Those line breaks in my posts are fucking killing me.
Off to find a remedy.
Monday, January 24, 2005
My Penis Is Fine Thank You
My 4-yr-old son Spencer keeps asking me if my penis is okay.
"Does it hurt when you pee?" he asked.
"It's not my penis that is hurt," I try to deftly explain,
"but the area below it called the testicles."
"Oh, well when your penis is better can we go bike riding?"
He just doesn't grasp the concept. And I knew when I left to go to
the doctor's office on Friday that I had some s'plaining to do.
I consulted with the wife. She didn't know what to say. So I went
to the straight ahead medical approach littered with technical jargon.
"I have to get my pinkle wink fixed," I said.
"Is it broken?" he asked.
"No, it isn't broken," I said before adding as I left the house, "Ask your mother."
For days now they've been told not to jump on daddy. They've also
been told to go easy on daddy because daddy is sore "down there."
Being the sensitive lad that he is, Spencer offered up some of his
stuffed animals to help me feel better. Two dogs to be exact.
You see the dogs are part of his football team. He's got about 8 - msotly dogs and teddy bears - on the team. He leads them through drills, plays defense against them or has them go to the locker rook (ie. his closet) to change out of their uniforms. Today he wanted to have team pictures taken. Yet he bitched and moaned about having the football games on all day... and I was even in a different room.
I have this fear that he's going to blurt out something about my hurt penis at his playschool. And then I'll get the call from Social Services.
"Does it hurt when you pee?" he asked.
"It's not my penis that is hurt," I try to deftly explain,
"but the area below it called the testicles."
"Oh, well when your penis is better can we go bike riding?"
He just doesn't grasp the concept. And I knew when I left to go to
the doctor's office on Friday that I had some s'plaining to do.
I consulted with the wife. She didn't know what to say. So I went
to the straight ahead medical approach littered with technical jargon.
"I have to get my pinkle wink fixed," I said.
"Is it broken?" he asked.
"No, it isn't broken," I said before adding as I left the house, "Ask your mother."
For days now they've been told not to jump on daddy. They've also
been told to go easy on daddy because daddy is sore "down there."
Being the sensitive lad that he is, Spencer offered up some of his
stuffed animals to help me feel better. Two dogs to be exact.
You see the dogs are part of his football team. He's got about 8 - msotly dogs and teddy bears - on the team. He leads them through drills, plays defense against them or has them go to the locker rook (ie. his closet) to change out of their uniforms. Today he wanted to have team pictures taken. Yet he bitched and moaned about having the football games on all day... and I was even in a different room.
I have this fear that he's going to blurt out something about my hurt penis at his playschool. And then I'll get the call from Social Services.
Are You Ready For Some Football?
Well, I was ready for some football this weekend as the good doctor
recommended that I stay off my feet to help alleviate swelling of
the nutsack after the vasectomy.
Not one to pass up Doctor's-ordered couch time, I was doubley excited because championship football was going to be on. Not
that I'm the biggest football fan but it beat the other prospect:
mindless channel surfing.
I spent the majority of the weekend on the couch with a beer in one hand and a bag of frozen peas in the other. The peas doubled
as an ice pack which sat precariously on my swollen balls. When
I did get up, it was to pee or tend to the fire that raged all weekend long in the fireplace.
The football games were a bit of a letdown as the predictable teams won and the great hype over playing both games outside in a blizzard turned to zilch as the blizzard came a day early and not a flake of snow was spotted on the field in either game.
The better part of the Patriots vs. Steelers game was spent catching up with my old rugby teammate Gary who has just returned
from a 10-month Tour Of Duty of Iraq. He's glad to be back and
eager to defrag from the whole situation. So I helped him along
with tales from the vasectomy table, lots of beer and a healthy dose of some punk fucking rock.
recommended that I stay off my feet to help alleviate swelling of
the nutsack after the vasectomy.
Not one to pass up Doctor's-ordered couch time, I was doubley excited because championship football was going to be on. Not
that I'm the biggest football fan but it beat the other prospect:
mindless channel surfing.
I spent the majority of the weekend on the couch with a beer in one hand and a bag of frozen peas in the other. The peas doubled
as an ice pack which sat precariously on my swollen balls. When
I did get up, it was to pee or tend to the fire that raged all weekend long in the fireplace.
The football games were a bit of a letdown as the predictable teams won and the great hype over playing both games outside in a blizzard turned to zilch as the blizzard came a day early and not a flake of snow was spotted on the field in either game.
The better part of the Patriots vs. Steelers game was spent catching up with my old rugby teammate Gary who has just returned
from a 10-month Tour Of Duty of Iraq. He's glad to be back and
eager to defrag from the whole situation. So I helped him along
with tales from the vasectomy table, lots of beer and a healthy dose of some punk fucking rock.
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