Monkeys Wearing Pants Read Online Free

has
turned into Section 8 housing for polyps, and it's cramming them in
there like drunk college students in a phone booth (I know, I
know...what's a phone booth?). At the end of the conversation, the
nurse did ask me if I had any questions. “Just a comment,” I said.
“I lost a mini-Beanie Baby in 1998, so while you guys are in there
doing the Roto-Rooter thing, maybe you can just take a peek for
me.”
    “A Beanie Baby?” she responds, puzzled.
    “Yeah, well, I wouldn't ask except that it's
collectible. You know...” Silence on the other end of the line.
Now, I've got her. “And,” I add, “what about any spare change you
might find? I get to keep that, right? You guys don't divvy that up
while I'm knocked out and butt naked, right?”
    “Change?” she asks softly.
    “And what about the rights to the video?” I
ask. “I mean, you guys are rolling while we all take this mystical
journey up my ass's dryer vent, right? I'm not going to wake up and
have some kinky video of my internal junk on YouTube, am I?”
    “YouTube? What do you mean, YouTube?” she
asks.
    “Listen,” I say, “you're right. Let's cross
that anal passage when we get to it.”
    So, we say our goodbyes. I'm pretty sure my
chart has now been flagged at Kaiser. That's OK. When I go in for
the colonoscopy, just before they put me under, I'm going to tell
the doctor that I knew I was supposed to eat lightly and then fast
right before the procedure, but that week-old tuna casserole wasn't
going to eat itself when I woke up that morning...
    What is going on with my bladder? My bladder
used to be the size of a Coleman cooler. Honestly. When I was
younger, I could take in and hold more water weight than a
pregnant, two-hump camel. I was a human wading pool. I once drove
16 hours straight from Washington State to Northern California
consuming, along the way, 12 bottles of water, 10 cans of soda and
a bottle of healthy tea that I bought by mistake. Did I stop and
pee along the way? No. I held it like a man and didn’t even have to
start clenching until the last 100 miles (the last 20 minutes, I
admit to doing the crazy-leg, Mexican hat dance in the car…not
recommended). When I finally let loose, I peed for about two hours
straight, making me somewhat of a hero among truck drivers, race
horses and (I’m pretty sure) volunteer firemen. Today, my bladder
is about the size of a dried lentil. If I back out of my driveway
in the morning and there’s condensation on the windshield, I have
to run back inside to go to the bathroom. If I’m driving, the
minute I twist open the top of a bottle of water, my brain sends a
signal to my urinary tract to start doing the Macarena, and I’m
looking for a place to pull over and try my luck on the urinal
bull’s eye. If I get a soda at a fast food drive-thru, the second I
take the paper off the straw, I have to park and actually go into
the fast food place, which very much defeats the purpose. If I’m
driving along and, God forbid, the songs “Smoke on the Water,”
“Bridge over Troubled Water” or “Madman across the Water” comes on
the radio, I get an immediate, cringe-worthy urge to go. And
sometimes, when I’m driving through a forest and I really don’t
have to go, I’ll still pull over, walk into the woods and let
loose. Of course, that has more to do with being a guy and just
digging the fact that I can pee on a tree than having a bladder the
size of a sea monkey. I’d love to keep writing, but I gotta go…
    I still have my wisdom teeth, and lately,
they have been doing their best to push through. I don't really
feel that much wiser, but I signed up to re-take the SATs just in
case.
    So, two of the top trending searches on the
internet today were “Grandparents' Day” and “Bladder Infections.”
I'm not saying they are related, but I did drink a huge glass of
cranberry juice after I got home today from meeting up with the
girls' grandma and grandpa just in case.
    One minute, everything