The reasons why aren’t really relevant, but a couple of weeks ago I had to get a physical.  You know where this is going, don’t you? Anyway, every physical I’ve ever had has pretty much been the same. I go in, fill out a questionnaire on which I  lie about my alcohol and nicotine intake, and then proceed to give up some blood and get my junk fondled.

It’s no big deal really , especially the part about the fondling of the twig and berries. Back when I was married to wife 1.0, and going through a period of my life I refer to as “The Quest”,  I got my business handled by a lot of dudes in white coats.  We were attempting to create new life and not having so much luck, so we embarked on a humbling journey into the land of infertility medicine. Now I’m not going to spoil a lot of future comic gold by recanting all the awesome details of “The Quest” but lets just say, I’ve had my stuff viewed, touched, poked and squeezed a little too hard by more dudes than any straight guy ever should. All in the name of science, of course.

So, mentally I felt prepared for this past physical. In fact, I thought it would probably not actually involve any molestation hernia checking at all because I was having it done at a military facility.  Military Drs. are notorious for half assing stuff. Basically, they ask you how you feel and if you say, “I feel good” they check the block  on the form and send you on your way. If you say, “I feel bad” then they check the block on the form,  sneer at you, accuse you of malingering, prescribe some 800mg Motrin and send you on your way. Althougg I’m not on active duty, I’m still technically an Army Officer, and since I work on an installation I’m entitled to use such amenities. 

And I was almost right. Almost is the key word here. It pretty much went according to plan. I filled out the papers with the requisite lies. They strapped me to an EKG, drew some blood and then I waited for three hours until they called me in to see the Dr. So, by now you’re probably thinking, C’mon Rod you’re being wordy, get to the part about the anal fingerbanging.  Hold your horses, it’s coming.

 I walked down the hall to room 2c where the “doctor” was waiting for me. My first impression was,” Wow, this guy is a dead ringer for Jason Alexander.” (George Costanza from Seinfeld)  Seriously, I so badly wanted to say, “And you want to be my latex salesman? ” But I held my tongue.  He introduced himself and told me to have a seat on the table.  I took up a perch on the table and ripped the paper, which I always seem to do, and he began to run through the checklist. EKG is good, check.  Blood work is good, check.  Then he smirks and says,” 1 to 2 drinks per week, huh? I’m looking at your file and on your last physical you reported 6-10.”  He busted me. I sorta shrugged and went, “Ummm yeah about that…”  He cut me off and said, “How about we go with 4-6?” 

“Sure, I can live with that,” I replied.  “Great,” I’m thinking. This guy’s working with me. The checklist continued.

“Still smoking? 


“Thinking about quitting?”


Then he looks at me all serious and makes a little waving motion with his hand, ” Penis and testicles?”

” True? I mean, yes? I have them?”

“They work fine?”


He nodded and made some squiggly lines on the chart. “It says here you’re 42.”


Then he said, “Okay then, looks like there’s just one thing left to do.”

Maybe I was just being naive, but to this point the thought of the anal probing really hadn’t crossed my mind so I asked, ” One thing? What’s that?”  Now, you’re going to have to imagine this next part because there isn’t any real way for me to describe it other to say that he raised his eyebrows, stuck his index finger in the air like he was making the Number 1 sign, made a little circular motion with it and, at the same time, did a two-part whistle that sorta sounded like  Hoo Hoo.  Yeah, really.  So just imagine  Costanza in front of you doing that and you will immediately understand what I’m talking about.

“ohhh… that.” At that point the wind completely left my sails.

“Yeah, so what I’m gonna need you to do is drop your pants, bend over the table and spread your cheeks. You can use the table for support if you need to.”

I’m thinking, “Use the table for support???  Good God George, what are you planning to do back there?”  As I turned slowly and dropped trou I was thinking a couple other things as well. First of all, I was thinking a Liberator Cushion would be just the ticket here, and second of all I was thinking the last time I was in this position I was in an Asian massage parlour in Mississippi, which honestly was worth every penny of the 60$.

I was also a little worried that my johnson was going to remember good times in Ol Miss and think it was wakey wakey time. Now, as a straight guy, there is no cool way to spread your cheeks and bend over a table in front of another dude. I mean really, how do you do it? If you cock your ass up a little you totally seem slutty and if you go with the shitting dog pose, well that’s just frustrating for everyone.  Anyhow, I figured shitting dog was the way to go for a straight guy and assumed the position. 

 So there I am bent over the table praying, “Please no boner, Please no boner”  and it felt like an eternity before ol dr. hairy knuckles started rooting around. Apparently my cheek spreading method was insufficient because he used one hand to assist me in that endeavor while using the other to poke winky right in the eye.  I just thank God for his small girlish fingers. The worst part of it all was that just as he found his mark he went, ” And there it is…”

WTF!  And there it is???? Really, dude was that necessary?  Why not just yell, Eureka!

But at least it was over. Problem for me was that I felt like we’d just had a moment there and suddenly he’s being all standoffish. He was avoiding eye contact and being all aloof and shit.  He said,” Here’s some tissues. Clean yourself up and when you’re ready you can let yourself out. I’m gonna bring this to the lab and I’ll call you if something’s abnormal.”  And then he was gone.

I was suddenly overcome by the feeling I had been in this situation before, only now I was seeing things from the other side of the backseat of my car, and I had a pretty good idea that the bastard wasn’t going to call.

Anyhow, not knowing what else to do, I wiped the lube from my crack, held my head high and walked out of the clinic.  Then I drove back to the office and immediately changed my Facebook Status to It’s Complicated and waited for George not to call me back.

He didn’t.

Thank God.

  1. nursemyra says:

    “Twig and berries”? I’ve never heard that before. hilarious stuff.

    PS: I always tear the paper too

  2. bschooled says:


    I know you’re probably feeling anxious right now, but if he doesn’t call please don’t take it personally. You’ve got a lot going for you, and if he didn’t see what a good person you are on the inside (literally), then it’s his loss.

    Damn those Rico Suaves.

    • Rod says:

      I know, right. The only problem is that now I seemed to be hooked on Ben and Jerry’s and Lifetime programming.
      I feel those stories really speak to who I am and what I’m feeling.

  3. I hate when they hand me the tissues. But not as much as I hate what they do right before the tissues.

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