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Spastic Colon Spastic Colon is offline
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Join Date: Feb 2004
Old Mar 21st, 2004, 07:33 PM        Just a little something I wrote.
Tell me what you think. Remember that when I wrote this I intended on taking it to school, so I was forced to keep profanity to a minimum. It still turned out okay even though I couldn't speak from... THE SOUL.

Physicals (cringe…)

On the grounds of popular demand (and a swift kick in the dingle-berries), I’m going to write a short about my feelings towards physicals. But what about my needs, its always about you and what you want to write about but need a rat-stooge like me to articulate. It’s always “me, me, me” and “I, I, I”, but I digress. I used to play football, the bane of my existence, and before each season, the school would require us to take a physical to make sure there were no…abnormalities. Given that I had already taken this test a year ago with no injuries following, they still made me take this physical as if something had happened since my last physical. Seems like a waste of tax money when you consider that I was never a serious player. I acted as the bench warmer. I looked pretty damn good on the bench though because I reached my full height in the 5th grade; in short, I was really tall by comparison to the other players, but I hated the sport and all those involved in its gratuitous tradition. Though, I really did want to pretend to be the one “special” child on our team that the school can’t actually deny. No wait, I did pretend to be the “special” child because I constantly shouted, “I knew you could do it” to myself, and everyone treated me in the proper respect.

Moving right along, I shaved my beard and called myself Rusty “The Lonely Fisherman” Shackleford. But I digress yet again. Just so you realize the trauma, understand that this was a mass physical; everyone in the state who wanted to do a sports-anything was here. For example, if the doctor says, “I’m sorry, you apparently have bubonic plague,” or “you have the mange,” or “I’m not getting a pulse Mr. Rigor Mortis,” then everyone around you knows that you have
<insert disease here> and can start cracking wise about you. Isn’t that fun.

Now consume what I’m telling you. They start you off in a waiting room just like in any doctor’s office except that there are no sick people and the waiting room is a gymnasium. They begin hauling children in herds through the double doors at the end of the treacherous expanse for their checkup. But for some reason, the group I was in went through different doors, and I’m beginning to suspect that the teachers and coaches actually lured those previous groups of children into a giant meat grinder to serve as mystery meat. They’ll be missed, but for the meantime I’m in the safe group that God must’ve chosen as his beings of infinite purity.

Where do they take us from here? Well, they leave us outside in the 110-degree summer norm in a line backed up across the school courtyard. They even had the line queued in rows so I could see the hopefuls in front of me several times before I went inside the 120-degree un-air-conditioned cafeteria that they’ve turned into a literal nurses training program. Did I mention that there was even more waiting in the cafeteria. I should’ve brought a book to read or something to do like those kids I saw playing Dungeons and Dragons in their wait. Over the clicking of dice and the shouts of “you’re a corrupt dungeon master,” I managed to make out my name being called by one of the male nurses. This guy had a major “I wanna molest your supple little 13 year old boy-body” vibe about him. Of course, whenever I get that feeling, all I can see and taste is purple, so I woke up a few minutes later with him staring at me, breathing heavily.

The cafeteria was divided into different stations where a different man-nurse would apply his 6-hour training course to a different aspect of my body. I ran pretty quickly from that creepy pedophile who happened to be yelling “You’re a little young for me but I’ll wait for you to blossom” towards the first station on the list. It’s at this point that I couldn’t understand why I had to wait so long to take the physical. I finished each of my tests with precision in about 30 seconds. Heart rate-normal. Sight-normal. Blood pressure-diabetic. Hearing-normal. The list goes on like this. And then I realized what the hold-up was, and, honestly, I was surprised. I had to get a hernia test.

For those of you who don’t know, in a hernia test, a man/woman feels under your balls and asks you to cough to make sure your balls won’t suck back up into your body like a hermit crab fleeing from sea gulls. Trust me, nothing can prepare you for this prior to thirteen. They put you behind a bed sheet that can barely hide the man “touching” you let alone you and your dignity. And they always call the next victim’s name to go behind the sheet before the man-nurse has closed up shop with you, so you end up having someone you probably know invading your own personal Hell for about a minute until it’s HIS turn.

For me, this experience was extra traumatic. I still cringe when I think about it. I must’ve had the crooked testicle professor. He leaves a very bad first impression. He had wild, bushy Einstein hair and he sounded Russian or Polish when he talked. He started by shaking my hand (I don’t think he switched out his latex glove from his last patient, because my hand was now covered in what was probably unspeakable excretions). The next thing I know, he’s asking me to drop my pants for this wicked procedure and I tried to tell him it was against my religion (BAH, me, religion, BAH), but he only replied with, “we can’t have zat, it’s zis or nothing” as he shook his finger like the T-1000 in The Terminator. THIS MAN SHOWED NO EMOTION, THIS CRAZY RUSSIAN/POLE. Anyway, I had no way out so I let him feel on me as he prompted me to “cough pleaze.” I guess I didn’t do it right because he continued telling me “louder pleaze, LOUDER.” I kept telling him that I was trying but he continued yelling. I was pretty proud of myself because I finally brought some anger out of this guy. I peed a little, but he told me it happens all the time and hugged me as I wailed.

I walk a little taller now that I’ve been violated by the USSR and I’m apparently free of most STD’s. What a relief. But I still wonder what kind of god would allow the hernia. He probably just does it to for a cheap laugh. Well, the joke’s on him, I’m gonna cut off my balls. By the way, if I’ve offended anyone by constantly calling the male anatomy “balls”, then I’m sorry. Testicles. Testicles. Testicles. Testicles. Testicles. Testicles. Testicles. Testicles. Testicles. Testicles. Testicles. Testicles. Testicles. Testicles. Testicles. Testicles. Testicles. Testicles. Testicles. Is that politically correct enough for you!?
P.S. This is what part of the alphabet would look like if Q and R were eliminated.
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