#7. A New Asshole
A friend of a friend went to jump over a metal fence and slipped. He just jumped over and kept going.
Suddenly, he started feeling dizzy. He looks down, and there’s a huge hole in his pants, and there’s blood everywhere.
They get to the ER, he drops his pants, and the doctor goes, “Welp. You have 2 anuses.”
#8. The Diva Cup Noob
First off, for those who don‘t know what a diva cup is, it‘s a reusable silicone cup you put in your vagina while menstruating. It collects your blood, you take it out, rinse it, and life is good. No 1 am trips for overly expensive, off-brand tampons at a convenience store, and they‘re better for the environment.
So, I had just gotten a diva cup, and after a couple days I was feeling overly confident and decided this would be the night I kept it in over-night, but I guess it had decided to go much deeper than it should have.
Still being a diva cup noob, I wasn’t very adept at fishing it out, so after about 2 hours, several positions, and a shower, I rush to the on-campus doctor.
So, the first available doctor is a man in his 50s, I‘d guess. He starts off our encounter seeming somewhat suspicious – like maybe I am a fetishist/ bored/ whatever, but I‘m probably definitely wasting his time.
Skip a couple minutes forward, I’ve got my legs in the stirrups and the duck-billed instrument inside of me, and he is starting to realize that I may have actually gotten it stuck.
He can’t get it out, so he enlists the help of two nurses, all of whom were staring sympathetically at my vag, unsure how to proceed.
Eventually, they were able to get it out, (blood was everywhere), and I learned from a nurse who also uses a diva cup that the instructions that say to relax your muscles are completely wrong, and you need to push it out.
#9. “Nice scrotum, kid.”
Back in middle school, I got kicked in the balls during a soccer game. I took some ibuprofen, sucked it up, and kept playing.
Cut to the next morning. It’s 6am, and I awake with a jolt. My balls hurt. It had been happening a lot lately, and I can usually fix it by massaging them in the shower.
Well, I hop in the shower, touch my junk, and yell in pain, falling in the process. Now I’m at the point where my stomach starts to hurt.
I climb upstairs and find some Tylenol, and I take more than the recommended dosage. I try to scream to my parents on the top floor, but no sound comes out. Wincing, I climb up to my parents’ room.
I look at the clock as I push open the door and its taken me 30 minutes throughout this ordeal. “My dad’s a nurse, he’ll know what to do” is what I thought. Well shit, he’s still at work, and won’t be home til 7:30am. My mom is here though.
I fall onto the floor and call my moms name. She helps me into the bed, and asks me what’s wrong.
“Uh…I-I-Its my balls.” I stutter out. I tell her that they still hurt after the game. She looks uncomfortable. We go downstairs, and I take more pills, and she consoles me like a mother should. By this point I’m crying and flailing, and I just want my dad to show up.
7:30 comes, and My dad comes through the door. Mom explains the situation, as I’m borderline delusional. He diagnoses me. And by that, I mean he looked at my testicles.
Nothing was more emasculating than having your dad look and touch your junk in an effort to fix the pain, in front of your mother, no less.
We go to an urgent-care hospital, and as soon as I get some anesthesia, I’ve stopped thrashing, and they can properly diagnose me. I have a Testicular torsion in my left testicle. So, this doctor and his interns (women, too. Sigh.) come in, and the doctor flips my scrubs to reveal the goods.
After massaging me for what felt like hours, he stares at my junk for a long time, before telling me that “The consistency is right, you have a nice scrotum kid. Too bad you need to have surgery.”
I passed out.
Luckily, they put me on some more drugs and did the procedure. It turns out that if I had waited another 4 hours, I would’ve lost my testicle completely.
ಠ_ಠ
A few months later, I go into a testicle specialist for a check-up. We’re in the room alone, and he tells me to drop my pants. Once again, I have to show an older fellow my junk.
He touches them for just a brief second, takes a step back, and exclaims “Wow! You really do have a nice consistency!”
