Rectal Foreign Bodies

What a depressing weekend. Since I last posted, the Predators have lost twice and the Vols got beat by Dark Visor and the Cocks. No point in dwelling on it though, so on to the good stuff.

I'm not sure how it came up in conversation, but the topic of rectal foreign bodies was discussed this weekend. Yeah, ewwwww. The thing is, I have a rectal foreign body story.

I work in the radiology department of a small hospital in a backwater town. Mostly I push drugs and help with biopsies. Every once in awhile I will scrub in on a procedure. My point is that even though I work in radiology, I can't read an x-ray any better than the lay person. One day a co-worker called me into the reading area. He told me to look on the box and tell him what I thought. When he turned on the light, this x-ray is very similar to what I saw. This image was borrowed from a web site called Rectal Foreign Bodies , but it looks exactly like what I saw that day. I immediately asked "Who is this and what did they put in their ass?"

I took the x-ray back into the radiologist, stuck it on his board and said "I have to know the story!"

He shook his head, gave me the "tsk tsk" sound and related the tale.

The film was taken of a young lady that was in our emergency room. Apparently she had been out and about the night before and had found some lucky man to continue her fun back at her place. According to the woman, they were snogging on the kitchen table when her gentleman friend noticed a bowl of vegetables. Deciding that banging a strange man on her own kitchen table wasn't enough excitement for his partner, he resolved to kick things up a notch by inserting a cucumber into her ass. Somewhere along the line, he lost his grip and the suction behind the Cucumis sativus (the common cucumber. By the way, did you know that cucumbers are technically a fruit and not a vegetable? From the prospective of a botanist, a fruit is the mature ovary of a plant such as an orange, grape, peach, and yes, cucumber. Commonly, the cucumber is lumped into the vegetable category because of the way it is used, much like the Solanum lycopersicum ((tomato, which happens to be a member of the nightshade family)), but it IS a fruit.) pulled it the rest of the way inside her body cavity and SHAZAM! it was gone. Next stop, the local emergency room where they used a foley catheter inserted into the rectum to remove it. Now, I'm a firm believer in whatever it takes for you to get yours, you know what I mean? But what struck me as truly crappy (excuse the pun) about this poor woman's plight is that she had to go through the indignity of a trip to the ER to have a piece of fruit (vegetable, whatever) removed from her ass all alone. This is just my opinion, but if you get something stuck in my ass, you are gonna be staring the doctor right in the face when I explain to him what you did.

Moral of the story? Know the person that is sticking things in your orifices.

Sleep well gentle readers.

Why Me? HNT

Once again, I find myself stuck with tickets. These are for the Tennessee/South Carolina game this weekend. Unless I can come up with a taker for the tickets or somebody that wants to go, Daisy and Maddie are gonna get a treat. Who is up for some Vol football?

I guess this pathetic plea for somebody to go to the game counts as my Half-Nekkid Thursday entry. Interested parties should email me.

For the run down on HNT, visit the great and powerful Os.

Bathroom Etiquette

OMG! The Predators are kicking some serious ass! Tara and I went to the game last night and had a blast! The Preds scored three goals in the first period and the final score was five to three, Nashville. Apparently, Chicago believed they couldn't skate with our boys so they decided to try and muscle them. The Predators were in no mood to back down which meant FIGHT! FIGHT! There were five or six fights and the fellas held their own. Nashville has eight straight wins and the record is ten!
In news of the weird, I went to the men's room after the first period. It's my turn in front of the urinal and I do the usual checking out of who is standing on either side of me (just to make sure they aren't trying to check my equipment). The dude to my right is standing about a foot back from the urinal, just letting it fly! The kicker is.....no hands! The dumbass is too busy working his Blackberry to hold onto his junk while he is pissing. What a fucktard. What can be so important that you can't be bothered to micturate in a socially acceptable fashion. It takes all kinds.

I got home about midnight, the drive between Nashville and Jackson takes about two hours and is tough after all of the excitement from the game. I walk in the door to see.................... I guess I've been ignoring my kids. That small table in the background USED to hold ten or so books including a valuable first edition of Ian Flemings "You Only Live Twice." Trashed, completely. Anybody want a couple of dogs?

Lesbians Crack Me Up

A few years back, when I was still in nursing school, I had a clinical instructor that was a lesbian. Let's call her Ms. C. She normally taught ob/gyn (go figure), but was helping out with the med/surg rotation. When I got assigned to her, I was juiced. She was hilarious and unlike some of the other lesbians teaching in the school (there seemed to be a large percentage of lesbian instructors), she didn't seem to have a problem with men in nursing. Actually, I think she liked me and I know that I respected her opinion and often sought her guidance when I had a problem.

Of course, the girls I went to school with were uncomfortable with her as an instructor. I think it was mostly because they were young and just didn't have much experience outside their "Betty Bow Head" world. I'm sure that Ms. C sensed it, she was a smart woman, but I never once heard her verbalize it.

One day, Ms. C called us into a patient's room. I was the only male and there were about six young women, all much, much younger than I. The patient was a semi-comatose female, about forty years of age and we began to run down her list of ailments. Ms. C would stop us and quiz us on the pertinent facts, something we were used to and for the most part we were quick to give her satisfactory answers.

Ms. C pointed out that the patient suffered from bowel incontinence. She looked at the group and said "Can anyone tell me what is the cause of her incontinence." You could see the wheels turning in everybody's head and a couple of the Betty Bow Heads would open their mouth and then quickly close it, signifying that they had an idea, but were pretty sure it was the wrong answer.

She let this go on for a bit, looking at each of us in turn, raising and lowering her eyebrows. Eventually, she leaned forward slightly and we knew that she was tired of waiting for an answer and was going to spoon feed us the information. The Bettys whipped out their pens, ready to jot down the words of wisdom that were about to be imparted to us.

Ms. C, with a steady, low voice, never taking her eyes off of us spoke:

"To much ass fucking!"

To this day, I haven't decided what was funnier, Ms. C's diagnosis, or the looks of horror on the Betty's faces when they were confronted by something so repulsive to them. I know that Ms. C was having a bit of fun with them, but she never told them any different and I saw many of them slowly write that piece of information in their notebooks. I wonder how many of them refuse to have anal sex today for fear of losing bowel control.

Good night Ms. C, where ever you are.

Coasting Through Life

I need a haircut. That about sums up what's going on in my life this last week. My Cards lost in 6. I'm glad they got the opportunity to close out Busch Stadium, but after such a strong year, not making the World Series was a disappointment. I'm trying to stay interested in baseball, but it's tough with the teams involved. I really don't have any feeling toward either one. It's funny, the Card fans love to root against the Cubs even though for the last ten years or so it's been the Astros giving them a run for their money. I don't begrudge the 'Stros their win, they deserve it, but I can't seem to get behind them. I think if you were to ask me, I'd say I want the White Sox to win. I think Shoeless Joe got shafted and maybe he will rest easier if they win.Good luck Joe.

My Vols completely broke my heart on Saturday. I went to an alumni viewing party and we cheered Tennessee's excellent defensive effort only to see them fumble twice in the Orange Zone. Alabama won, 6-3, a respectable score for the Vols but I can't help but scratch my head over a talented offense that can't seem to find the end zone.With Notre Dame, South Carolina, Memphis, Kentucky, and Vanderbilt left, I can't help but worry that we might see a losing season for the first time in years. I scored tickets for South Carolina this weekend and it looks like Miss Tara is going to go with me. Spurrier has always given Fulmer fits, even when he coached Duke and I can only hope that Tennessee will rise to the occasion.

Tara and I are also going to be in our regular seats for the Predators tomorrow night. Undefeated, Nashville gets Chicago at home and I'm hoping they extend their winning streak to eight. Jump on the band wagon now folks! I don't wanna hear any "I've been rooting for them all season" when they win the Stanley Cup .

On a final note, Maddie, the demon dog, apparently feels the need to escape.This is a serious hole in my yard and I don't know when she found time to dig it, but she had the evidence all over her nose. Maybe she will strike oil.

That's all I got for now. Oh, wait, I have a story, but that's a separate post.

Rock Out With Your Cock Out HNT

My friend Tara took this picture a couple of weeks back after the football game. Notice the classic double "rock on dude" hand gestures. I'm a little worried because it looks like maybe the car was moving and I certainly am not following the "10 and 2" rule. Does it look like I have marbles in my mouth? Might be that hunk of peyote I'm chewing. I think this was shortly before I was dragged from the car and tasered by John Q. Law for not observing a yield sign. Nashville is a tough place to drive.

For more Half-Nekkid Thursday yumminess (it's a word), visit the great and powerful Os .

Sit Down Mutha Fuckas!!!

I had all but written my Cards off in the NLCS. Even Pujols' bat had grown cold. They let Carpenter pitch a bit to long and I had diverted my attention away from the game to make a phone call and whine about how unfair it was. Lidge was pitching, it was the top of the ninth, 2 outs, Cards down by 2. Then the baddest mutha to stomp the terra comes to the plate. He not only rings up a hit, Albert Pujols belts a massive homerun that stuns and shocks the Houston home crowd. The Cards may not win the NLCS and go to the World Series, but at least they will get to close out their season in Busch Stadium. One final hurrah for the old ballpark before they tear it down. They may lose tomorrow, but for tonight, the Cards are on top of the world. I introduce to you the 2005 National League Most Valuable Player, Albert Pujols.

Shortcut To China

The demon dog has been giving me fits. I filled in the hole that she dug and yesterday, while mowing the yard, I found this. Maddie is a little dog, about 35 lbs. She is an excellent digger though. This was the exact same hole that I filled. I don't think she appreciated it very much. Notice the depth as well as the perfect dimensions. I have had enough. Yesterday, I refilled the hole, tilled the entire area (about 4 feet by 8 feet), seeded it with Fescue and fenced it off. Now if I can just remember to keep it watered. I really wouldn't care, but dirt + dew = mud in the house. Can't have that.

The Predators have won five in a row with no losses on the season. It seems that they are the real deal! I'm completely juiced that I can root for a winner. The Cards are a different story. After losing Reggie Sanders, Abraham Nunez had to leave the game with a charlie horse. He was replaced with Hector Luna. So now, third base, a position filled by All-Star Scott Rolen at the beginning of the season, is being played by Luna, who hadn't played all post season. The Cards paid for it on the very next at bat. So now they are down 2-1 in the NLCS and my hopes for a world series are a little dimmer.

The Vols didn't play this weekend. Thank you Lord.

What else can go wrong?

A Quiet Moment Of Reflection

Well, it's been an interesting couple of weeks here. I've learned a lot about myself and other people and what other people think about me. My brain hurts and I need to go on a bender, but I'm not a fan of drinking alone. Besides, the older I get the worse the hangovers are.

Cards have split their series so far. How can a team that looked to good one night completely fall apart and look like they can't buy a run the next night? Pitching is my only guess. Oswalt looked good and I respect a pitcher that isn't afraid to deal a little chin music every now and then. I had hoped that the Cards would take two wins into Houston, but now....... I dunno. I think I need to increase my meds (or at least start them). The dark clouds of depression seem to hover lately.

The Predators have either been awfully good or awfully lucky. I don't know enough hockey to tell the difference. I'm trying to learn. I watched part of the Nashville/Colorado game last night, but turned it off when the Avalanche scored their third goal, making it 3-0. The next morning I read that the Preds staged a comeback and won, 5-4. Apparently I missed a helluva third period. Then they go on to beat The Great One's team 5-4. They are off to a 4-0 start, and in my mood all I can think is "it won't last."

The Vols have the week off. Thank God. They are breaking my heart.

Oh, to all of my friends who are members of the tribe, happy belated Yom Kippur.

I have no plans this weekend other than watching a little baseball on TV. I keep telling myself that I will finish up a few household projects. Like painting. Like over seeding the back yard. Like cleaning. Like washing the car. Like washing the dogs. Like hanging my sun. I have a feeling I'm just gonna end up pulling the covers over my head and blocking out the world.

I'm a moody bitch.

Half-Nekkid Thursday Again?

I was watching my Cards win the first game of the NLCS in a convincing manner when a caller reminded me that tomorrow was Thursday. Too late to do anything creative, I snapped a picture of me in my favorite position. Please, no comments on my lame boxers.

My Sports Weekend

I am overloaded with sports this weekend and the NFL hasn't even started play yet. My Cards won the division, albeit against a sad and sorry San Diego team. The Padres had no business in the playoffs. If they were the Western champs, the rest of that division had to be truly pathetic. Now it looks like Houston might beat Atlanta proving that the Central is the strongest division in the NL. I'm rooting for Atlanta. I'd rather deal with Andruw Jones than the Rocket. After the Boston debacle last year, pitching terrifies me. Sad to say, I will be rooting for the Yankees in the junior league for two reasons. St. Louis took 2 of 3 from them during the season, and Rachel hates the Yankees so much that she will be cheering for the Cards with every fiber of her being. On a sadder note, my beloved Vols got smacked down by Georgia 27-14. No SEC championship for Tennessee this year. And that's all I've got to say about that. And now the highlight of my weekend. I went to the Predators game last night with Tara, her son Kyle and his friend Liz. It had to be the most exciting game I have ever witnessed. The score was tied after regulation and both teams failed to score in overtime. Guess what? SHOOTOUT! Hell yeah! It ended with Paul Kariya scoring on the final pass. The place went nuts. Strangers high fiving, beer being spilled everywhere, my voice is completely gone this morning. Worth every penny spent on tickets. Tara and I wore our new jerseys.Tara painted Liz and Kyle's faces and Kyle got a little lovin' from the cheerleaders. Is that a teenager's wet dream or what? Look at his face. I almost envy him his hormones.

Anyway, excellent weekend (except for the Vols and the Seymour nastiness). I love the fall.

Rock on.

The Last Straw

My weekends are pretty uneventful. I'm not really a social animal, outside of the occasional sporting event that is. So, my Saturday morning was shaping up to be pretty tame. I was hunkered down under my blankets, the breeze from the window blowing across the one foot that has to be left out of the covers, the dogs asleep on my legs.

Suddenly there was a loud crash against the back wall of the house. Holy Kato Calin! The dogs were barking, I was freakin', and I couldn't find the shells for the shotgun (Good thing too, Bessie hadn't been cleaned since the great squirrel rebellion of 1989!). So I grabbed my trusty Easton "Power Swing" instead and bolted for the back door.

The prodigal son returns. I hadn't heard from Seymour for almost two weeks. He had called me for bail money, but hung up before I could find out where he was. Now he was in my back yard, filthy and smelling of whiskey. The stench was so strong, the dogs wouldn't go near him. He kept muttering something about "watch out for the wombats, they are nasty fuckers."

After a jumbo pot of java and a turn through the washing machine, I began to piece the story together. Seymour had answered the door one day while I was at work (something he is not supposed to do) and greeted two Mormon missionaries with "What the fuck do you want?"

Of course, their goal was to save his soul. What was left of it. He invited them in for morning cocktails. They refused, but Seymour is a wiley bastard. He convinced them to keep him company will he killed some brain cells. In return, he would listen to their sales pitch.

They knew they had their hands full. Seymour is inclined to say things like "sure, enternal salvation sounds good, but I like to drink, smoke a fattie and do a fatty.......ya think the good Lord can compromise on one or two things?"

The Mormans knew they needed help. They called in the kidnappers and whisked Seymour away to a remote location. Seymour's memory is a little hazy at this point. Something about how he was lucky he had his stash of roofies with him, but the story picks up with him and two Mormons named John and Paul at a little bar called "John's Creek" in Mississippi. I've been to John's Creek. It's a redneck dive that serves it's beer by the can that you have to open yourself and is owned by a Nazi named Richard.

Richard welcomed Seymour back and they began to tie one on with his new friends matching him drink for drink. Every thing was going well until one poor sod noticed Richard's swastika ring and commented "Hitler had it coming." Richard proceeded to pistol whip the young man and then went into a Nazi frenzy, screaming "Seig Heil! Seig Heil!" but instead of giving the Nazi salute, every time he said "Seigh Heil" he would pop a round into the ceiling.

Now the Desoto County sheriff's department doesn't mind a fella blowing off a little steam, but you aren't really allowed to shoot up a bar even if you are the owner. Everyone in the bar was dragged off to the hoosegow en masse and that's when Seymour called me. He hung up before he could tell me where he was because the jailer had come to release him. When I asked why they let him go, he just said "the man can't keep a sock down." When I queried about the whereabouts of his friends John and Paul, Seymour snorted "hmph, those rookies? Last time I saw them, some bubba was selling their asses into prison slavery for a pack of smokes." Poor Mormons.

That still didn't explain what Seymour had been doing for the last two weeks. He claims he was "gettin' my grove on dude, just gettin' my grove on."

So here we are. Seymour only came back to get the last of his whiskey. He says he is moving out and is starting his own blog. He thinks I should have treated him better and on his way out the door he said "there may be other socks out there, but you will never find another one like me." Preach on brother Seymour, preach on.



Good night Seymour , where ever you are.

My Pet Duck HNT

Meet Patsy. This picture is about 13 years old (HOLY CRAP). This was behind my first apartment after college. I made the mistake of feeding the ducks and I soon became their primary food source. The white duck closest to me in the picture is Patsy. She was a huge fan of wonder bread. I would come home from working at the prison (don't ask) and nap on the couch until about 4 p.m. everyday. My steady alarm clock was Patsy. The first time I heard her tapping on my patio doors I thought I had mice (I had mices to pieces!). I got up and opened the door, she walked right in like she owned the place. From then on, every day at 4 p.m. she knocked on my door until I got up to share my meager food stores with her. I moved after a year and now I often wonder what ever happened to Patsy.