity of historic proportions…like the double election of George W. Bush for example. Way to go South Carolina!

Having pioneering settlers of “Scots-Irish and English descent” are hardly what I’d call historic either…it sounds like about 75% of the rest of the goddamn country to me. And the history would be??

The statement about “the area’s agrarian economy did not include slaves” doesn’t sound terribly noble to me. It sounds more like the fuckers were too poor to afford any slaves. Maybe I’m crazy but if farmers in “historic” Anderson could’ve afforded to own slaves to do their work for them then I’ll bet you they would’ve had them. Unless we’re talking about one particular person rising from abject poverty then this isn’t what I’d call historic either. Since we aren’t then it isn’t.

“Anderson saw a manufacturing boom in the 19th century…”, well whoop-dee-fucking-doo! So did virtually every other town in the 19th century. It was called “The Industrial Revolution” for a reason you dumb fuckers…it was everywhere. While The Industrial Revolution itself was a historical moment in the history of our country, I’d hardly count the building of a couple of Textile Mills as a major event inside the confines of The Industrial Revolution. So sorry Anderson…that’s not historic either.

I’ll give them the distiction of being called “The Electric City” in that Anderson’s role in being the first Southern city with unlimited electricity is indeed historic. However I find it to be neither interesting or compelling…but it does qualify as “historic”. So that one I’ll give them. Well played Anderson.

But the one I refuse to acknowledge is the “first cotton gin in the world to be operated by electricity”. I mean, so fucking what? Someone finally thinking “Hey man…we could plug this fucker up. We’ve got unlimited electricity right?” is far from “historic”. Big deal…you had an electric cotton gin. Hardly something I’d put on a t-shirt and want to be known for.

So the point to all this is that there’s a huge damned difference between “old” and “historic”. Using the rationale of the citizens of Anderson virtually anything could be “historic”.

Such as…

“You can’t cut this tree down! Did you know that behind that tree in 1745 a bear took a shit? It’s now a historic shit landmark!”

or…

“No sir, you can’t pave this field for a parking lot. In 1822, Little Billy Whitmire took his first steps in this cornfield. We’ve designated it as a historic landmark.”

how about…

“You want to tear down this barn for a proposed subdivision? Are you out of your fucking mind? You do of course realize that 15 year old Bertha Albertson lost her virginity to her 2nd cousin Melville here in 1912. This is now a vital part of our heritage!”

I could stack 5 bricks up in my front yard and 100 years they’d be “historic” too in the eyes of the Anderson city council. Sorry Andersonians…they’d just be old. Just like Anderson…it’s old but not historic.

Why don’t you find a less dishonest way to attract tourists to your fair city? Maybe something a little more traditonal like a giant ball of twine, a 2 headed goat or the world largest vinegar and water douche?

Cinlach Goes To The Doctor!

A few months ago I had a problem with my Sacroiliac joint which subsequently led to a Kidney infection brought about by the inflammation in my hip. Pretty standard stuff right?

Wrong…dead fucking wrong.

About 3 days ago the ol’ “sacreligious joint” began acting up again and I started to experience the same kidney/bladder symptoms as before. So I knew that the only thing to do was to visit my doctor, get some Celebrex and Lortab and pass the hours in a drug induced stupor. It sounded like such a simple plan…what could possibly go wrong? Take it from me…never ask that question.

The wife calls and gets me an appointment for Friday afternoon and I trudge off to sit in the waiting room for about 2 hours.

So after I finish reading my 4th copy of Newsweek, I finally get called in. They weigh me (205 lbs bitches…suck it!) and stick me in an exam room. I tell the nurse whats been going on and she brings me a piss cup which I gladly fill to the rim with Brim.

I retreat back to my exam room and await for the “kidney infection” prognosis that I’m sure will be forthcoming. Soon I’ll be gone and all will be right in my world once more.

That’s when I get a little surprise. The nurse comes in and drops an atombomb…”Your urine is clean, no trace of infection…sounds like you might have some prostate trouble going on. The doctor is going to be right in to check you out.”

WHOA!!! Hold the fucking phone. I came here for Celebrex and Lortab…not an anal probe! My whole day had just officially turned to shit.

The nurse returns with what appears to be a gigantic paper towel…she calls it a “sheet”. She chucks it at me and says “Strip down to your underwear Mr. Cinlach, you can cover yourself with the sheet. The doctor will be with you in just a few minutes.”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…this is really going to happen. Holy shit, I am so completely not ready for this.

I strip down to my Stewie boxers (”Victory is mine!”), pull this big fucking Brawny paper towel over myself and begin to have a long overdue chat with my buddy, The Big Guy in the Sky.

“Dear Lord baby Jesus…please don’t let this mean doctor violate my nether regions. I’ll feed the homeless, take out the trash and be nice to republicans. I’ll do all that shit. Please baby Jesus…just make the bad man go away.”

Suddenly, the door to the exam room opens and in walks my doctor. He looks entirely too goddamn happy for my liking.

Doctor Mengele : “So what seems to be the trouble Mr. Cinlach?”

Cinlach : “Uh…nothing. Why? Who said there was trouble? They’re a goddamn dirty liar! That’s what they are!”

Doctor Mengele : “Right…so I hear you’re having some trouble with your little wee wee.”

Cinlach : “Listen motherfucker…my ‘wee wee’ hasn’t been little since I was 3 years old. Around my house we call it ‘The Equalizer’. Now I don’t know what kind of half-assed establishment you’re running here but I think I just need to be on my merry way.”

Doctor Mengele : “Right…so about your problem.”

Cinlach : “I told you man…there’s no problem. Everything’s just fine. Really. I mean why would I lie?”

Doctor Mengele : “Why don’t you lie on your left side, slip down your underwear and let Daddy, I mean Dr. Mengele, do his job?”

Holy fucking shit…this man means to penetrate me and I’m not talking about emotionally. This dude’s not going to buy me dinner, he’s not going to give me roses, and I can almost guarantee you that he is certainly not planning on holding me when we’re all done. This is about to suck on a truly galactic scale.

Cinlach : “Uh…I gotta be honest with you Doc, this wasn’t exactly on my list of the top 5 things I wanted to do today.”

Doctor Mengele : “It never is son…it never is. Now just hold still. You might feel some pressure.”

I “MIGHT” FEEL SOME PRESSURE???

Yeah…I felt some fucking pressure all right…at the base of my motherfucking skull! I just forgot the 3rd grade!

Cinlach : “Great googily-moogily!!”

Doctor Mengele : “Does that hurt?”

Cinlach : “Jesus fucking Christ on a flaming unicycle!! It sure as hell doesn’t feel good!! What the fuck!!! What the hell are you using Doc…a latex fist with a potato masher attachment??”

Doctor Mengele : “Ahhh…and we’re all done. Everything seems to be normal.”

Cinlach : “Bullshit…normal depends on your point of view. I wanna go home and I want my Mommy. Jesus, I think I’m going to puke.”

So after he’s finished ramming his fingers so far up my ass I can taste his latex gloves, we have a nice leisurely chat about my ailment.

It seems his opinion is that I’ve got something inflammed in my back which is pressing against a nerve that runs between my hip and my bladder. The pressure on this nerve is causing both my hip and bladder to act up.

The prostate exam, he tells me, was simply a way of eliminating a possible cause.

I wish I could be so nonchalant about the whole experience. I’ve just been taken to a place I’d hoped never to have to go and I don’t mind telling you I wasn’t feeling too spectacular at that moment.

I get dressed, stumble out of the exam room, pay my bill, get my prescriptions and head to my car. I feel used…I need a shower and a shitload of therapy. But alas, it’s not to be. Now I have to go to work. Yippee!

I suddenly realized that not only had I been literally ass-fucked but I was going someplace where I could get figureatively ass-fucked as well. Truly my day was a special one.

I gingerly sat down in my car and dialed my wife from my cellphone. She and I work together and I wanted to let her know that I was done and on my way in.

Sappy Chick : Hey! So how’d it go? Did he give you a prescription for the kidney infection?

Cinlach : You know it’s the funniest goddamn thing…I don’t have a kidney infection.

Sappy Chick : Holy…then what is it? Are you ok honey?

Cinlach : I think so…he checked my urine and it came back clear. He said he had a good idea what was causing it but he needed to check something else first.

Sappy Chick : What did he do? He didn’t have to draw blood did he? God baby, I know how scared you are of needles.

Cinlach : Yeah see…there was no blood drawn. He checked my prostate instead…

Sappy Chick : HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

Cinlach : What the fuck!! Are you laughing at me?? I just had a strange mans hands jammed up my ass! You go ahead and laugh you dirty bitch! I bet you never lost your ass-cherry to a fucking doctor! God I wanna die!

Sappy Chick : Actually I did lose my “ass-cherry” to a doctor…HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

Cinlach : I hate you! I’m going to go home and take a shower and sob uncontrollably like that dude from The Crying Game. If you need me you’ll find me dead from an overdose of Lortab, Jack Daniels and NyQuil.

Sappy Chick : Oh suck it up you big baby! It’s not that big a deal.

Cinlach : I’m sorry…but I’m afraid I’m going to have to stop speaking to you now. You’ve just hurt my heart. You can expect to be hearing from my divorce attorney in a matter of days.

So in summation…prostate exams are bad, doctors are evil and sometimes it feels like the whole fucking world is against us dude, I swear to God.

Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go take my 35th shower since Friday.

Duh!

The following exchange actually happened…the names have been changed to protect the idiotic.

Moron : Have you seen BLANK recently?

Me : No…why, what’s up?

Moron : (The moron gives me an irritated look) I just need to tell him something.

Me : Oh, ok. I just thought it might be something important that I could possibly help you with is all.

Moron : No, he’s got someone waiting on him in the lobby.

Me : Gotcha! Is it an older, short, chubby, bald dude? If so then that’s the toner salesman who refuses to make an appointment or let BLANK know when he’s coming.

Moron : (The moron rolls their eyes dismissively) I don’t know…he just said he needed to see BLANK.

Me : (I pause, rage boiling in my eyes) …

Moron : Well if you see BLANK, tell him there’s a man in the lobby asking for him. I’ve got work to do.

You know what? Fuck you asshole!

What the fuck exactly do you mean when you say “I don’t know…” after I’ve provided you with a detailed description? Inspector fucking Clouseau could’ve found this asshole based on the description I gave you. What more do you need…his fucking show size and underwear style?

Did you even bother to LOOK at this motherfucker when you talked to him? I’ll bet you did. So then you know exactly what he looks like. Unfortunately, your thinly veiled disdain for me overrides your ability to act maturely or in a civil manner long enough to think about what the hell I’m asking you.

I want you to remember this one little important fact you massive moronic fucknugget…you came to me!

It’s not like I sought you out to ask you a question, you stopped me and asked me one. So with that in consideration I’d like to think I deserve a little more goddamn respect, especially from someone as marginally exceptional as you are.

I could’ve told you “Why the fuck are you asking me? Is it my job to track every single person in the office so you don’t have to waddle your chubby ass up and down the halls looking for someone?” but I didn’t. I was polite and courteous…which is something I may not repeat the next time we talk.

Jesus Christ…how the hell do I maintain the composure neccessary in order to continue working with people like this?

Cinlach is sooooo smooth.

Now, normally it’s a good idea to NOT share intimate details of your life before marriage with your spouse. You get into the whole “was she/he better then me?” conversation which forces you to either lie your ass off and say “Oh no baby, they were awful…it was like sex with a corpse” or be totally truthful and say “Jesus Christ, not only did I see God but we had lunch together and he even picked up the tab”.

But it is however, perfectly acceptable to share these stories if you’re showing how completely stupid you were or what a clueless dumbfuck you might’ve been at a particular time in your life.

This is one of those “goddamn I was dumb” stories.

My cousin and I used to hang out in a little town (and by town I really mean 3 roads and 6 houses) called Connestee, SC. Everyone there was a member of one of two families…they were either a Tucker or a Fowler. Yes, it was that small.

My cousin and I hung out there quite a bit, we were in the chess club and played checkers on the weekends. You mean you’re not buying it? Ok, we drank and partied our asses off. It was fun folks…lots of fun. He lived close to Connestee and I was introduced to them through him. We had a lot of fun and unfortunately a falling out with him and another guy pretty much brought it all to an end for me as well.

So anyway, my cousin…let’s call him “Phil” (mainly because it’s his name) was dating a member of the Fowler clan. For modesty’s sake I’ll call her “T”. We’d go over to her sister’s house (we’ll call her “M”) and drink and basically do the stupid shit teenagers like to do. We’d critique porno flicks (seriously, there’s nothing funnier then a 70’s porno flick.), play quarters and generally be loud and obnoxious.

I was single at the time and while there were several girls I was interested in, they all seemed to have fellas…big fellas…big, large, protective, redneck fellas. So I pretty much kept my hands and eyes to myself because I fight like a little girl. A very sick little girl.

While everyone and their cousin (that’d be my boy Phil) was getting laid in every possible way imaginable I’d end up drinking and watching TV while everyone else practiced their tongue wrestling skills. Awkward…party of one!

One particular night, after the party had died down and everyone had bailed, Phil and T slipped off to her room for an advanced anatomy lesson. Since Phil was supposed to be at my house and I was supposed to be at his I suddenly found myself just kinda sleeping on M’s couch. It wasn’t really that big a deal, people always crashed at M’s place on the weekend. So everything seemed like a regular, everyday night of drunken debauchery.

M was a really cool person. She was smokin’ hot, free-spirited, wild and crazy, and had a occasional fuck buddy who she loved/hated in equal amounts. Sometimes they were serious and sometimes not. So regardless of what I thought about M, I never made a move or even really considered anything beyond friendship because I knew I’d end up with a broken jaw, cracked ribs or a heinous head wound…or all 3 at the same time.

So imagine if you will the scene. I’m sitting in the living room on M’s couch at about 1am all alone watching late-night TV. The only people in the house are Phil, T, M, and myself.

As I’m watching David Letterman and chuckling quietly to myself, I hear M’s bedroom door open up. I turn and see she’s in kind of a short silky nightshirt standing just inside her bedroom door. I ask her if anything’s wrong and if the TV is too loud. I mean that has to be why she’s there right?

She says the TV’s fine and then asks if I want to come lie down with her. She says she knows how uncomfortable the couch can be and wants to make sure I’m comfortable. She smiles sweetly at me.

I ponder this for a minute and then say the following…

“Nah, I’m fine here…thanks though, I’ll be ok. The couch isn’t really that bad.”

She nods silently, drops her head and heads back inside. I can hear the door to her bedroom softly shut behind her.

I sit…totally unaware of what has just happened for about 5 minutes.

Then it suddenly dawns on me…I am, in fact, a complete fucking moron.

SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!!!

When she asked if I wanted to “come lie down with her” she wasn’t asking me to come lie down with her…she was asking me to “come lie down with her”. She was asking if I’d like to participate in a little advanced anatomy class of my own.

I had just completely and totally shot her down…I mean flames people, Hindenburg style. “Oh the humanity” and everything. She had come out there to see if I might like to play a little game I like to call “premarital sex” and I basically said I’d rather sit on the lumpy couch and watch David Letterman.

So what the hell do I do now? Do I knock on the door and apologize? Do I try and explain only to make myself look like a fucking moron? Do I sit here like a dumbass (because that’s what I am folks…a HUGE fucking dumbass) and pretend it didn’t happen?

I sat there for what must’ve been only a few minutes although it felt like hours…trying to figure out what the hell I should do. What if I was wrong? What if “come lie down with me” really just meant “come lie down with me”? What happens if I go in, get undressed and start something only to have her kick the shit out of me and then tell her big, burly friend that I’d tried to slip into bed with her?

Finally I decided the best thing I could do was just play it cool and see what tomorrow brought. I could always talk to her about it later right? I was a man…I can approach this like an adult.

Yeah, well I could’ve if I wasn’t such a gigantic pussy.

The next morning came…she said nothing, I said nothing…nothing was said and there was definitely no sweet lovin’ to be had. I had a bowl of Cheerios and she and I sat in silence at the table while we ate.

I never had another opportunity like that one. M ended up dating a guy none of us really liked. He was a prick before he was drunk and alcohol only made him an even bigger prick. He treated her like crap and she never seemed very happy.

Now, I’m not saying that one night could’ve turned into anything meaningful and lasting because like I said, she was a very free-spirited girl and despite my attraction to her we were totally different people. I mean, she was an Earnhardt fan for God’s sake.

But still…to sit here today and think about what a complete dipshit I was then boggles my fucking mind.

Way to go fucknuts…you suck.