Enter Sandman

Posted: March 6, 2008 in needles, shoulder

Well folks, much to the chagrin of my UPS guy…

(who stood to inherit both my hot wife and life insurance policy)

…I survived my operation.

I sit here writing, having popped my first Percocet about an hour ago…

…so it will be interesting to read this later on when I’m sober.

Why do green sneakers eat leatherback turtles?!?!

Lesbians are the other white meat!!!



I’m sitting here typing away with one hand, so I’ll try to make this post like me:

Awesome and short…

…with a small penis.

Usually, things I do with one hand are over in about 20 seconds…

…but not this time.

I don’t recall the actual surgery, so I’ll break it up into two posts:

Pre-Op and Post-Op.

The Pre-Op:

First, let’s define Pre-Op:

“Pre”: (from the Latin word, “Scrabble“)…


“Op”: (from the Greek phrase “Optimus Prime enjoys glass dildos”)…


I guess that really doesn’t help that much.

As such, I’ll define it as the trip to the hospital, to the point I passed out.

Here goes…

The Trip In:

My wife took me to the hospital for the surgery. Since we had just got back from vacation, she was a bit worried about taking more time off.

Me: “You know, I can ask Rob to take me.”

Wife: “Nevermind. I’ll do it, puss-bag.”

We’re in love.


My wife drove there.

This single fact may have been the cause of my high blood pressure when I arrived…

…as my wife’s driving style can only be described as a “Jihad on Wheels.”


Put Osama in the passenger seat of our Honda minivan with my wife behind the wheel, and you can pretty much guarantee that he’ll sh*t his burka.

The Johnny:

I was asked to take everything off – including my underwear – for this surgery.

Why I needed to be buck f*cking naked for goddman shoulder surgery is beyond me…

…but all the doctors and nurses were adamant about it…

…and after being served my fourth Momosa from my belly-dancer nurse and toga-clad Orthopedist, I kind of loosened up and agreed.

Fine, guys.

But what do I do with this lube?

The Anesthesiologist:

The first person to pop in my IV was an old freaky broad who, I believe, was actually “Vera” from the TV show, “Alice.”

Apparently, it was the day off for any hot nurses.

The actual anesthesiologist swung by a bit later, and talked about giving me a nerve block.

I’ll call him “Mel.”

A nerve block is designed to numb/paralyze you to minimize “discomfort” after the surgery.

I heard this as, “We’re going to be giving you a big f*cking needle.”

In true pussy fashion, I had to ask:

Me: “Um…I’m pretty needle-phobic. Is this going to hurt?”

Mel: “Well, we’ll numb the skin and inject a different needle into your neck.”

I believe, at this point, I poo’d a little.

Me: “I should warn you, the last time a doctor tried to numb me, I kicked him.”

He looks up at my wife.

Wife: “It’s true – if you’re doing his arm, he may punch you in the throat.”


Mel: “Thanks for the warning. We’ll make you sleepy for that part.”

Good idea, Mel.

This previous kicking-a-doctor episode happened years ago during “The Pooh Bear Incident,” which involved a trash bag, my bare foot, and a broken Winnie The Pooh mug.

Different story for another time…

,,,but like I needed another reason right now to f*cking hate Disney.

The surgery:

Prior to my surgery, my doctor came in to say “hi” and mark the shoulder.

Having a smiley-face drawn on your shoulder truly inspires confidence in the patient.

He then proceeds to drop his pen while trying to shake my wife’s hand.

He bends to get the pen and, upon standing, drops three more f*cking things out of his pocket.


I’m being operated on by Gerald Ford.


…is he picking up a cock ring?

“Yeah…do me a favor and get those butter-fingers out of the way now.”

He didn’t say anything, but as he walked away I SWEAR he gave the “shocker” sign to an attending dressed as Lindsay Lohan.

I’m naked, numb, and apparently about to be violated by the cast of the Rocky Horror Picture show.


I’m ready, Vera…take me in!

But can I see Flo’s grits first?

Thanks in advance.


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