Stressing Out

Posted: August 24, 2009 in pain and suffering

Before I start today, just wanted to let you know that I won’t be replying to comments per usual…

…as I’m taking advantage of the last week of summer and bringing my kids to an amusement park today.

By ‘Taking Advantage’ I mean ‘Going fucking crazy.’

Pray for my safe return.

Actually…pray for my kids’ safe return.

The get on my fucking nerves like you wouldn’t believe.



Stupid fucking treadmill.

(Best opening sentence ever? Possibly!)

Let me explain.

My recent physical examination went off without a hitch.

Let’s put it in my doctor’s own words:

“Rodney..I’m impressed for someone that’s over 40. In fact, I would say you have body of a 20 year old.”


How he knew this, I’m not exactly sure.

I really thought I buried her pretty well.


There goes my Wednesday afternoon.

Digging…filling in…re-digging…

That shit takes time.

Perhaps I’ve said too much.

Regardless, although I emerged from the exam with great grades, I still had a concern.

Me: “The one thing I wanted to ask you about was my ability to do cardio.”

Doctor: “I wish we were both gay. You’re truly magnificent.”

(I seriously need to stop watching “Scrubs”)

Me: “I can only do, maybe, 15 minutes of cardio before my pulse is up to, like, 182.”

Seriously. I get winded.

This is basically because I hate goddamn cardio.

I don’t even like walking to my fucking car.

The doctor looked at me and said:

Doctor: “Well..let’s schedule you for a stress test, then.”


A stress test.

(yep…one of mine)

So, in a week, I’ll be heading for my ‘stress test.’

This got me thinking about tests they’d give me that would really stress me out.

Here’s what I came up with:

Stress Test #1:

I’m on death row.

Apparently, my doctor doesn’t understand the “No Snitchin'” doctor/patient confidentiality thing.

Fucking narc.


I’m on death row.

However, there is only ONE more execution allowed before the death penalty is abolished…and it’s up to the guards to decide who gets killed.

They are deciding who this will be using one of the following methods:

a) the shortest person dies

b) the guy with the smallest penis dies

c) shortest person with the smallest penis dies

It’s cold in the cell…

…and I’m wearing flats.


Stress Test #2:

I’m alone in the house.

My wife is gone with the kids.

I’m sitting on the couch.

I’m naked.

I’ve got a raging boner and I’m jerking my gherkin furiously to some free Cinemax On-Demand girl-on-girl porn.

* hummina hummina hummina

Kleenex ready?




I hear the garage door open.

Fuckity fuck fuck.

They’re home.

It’s at this point that I discover that the batteries in the remote control are dead and I can’t shut the cable box off and I’ve got wood and oh look at that there’s an ass-sweat stain on the couch and now I can hear them coming up the stairs…


THAT, my friends…



This treadmill should be a cakewalk, then.

I’ll just pretend I’m running from the cops.

I really have to pick my shallow gravesites better.


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