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Whose cock do I have to suck to make my music famous? I know Mariah Carey sucked Tommy Mottola’s! Anybody have his phone number?
ME! MINE! Oh, pick *Me*! I’m an old troll. I need it more. Pick me.
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So much earlier this morning I posted that I heard an explosion. I did. Shortly after I posted that comment my room mate came down stairs and expressed surprise that we had power.
Seems he heard it too, and assumed that a power condenser/relay/whatever had gone up, as they do often enough (thanks, squirrels!).
In all probability, that was it. Another unwitting bushy-tailed saboteur, foolishly over estimating the insulating properties of his little rodent feet…
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So the doctor wanted to take a look at my bladder.
“No big deal,” I thought. I mean, it could’ve been *So* much worse. It could be my prostate, for example, and what could be worse than having to bend over while a doctor feels around the inside of your butt? So I’m happy here, feeling lucky, until…
So this thing begins with a nurse — a woman, by the way — swabbing my winky with some “anesthetic” before squeeze some quantity in & down.
And I’m a normal guy here, which means that the whole time this is going on I’m utterly convinced that it’s the smallest one she’s ever seen. In fact I honestly expected to hear her cry out at any moment… “Myrtle,” she’d say. “Myrtle, you’ve gotta come in here and see this! Isn’t it the most precious little thing you ever did see? Quick, get my cell phone out of my pocket. You need to get a picture of me with this!”
Wait. It gets better.
So now the doctor comes in, and proceeds to forcing this… this… “Cystoscope” (whatever) down in my junk.
And the nurse was still there — holding back her laughter, no doubt — easing the situation with comforting words such as “Breath” and “Relax.”
That was helpful.
And the irony here? Between Mr. Winky and my bladder lies the prostate! Remember how lucky I felt that the doctor didn’t want to “Examine” that? Well, in a way he was… only from the inside.
This whole experience is a lot like sex, only instead of anything coming out it’s going in, and instead of feeling good you feel excruciating pain…
So, past the man’s prostate lies his bladder, and when the doctor reaches mine he pumps it full of water and takes a good peek around before pronouncing everything “Fine.”
“Your prostate is swollen,” he tells me. And I’m like, “You think? And after you shoved a periscope, lamp & water hose through it? Swollen? Jeepers! Who would have guessed?”
…and then I mention my ultrasounds. I had raised it before but he couldn’t access my records then, so he never got the details. And I’m far from the best patient — figuring these people go to school to learn this stuff so why ask me — so I don’t think I was clear that one of them was lower down. One of my ultrasounds, that is. But, he could access my records now so he jumped on the computer, pulled them up and confirmed, yes, I did have an ultrasound, and it did verify that everything was okay… including my bladder. And the ultrasound may have even been the cause of my current problems.
See, ultrasounds & prostates don’t play well together, apparently. Googling it you’ll find that it’s even common for men to experience blood in their semen after an ultrasound. Thus if my prostate is swollen in response to something other than having a periscope (lamp & water hose) rammed through it, it was probably the ultrasound at fault.
On the bright side I was thoroughly humiliated & traumatized by the experience, so I do have a lifetime of intense therapy to look forward to.
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Okay, so maybe these jokes aren’t funny but *Somebody* has to tell them.
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