Well, like most things I post, I wrote this weeks ago and never got around to typing it up. Since then, things seem to have gotten better, magically, which is how they always seem to get better if they get better. Nevertheless, it bears keeping record.
For the last seven months or so, paranoia has cycled its way thru most of my major organs, causing me to fear for my life for one reason or another. I’ve seen a variety of specialist clinics, and even taken a cab to the hospital at 4 a.m. once. Nobody’s ever come up with anything remotely wrong with me. But this time the paranoia, if that’s what it is, has made its way to my sweet, sweet loins, and there appears to be a tangible problem. Since you’re reading this, I’ll spare no detail, so here’s your last chance to turn back and click that YouTube shortcut at the top of your browser and escape this graphic madness. Consider yourself advised.
When I pee, it continues to feel like there’s still some left inside my wang–for lack of a more awesome word–which itself doesn’t seem to be up to its usual…attributes. It feels like the pee should just come right out, but it doesn’t come out. The feeling just lingers forever, which I don’t know if you’ve ever felt a small amount of pee lingering inside your dick for hours before, but it’s infuriating. Get the hell out of there! My only two consolations now are that 1) there is no pain as of yet and 2) it’s a common enough problem in Japan that it has its own term, which is zannyôkan,which means “lingering pee sensation,” and which is not to be confused with plain old zannyô, which means “lingering pee”. To combat these two semi-positives is the fact that such problems are usually the result of either blockage caused by stones, or prostate issues, both of which I’m extremely young for/terrified of. People often refer to the process of passing stones as the male equivalent of childbirth, except instead of ending with joy, it ends with you crying in a huddled ball of shame, hugging desperately to your new best friend, the toilet. Prostate enlargement is common in men over forty and not always a serious health risk, but it can also be cancer, or cause complete blockage of urine if not treated. More urgently disturbing, however, is that just to check on how the prostate’s doing, your sarcastic male doctor has to stick multiple fingers up your anus, past the bottom knuckle, and waggle them around. In a serious situation, they stick an ultra-sonic probe up there a la every alien encounter you’ve ever feared. In the worst situations, a needle extends from that probe, into your prostate gland, scarring you mentally for life. My ex-nurse friend fails to see the harm in being anal probed, but I’m pretty sure it’s the last experience I came here to have. Imagine the conversation afterwards.
“Hey Greg, haven’t seen you in like 200 weekends. How was Japan?”
“Got probed anally.”
Imagine my life’s memoirs:
“The Chronicles of Greg: The Story of a Man Probed Anally.”
Imagine my epitaph, for God’s sakes:
They stuck a rod up his anus, man! With a needle in it! And ultra-sound!
RIP (you can say that again!)
I discovered these many horrid truths flipping through an info brochure at the urinary clinic. It made no mention of the humiliating nature of these procedures or how to prepare mentally for them, so maybe I’m the only one who thinks it’s a big deal. But in my defense, the most graphic page of the brochure was caked with somebody’s ancient piss, so obviously someone else was disturbed enough when he saw it that he pissed himself right there. After all, this was in the reception.
Another seemingly intentional attempt to add insult to injury is the fact that this particular urinary clinic features a young, beautiful receptionist. I guess it’s incentive to make your tools work again. Frankly I wonder if mine hasn’t just frozen over from lack of use. Yeah, I said it.
Otherwise I don’t know what the hell my problem is I’ve been to that clinic thrice now, and all three times I was the only patient in the place who wasn’t getting the discount brunch at Denny’s. Yeah they’ve got Denny’s here.
He got the shaft. Up his ass.
Instead of discount Denny’s.
RIP (is what they did to his rectum)
Now let us never speak of this again.