Dark Side of the Moooooooon River

This is not about Pink Floyd. Snow White ruined them for me a long time ago. I used to love Pink Floyd until Snow White told me they are bad luck to listen to on the radio. Upon further inquiry, I found out that she had no real good reason for this declaration which makes me believe in it even more. She is a spiritual person and I’m into karma so I just couldn’t mess with that. Which sucks because anytime Pink Floyd comes on the radio I Pavlovianly (that is a sweet new word right there) change the station. I used to love to bellow out, “We’re just two lost souls, swimming in a fish bowl, year after year.” But no more.

The dark side of the moon I’m talking about is much more personal. Consider this fair warning that the following is not all rainbows and unicorns and although Fletch is one of the funniest movies ever (at least in terms of movie lines), I don’t find this story funny at all. In fact, I’d like to file a complaint with somebody or at least get a free toaster for my troubles.

I’ve written about my androgynous doctor before. I’ll lead with ‘she’ in the she/he because I’m 87% sure she/he is a ‘she.’ I don’t want to put her name here, but it is indeed one like ‘Pat,’ immortalized on Saturday Night Live ages ago – a name that works for both women and men. There is that sizable element of doubt that no matter how much I stare and look for signs of say, boobies or balls, it just isn’t possible to tell with the naked eye. She/he is a large person. Bigger than me which puts her/him at about 6’-3” and a little chunky making it impossible to tell if she/he has small woman boobs or big man-boobs. She/he has spiked short hair and wears male dress shirts with cheap jeans. She/he wears earrings and wire-framed glasses. She/he has a deep female voice or a feminine sounding male voice.

The more I analyze this; and clearly I’ve spent hours doing so, I realize this is the perfect doctor for me. I’m not all that comfortable with the idea of a male doctor handling my junk while I cough nor would I be too thrilled to lower my drawers in front of a female doctor. Unless we are role-playing and she is providing extra special services. So, I guess I’m happy to have Dr. WhoKnowsForSure.

I was happy. Not anymore. Dr. WhoKnowsForSure betrayed me. I went in there for a routine physical. I’m a pretty healthy dude. Although there is some prostate cancer in my family, I checked out well in the last blood-work I had done. Dr. WhoKnowsForSure did the whole gambit and it seemed like things were winding down. But then she/he pulled out a box of rubber gloves.

I eyed the rubber gloves cautiously and then realized she/he was probably just going to check how well I’m hanging. Sure enough, she/he said to lower my drawers and turn my head to the side. Cool, I can handle it if she/he can; haha. But then I noticed she/he put a box of tissues on the exam table. I knew this was a legit doctors’ office and that happy endings are not part of the physical so this couldn’t be for that kind of cleanup.

She/he then directed me to lean over the exam table on my elbows. Talk about getting caught with my pants down! “Uh, Doc,” I said in a Peter Brady voice-changing tone, “Didn’t we do the prostate check last time with the blood-work?”

“Yes, but we didn’t check for enlargement nor feel for soft and hard spots. This is the only way to do it.”

I leaned over and tried to remember the last time I pooped. Memory failing, I hoped that I smelled like skittles and roses down there. Dr. OverExploratory than probed into the dark side of the moon, supposedly with a rubber gloved single finger. All I could think of was Chevy Chase in Fletch asking if the Doc was using the whole fist and then singing Mooooooooon River.

Dr. WayTooThoroughAndLingeringWithTheFingering seemed to take a left turn and I thought okay, this totally bites, but it’s almost over. Suddenly Dr. SeemsToBeEnjoyingHer/Himself dove in deep and in the center. I literally gulped and said something but I can’t remember what. I think it was, “Whoa-ho uh excuse me,” or “What the fuh,” or some sort of quiet whimpering. I have never engaged in the receiving end of ass-play during sex and I can now confirm it is NOT going to become part of the package in the future. No thank you, do not pass go, do not collect $200 and do NOT stick your finger up my a-hole!!!!!

The good news is that Dr. Violator said everything checked out just fine. The bad news is that I needed to be held, but certainly not by Dr. BackMeAllUpForTheNext24Hours.

I put on my sunglasses while still in the building thinking everybody looking at me would know I just had somebody up my ass to their elbow. I didn’t even stop to ask for my free toaster. I limped out without my dignity, but at least I apparently have my health.

I got in the car and the radio popped on. Yep. Pink Floyd. Dark Side of the Moon.