On Rectal Probing

Somehow Aliens Aren't So Scary

This past weekend, on Friday, it was check-up time for the Napolitano's. Being I've been recently injured and have had a four-month love-affair with a chest infection, AND bleedingoutmyrearend...My wife thought it high time I actually see a doctor. I cared not to go.

Anyway...to the...

GENERAL PRACTITIONER!

This guy, despite me being the first white person he's ever seen apart from the TV, he spoke pretty good English, though still seemed to miss many of the important items I through his way. "Your coughing? Bronchitis? To the X-Ray Machine!!"

A cold and hairy, bare-chested X-Ray later... to the...

DUDE WHO CHECKS YOUR BUTT!!

Another Doc-man who speakadaEnglish, but it was sort of 'funny'. So when he said, drop trou, and 'your gonna feel something funny feeling', it felt apropos. 'Funny' it wasn't. Not only did his lubricated, sheathed finger kill going in, but then he decided, let's squeeze the CRAP out of his insides. A LOT!

Then, after removing his finger, he immediately decided, let's do it again! Huzzah!

"I can feel a couple of cuts just inside there. I suggest drinking more water to loosen you stool. Now, just for fun, THE CAMERA!"

No lights are as blinding as the red hot bowie knife that invaded my already tattered nether-regions.

"Yup. I was right," he says.

>Back To The Beginning

So, it's a slight waddle back to the General Practitioner who tells me that there seems to be no infection. "Whew!" I says.

"It seems that this rampant coughing due to your carb intake may be an allergic reaction accompanying newly forming asthma."

"Whew!" I says.

On Returning Families

After two long months, my wife has finally returned tonight, with our Nolan in tow. This apartment finally seems whole.