I’ve been having ball pain lately, so I went to the doctor to get checked out. Apparently having your wiener pierced makes the doctor think that you’re riddled with sexy infections. After getting tested for the clap, they ultrasounded my balls, which was kind of nice because they squirt hot lube on your potatoes. Pam was there, too. The technician managed to examine the front of my balls and take 15,000 front-ball pics and maybe one rear view pic. I volunteered to fruit basket my package so he could get back there, but he wasn’t interested. Good news is that the front of my balls are definitely cancer free, but the back is anyone’s guess.
The doctor let me go, and said I was good, but I still had to go to the urologist. So I go to the urologist and he says, “you know how some people get headaches, you get potato-aches.” Cool!!
And now, since I’m insane, I told my primary care about how shitty my ultrasound was, she suggested Pam get tested for sexy diseases. Fucking Miami doctors.
My insurance is great, too. Oh wait, it’s shit. I was able to spend $750 to find out that I should wear more supportive undies. Come on. I fucking hate everything. Except for pizza, candy, cool people, all drugs, Chinese food, Pam, all my friends, booze, kettlebells, tonejumpoff, the bone zone, bars where you can smoke, free food, cheesesteaks, fresh fish, French food that gives me the poops because of all the butter, skateboarding, my Michael Jordan shirt, sleeping, TV, House of Cards, good movies, cool backpacks, science, getting to sleeping in, funny porn titles, looking at Glads’ belly, the dog park, hot dogs, etc.