I’m on vacation from this Thursday evening (May 31) through Monday, June 11. I’ll be in Southern California, and I plan on taking an Internet break while I’m out. Maybe I’ll check email once or twice…
So here’s the challenge: What’s the most outrageous thing you wanted to blog about but haven’t yet? And would you be willing to post it while I’m out?
(Note: Yes, the usual profanity/family-friendliness rule applies. That said, I’m pretty frank about what we talk about in my family…)
bUT..
You could miss gems like this.. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UCOPNuuGeKA
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My $.02 Weed
Here Is Outrageous
Now that Wife Unit is successfully through the first trimester I can write about this outrageous event.
Because of our age, there was a point when the docs wanted to know if my goods were still good, if you get my drift. We were starting up the pregnancy process and wanted to surface any potential trouble spots. Think of it as neo-natal troubleshooting. I tried to relieve my candidacy from the issue, adamantly stating that my guys were fine. They had been in training for years. “My dudes can swim.” No one was going to take me at my word. They wanted samples. I was scheduled an appointment to go juice in a cup.
Now, in case no one out there has had the experience of physically dropping off a sperm specimen for clinical analysis, let me relate to you the awkwardness of the process. Before I even go over to the clinic, I’m given lots of rules. These rules were long and used big words. There were lots of restrictions. I didn’t want to start getting into trouble with the fine medical people supposedly trying to do their jobs, but I consider myself an expert on self-ejaculation and I’m pretty sure these medical people were getting off to a rocky start with letting the goods flow.
Then I walked into the deposit clinic on the morning of the appointment. Generally speaking, morning is not a good time for me, but I, again, don’t want to be causing trouble. Unfortunately, the nastiest, smelliest female beast on planet Earth is working the front desk. I’m hoping to walk into a clinic with low purple lights, soft Barry White beats grooving, and the scent of love wafting in the air, but instead I have Helga The Obese snorting at me to fill out some forms. These forms are in triplicate. They are gross yellow. Mood Factor: dropping down to 7. Anytime an insurance card is involved with this kind of process, the Mood Factor is going to take an automatic hit. Helga The Beast then starts to slobber to me about the rules. I got the rules. She wants to go over them again anyway. Helga The Beast has never seen a penis in her life and yet she’s slobbering to me about the rules of engagement. The mood is getting considerably weakened. Mood Factor: 6.
I’m now sitting in the waiting room. There’s a couple nearby. They may be 20 years old each. The Young Buck of the couple is all tatted up, showcasing his allegiance to every Minnesota sports team via the skin art. The woman partner, who is his weight doubled, is speaking softly, trying to provide words of encouragement. I’m all by myself watching this happen. Who needs encouragement? Give me an idea and a direction, I’m ready to go. Then I start to think that this young gentleman is a bit put off by the surroundings, or perhaps undone by a prior encounter with Helga. This guys is on my team, I realize. I position myself so that we can connect by sight and give each other a nod of pre-shoot approval. Young Buck is then called back into the mysterious corridors that stretch from behind the single oaken door. Young Buck is gone, leaving me alone with his optimistic woman and Helga.
After 15 minutes of waiting, I saunter over to Helga and ask about the reason for delay. I’m curious as to whether there’s a single processing machine in the back, a human version of farm equipment used to suck milk from cows, and if there’s a line of guys waiting turn. Helga is not amused. I sit back down. Then all hell breaks loose. Young Buck comes crashing back through the oaken door. He’s fuming. His face is all red. He’s pacing quickly back and forth in the waiting room.
“They walked IN on me!” he screams. And then he storms out of the office. His woman is shocked, and then runs after him. At this point I start to wonder if someone is playing a practical joke on me. I start checking the table lamps for hidden cameras.
“Should have locked the door,” Helga sneers. I hope she never feels an orgasm in her life.
Young Buck is brought back into the room by his adoring woman. He isn’t calm. A doctor has emerged from behind the oaken door and they start having a reconciliatory dialog right in front of me.
“Someone walked in on me.”
“On the directions it says to lock the door.”
“Someone walked in on me!!!”
“Do you want to try this again?”
Do you want to try this again? Those people should be way glad it wasn’t me who got asked that question. Oh yeah, we can definitely try this again. But this time the process will be facilitated by the assistance of your mouth. That’s how we can try this again. Young Buck is just that – young – so he’s a little more recalcitrant to inflame a confrontation that’s already surpassed his boiling point. Young Buck is gone in for the second time.
Then they call me.
Let me just write that I’ve never been in a situation where I’m sitting alone in a room, staring at a little cup, reclining in a leather sofa, and had such a mental block on getting myself to first base. The doctor who brought me into Room 4A room had gone through more rules, paying special attention to the door-locking reminder, reviewing the importance of sterile output and instant placement into the incubator. The doctor was also happy to showcase the standard reference material of Room 4A, including several magazines that look as though they were printed twenty years ago. Yeah, that’s just what I want to do, be the 578th guy to pick up that sticky thing. And you want this stuff sterile?
I did the only thing any sane guy would do in this situation. I first texted a picture of the empty cup to Wife Unit. Then I walked out of that place, stopping by the front desk demanding to get some home deposit options. I’ll never use that stuff.
Uhm
Dude, I know you’re all about the lurking, with the random snarky comment or timely post about music, tech, or economics, but this deserves its own blog post. You’ve successfully procreated the species, which is what keeps the human race going.
Accept the praise!!! Suffer the advice!!! Now that’s she pregnant, prepare to continue the self-pleasuring!!!
Life, a 100% fatal sexually-transmitted disease, brought to you by oxygen, sustaining life on the planet for 4.2 billion years.
And don’t feel bad because it took awhile to fertilize the wife unit. You could have been like me and hit the bullseye immediately each time, thereby ruining months of “let’s get it on” by the baby-hungry spouse. Hopefully you got half a year’s worth of happy times before they started worrying about blanks and stuff
Oh yeah, and congratulations. My boys will kick your boys’ ass in Wii. And yes, I’m on the record as predicting your first offspring will be male. Stephen Matthew Graber has a ring to it 😉
My $.02 Weed
Bullseye
What makes you think I didn’t hit the bulls eye each time?
Learned this…
I learned the answer playing darts. If you don’t throw it hard enough for it to stick into the board, it doesn’t count. The best aim in the world won’t help a weak arm 😉
—
Matthew P. Barnson
The Ring…
Yeah, the ring of a Jewish kid having a Christian middle name, named after a fellow who keeps getting confused for an illegal substance. He’d be like all kinds of messed up.
Sounds good!
—
Matthew P. Barnson
Yeah, the ring of a Jewish
You make it sound like a bad thing? Like Sol Abraham Graber is any better…
My $.02 Weed
2 Points
1) Congrats.. youre gonna be an awesome dad, I suspect.
2) You should write a book. That was amazing.
Oddly enough you have very recently inspired millions to look for “Labia” online.
🙂
NVZ: NINJAS VS ZOMBIES – THE MOVIE – http://www.nvzmovie.com THE OFFICIAL JUSTIN TIMPANE WEBSITE – http://www.timpane.com