They were all...
...laying there lifeless...
...like defeated warriors on the battlefield in the movie, "Braveheart"...
Except, instead of dead and wounded Scottish and British warriors...
...there were just...dead...
My first post-vasectomy sample came back "negative."
I'm ASSUMING this means that there were no live sperm there...
...and not that the ones in there simply had bad attitudes.
Nurse: "Sir, the sample was negative."
Me: "Awesome! So..no live sperm?"
Nurse: "Sir..I mean they were VERY negative. I've never seen Mooge with worse attitudes. They called us names. Two of them gave the male nurse a wedgie and then stuffed him in a locker."
Nurse: "Sir, one even spat at me."
Me: "Yeah...they do that sometimes."
But, no - there were no live goo-goblins floating around in there.
...onto sample #2.
So, I need to go to an independent lab for this.
The closest lab near where I live is in a hospital twenty minutes away.
Ironically, at the same hospital where both my children were born.
(the goo giveth...the goo taketh away)
Anyway, so the nurse on the phone says this:
Nurse: "You will need to come in and first register with the Outpatient department. You'll then need to bring your sample to the lab a few doors down."
...here's the kicker:
Nurse: "The sample should be no more than an hour old."
Here's where I'm of trying to figure out the logistics how this is to unfold.
The hospital is twenty minutes away.
If you've EVER registered as an "Outpatient" at a hospital, you know this bullsh*t takes at LEAST a half-hour.
There's NO WAY I'm going to be able to perform the following in an hour:
1) successfully jerk my gherkin
2) get my sh*t together and get out of the house
(this is because my children require approximately one thousand kisses, hugs, kissy-hugs, huggy-kisses, etc.,etc, before I can actually LEAVE THE F*CKING HOUSE)
3) Hop in the car and drive to the hospital
4) Register as an Outpatient
(this requires me to talk with "Belinda, the douchebag outpatient receptionist" who is currently trying to register one of the three Spanish families who have arrived before me...each famility capable of speaking a single word of English: "Chess" (which, actually, may be the word "yes"))
5) Get to the lab...Mooge in hand.
I'm never going to be able to do all of this in an hour.
...I'm considering making my sample in the car on the ride over.
I've never performed mobile masturbation...but really...
...how hard can it be...?
(At the scene of the 5-car pileup):
Police Officer: "Sir, exactly HOW did the accident occur?"
Me: "I had goo in my eye."
...THAT'S going to be an awkward call to my insurance agent.
Maybe I'll just drive really, really fast.
Police Officer: "Sir, can you tell me where you're off to in such a hurry?"
Me (waving container wildly in the air): "MY GOO! I MUST DELIVER MY GOO!"
Police Officer (drawing gun): "Sir! PUT..THE CONTAINER...DOWN!"
Me: "BUT...MY GOO! MY GOO MUST ARRIVE IN TIME!"
(policeman beats me like Rodney King on PCP)
I hate when that happens.
In my head, though, I'm imagining I'll end up getting a police escort.
Somehow, though, I don't think that's going to happen.
The lab is going to have to be happy for Mooge that may be older than an hour.
...imagine just sitting in a container for an hour...
...my sperm is GONNA BE PISSED.
That male nurse is in for SUCH a wedgie.
Friday, January 18, 2008