Butt, Doctor...
A good lady stuck her finger up my butt yesterday. I'm having a series of problems that seem to involve digestion, so some think it could also possibly involve my poop region. I don't mean to be so blunt, but I can't very well treat this with seriousness. After all, it involves my butt. POOP comes out of there. It is deep within that dark cavern where many jokes have been born.
She was a nice lady, and I felt sorry for her. Much like the gentleman who I had to apologize for asking him where the enemas lived, I also apologized to this pretty, friendly doctor for having to have a job where part of her responsibility is begloving a finger and then putting it in my butt. In all honesty, as far as butts go, mine probably isn't that bad. But then again, many people who have been at fault for being in a car accident claim to be great drivers.
However, I beg for your sympathy here - I do believe my butt is more magnificent than some. I wouldn't say it's the best, or the most odorless, or the least foul, but it's definitely not as bad as they come. I don't encourage anyone to put a nose to my own southern nostril and take a whiff, but you could definitely snack near my posterior and not fear a demon scent. Alas, I can't even help but be poetic. Literacy is a sign of a cleanly behind.
The kind doctor lady finger owner said my butt looked fine. Many black men over the years have stated that sentiment. I should have saved my money and simply listened to them.
2 comments:
I worry about your butt from time to time. Like when I'm lying in bed, I worry that your butt will show up at my door with a butt gun.
Um ... would you mind posting a picture of your butt? Perhaps I can give you an opinion on behalf of Latino men.
My favorite butt story is my own, of course, where I was at a kindly doctor's office having a viewing contraption gently slid up my chute to the tune of Neil Sedaka's "Laughter in the Rain." It was almost romantic. Perhaps if it were a lady doctor we could have crossed that threshold. I'll never know ... sigh.
I'm sorry about your cell phone. I'm sure that just ... sucked. And I hear chest gnomes love oatmeal, but not that sweet, instant stuff.
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