BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Let me tell you the story of my trip to the kitchen for coffee, also known as The Day AFTER Thanksgiving Massa-Cree…

I needed coffee. One cup simply hadn’t been enough, and wingnuts were everywhere on Facebook. If I were going to survive, a healthy bolus of caffeine was an absolute must.

I knew I would be going into enemy territory. After all, it was the day after Gluttony Day… The Big L… No, not that L, the L-tryptophan L… But that wasn’t my greatest concern. No, not at all. Truth is, what frightened me the most was the pie. Sure, it was wounded, and hanging out in the icebox with its cohort in crime, whipped cream, but everybody knows that when a pie is wounded that is when it is at its most dangerous…

I tiptoed into the kitchen, being as quiet as I possibly could. The icebox door was still shut, so that was a good thing. I refilled my coffee, then started to leave. I was fairly pleased with myself that I had evaded the pie. That was my first mistake. In my moment of overconfidence I was attacked by the soaking roasting pan and pie dishes in the sink. I had no choice but to engage. It was an epic battle, but I won, “cleaning up” nicely. I didn’t want to run the risk of a second attack, so I went on the offensive, even going so far as to hoof the kitchen compost bucket out to the composter for emptying.

I returned to the kitchen, confident that I had won the war. This was my second mistake. Same as the first, but still the second. Just as I finished wiping down the counter, the cornbread dressing and giblet gravy leapt from the icebox and engaged in a coordinated flanking attack. I was fending them off, but then a bowl and spoon joined the fray. Still, I continued to put up a good fight, right up until the microwave attacked me from behind.

And then… It was all over but the digesting.

In a little over a month, I will be 50.

Yay. Half century. Big 5-0. Surfboards, waves, syncopated Polynesian Hippie Music. Book ’em, Dano…

Actually, I’m sort of excited about it. After all, 50 is technically the new 30. Life should be just really starting to get interesting for me. Not that The Redhead hasn’t made it plenty interesting all along…

At any rate, one of the reasons 50 is the new 30 is advances in medical science, up to and including early detection of disease so that it can be treated before it REALLY gets to be a problem. Therefore, when you hit 50 the first thing the doctor tells you after pulling his hand out of your a$$ – prostate exam, folks… prostate exam… – is that you need something ELSE jammed into your bung hole, that being a 3d Imax Camera.

Okay, so maybe not a 3d Imax Camera. More like a  camera on a rope…

And so, you make your appointment to have a colonoscopy. This is important shit right here, no pun intended. Colon cancer isn’t pretty, and this is the sort of thing that can save your life. However, Dave Barry beat me to the punch on the whole Intestine Spelunking Blog… And Harry Smith had his done live on national TV. I offered to live stream mine on Facebook, but my fans said no. They are more than happy to read one of my books about a serial killer doing truly horrible things to a victim or two, but when it comes to poop they get a little squeamish. Go figure…

But anyway… Or should that be Butt Anyway? No matter, the real deal is that it’s been done. The benefits of having a colonoscopy have been espoused by much bigger names than me, so I’m not about to be a copycat.

I am, however, about to throw down a major bitch about this whole thing… You see, in order to properly film the poop canal it must first be free of poop. Makes a certain sort of sense. I mean, that way the Doctor doesn’t have to keep telling Mister Hanky to move out of the way so he can see, right? And so, in order to do this they write you a prescription for Colon Blow… Okay, so that’s just what I call it. In point of fact it is “Suprep: Bowel Prep Kit.”

Cool, eh? I mean just look at it. A box of awesome. Make you clean as a whistle, it will. But wait… There’s more…

Here’s the bill.

Yes… You read it correctly. $71.43… AFTER the insurance kicked in a twenty. Without insurance it would have been $93.09…

Yeah… For some stuff to make me shit my brains out and feel completely miserable for about 18 hours. Okay… it’s medical progress. It’s the sort of thing that can save my life. Of course, I won’t have any money to live on, so I might as well be dead, but hey, what the hell.

Here’s the rub… For less than 20 bucks I could pick up a box of Dulcolax and two bottles of Citrate of Magnesium, and it would do EXACTLY the same thing. I know this because I’ve been down this road before, plus I verified it with my buddy Dr. Gina, who is, in point of fact, a real doctor, not just one on TV.

So here’s my thing… To celebrate my 50K Exhaust System Check I am pretty much flushing about 75 bucks down the toilet.

But what the hell… You only turn 50 once… Since my ass is getting raped, I guess my wallet should, too…

More to come…

Murv