Self Mock #7: The Non-Penis-Related Cancer Scare of 2009
Almost since birth, various people have been wishing that I would die a slow, painful death from some sort of aggressive, penis-related cancer. It’s entirely possible that from somewhere around 1978 until the present day there has been a constant stream of either prayers, muttered-under-the-breath desires or shouted curses from teachers, fellow students, clergy members, family members, bosses, coworkers, random people on the street and oh so many girlfriends commanding me to “fucking get dick cancer and die.”
It’s kind of like JFK’s eternal flame, except instead of a constant stream of natural gas, it’s dick cancer wishes. Well guess what assholes? It’s been over 33 years and there appears to be absolutely no cancer whatsoever in my genital region. My lungs however…
So there I was, hanging out with all the other fat people. We were a peaceful tribe who coexisted in harmony on fried foods in our homeland, the Isle of Porkrhinedia…until the oppressive “thin man” invaded our peaceful island and tried to herd us onto their giant ships. We attempted to fight back, but we were no match for them. Winded and sweaty, my people reluctantly waddled aboard.
We were forced to work both day and night in the Little Debbie mines until we could barely lift another shovel of cream filling. This went on for years with no apparent end in sight. I feared that my chubby children as well as the generations that followed would be damned to this oppressive existence.
Fortunately, President Obama recognized this injustice and signed the Emancipation Porklamation that freed the oppressed fat people. It almost tore the nation apart, but it was the right thing to do. Because you know, it’s not like we’re fat because of a lack of self-discipline – it’s a naturally occurring phenomenon – like Chineseness.
To make a long story short, I was freed from the Little Debbie mines and sent to the same schools that the skinny folk attended. Despite the fact that I was a member of a protected class according to the “2009 It’s-Our-Fault-You’re-Fat Amendment to the Civil Rights Act,” the kids were still mean to me. They treated me like I wasn’t even a human being.
Specifically, they put tasty and meaty treats in a bowl on the floor and let me scarf it down as though I would never eat again. Then the assholes would call me a “good boy” while scratching me on the belly and behind the ears. I wanted to kill those fuckers. Instead, I developed the only defense mechanism I had – the comeback.
I developed an arsenal of comebacks to battle the evil treatment handed down by the skinnies. I had at least five comebacks for each of your mother’s orifices. No one was safe – not your dad, not your uncle, not even your great-grandmother who made flags during the war. In fact, I’m pretty sure she used to trade lesbian sexual favors for sugar rations.
By the time I was finished developing my comeback skill, I was such a loudmouthed asshole that the skinnies didn’t dare touch me. Once I discovered alcohol, I was completely invincible. Skinny children and parents alike avoided my wrath. It was the pax-mettona. It was the greatest peace I have ever enjoyed…Until they started praying to their skinny God. It first happened to the Greeks, then the Romans and finally the New York fucking Yankees – my empire crumbled around me.
The first warning from God came in the form of type 1 diabetes. Just because I was a fat, loudmouthed asshole – now I gotta jab myself in the finger and bleed on stuff several times per day, stab myself with a needle and inject synthetic insulin and go to the doctor every three months. Note to self – never ignore the first warning.
So on one of these regular visits, the doctor decides I need an EKG and a chest x-ray. I was actually kind of pissed because he was running up the bill on me. Business appeared to be slow and my quarterly “I’ve got diabetes” payments must not have been enough. I reluctantly stood for the xrays and pretended not to be humiliated while a ridiculously attractive 22-year old woman shaved my chest before the EKG.
I am assuming the EKG turned out fine because they didn’t find anything in it to force me to go and have a CT scan (that said I probably have cancer), get a mole surgically removed from my foot and biopsied (that said I probably don’t have cancer), meet with a clueless oncologist (who, ironically, didn’t seem to know much about cancer) and set up appointment with a pulmonologist (I’ll let you know how that works out). The x-ray however…
I might have cancer. I might not have cancer. The thing that sucks is the way that this sort of thing goes down. They look you in the eye and they tell you the truth – you might have cancer and it’s going to take us at least a month to figure it out…now go back to work. Then you have to deal with it. When one of your jobs is to tell jokes and make funny stuff…well…that’s really hard. I certainly apologize. At least I didn’t write a movie about it and cast Adam Sandler as the lead.
No matter what happens, we’re going to refer to this as the non-penis-related cancer scare of 2009. Mostly because 1) it never reached my penis, so the bastards never won and 2) that sounds catchier than “the time you got cancer and died.”
UPDATE: The pulmonologist was not a fucking idiot – which was good. I am going in for a broncoscopy tomorrow morning at 7 CST – which is going to hurt. I should know by Friday if it’s: 1) lymphoma, 2) sarcoidosis or 3) something else. I’ll be sure to let you guys know. Thanks so much for your kind words – I really needed them.
Finally, in case you’re curious, the clueless oncologist’s office played 70’s rock. Man those people sucked… The last thing I need to hear at 8 in the morning when I am scared for my life is Noddy Holder screaming, “Can you just imagine being buried alive?” Yes, yes I can…fuck you Noddy.
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Hopefully they are just screwing you out of a bunch of money. They do that from time to time, especially when their wife’s Lease on the Lexus is about up and they have double the mileage that they paid for.
Another thing you mentioned pisses me off. Hot girls have no business being in the healthcare industry unless they are drug reps!!
If I am in the hospital and some hot chick nurse comes in to wash my balls, I’m doing her right then and there…uh…maybe.
Maybe it’s just an inhaled piece of plastic, like that guy with the KFC spork.
Yeah, it is pretty hard to be funny when dealing with shit like this. This mock kind of made up for it.
Damn those Little Debbie mines for pumping all that insidious shit into your lungs!
Seriously, I hope you are cancer free.
If you get so fat that you cant see your dick thats a clue to eat a fucking salad. Not more Little Debbie. But seriously I hope and pray that everything turns out well and you DONT have “it”.
Hoping the best for you, Metten. Maybe they’ll call back all sheepish and say “Sorry, turns out it was a dirt smudge on the X-Ray lens. We’ve fired the technician for not keeping the equipment clean.”
I would say “I am praying for you”, but I’m an atheist. #1, get a different oncologist, and I mean that. #2, I truly hope it is just a scare, and not the real thing. My first thought was along Skully’s line…Doc probably needs to pay off that vacation home in a hurry during this market. Why the hell does it take so long to actually diagnose cancer? Hell, you could get it WHILE you were waiting for a confirmation, for Jeezum Crow’s sake.
You are not going to die from “maybe I have cancer”. I’m sure it is fucking with your brain to no end, but kick that bitch in the ass. Stay strong. I’m not a yogi or anything, but I truly believe that positive vibes are the way to go.
And anyone who calls themselves an oncologist is probably just suffering from oncologism, i.e. the need to have a job where you can scare the crap out of people and get paid for it.
SUCKS SO BAD to have to wait so long to find out something. Hang tough, tho.
30 years ago, i was born with cancer, it was removed and my mom refused to make me undergo chemo and all was well. then a little over 3 years ago I was in a car accident and during an MRI they saw a spot on my spine. thus began my cancer scare. turns out it wasn’t cancer, they don’t know what it is. it’s still there but it hasn’t changed in three years so they are guessing it is scar tissue. i hope that your cancer scare turns out to be nothing as mine did.
Dang.
Well – at least it’s not penis cancer.
I hear a nice cock tumor can really stimulate the G-spot so much they are renaming it the C-spot.
When I had cancer, and that was in an organ actually with connective tissue leading to my Dick. It went, ultrasound Tuesday, CT on Wednesday, very uncomfortable conversation on Thursday morning to waking up in screaming pain in recovery on Monday before noon. From my vantage point I thought I could see a kitty leap outa the dumpster behind the hospital with the offending organ in its mouth. Pathologist fees my ass.
Yours sounds far more like a drawn out Walletectomy.
Beside what can you tell with those X-ray things. Get me some color 8 X 10’s & a couple of wallet size, STAT!
Could be worse…you could have a bad marriage. I think it was that great philosopher Billy Clyde Puckett who said, ‘Cancer is a chocolate pie compared to your marital discord.’
Oh, shit…you aren’t married are you?
Remember to laugh…it really does help.
Someones great grandmother traded lesbian sexual favours? How hot is that!
Thank you for your open honesty. For what it’s worth, you have a whole interweb fambly that is on your side and sending positive vibes your way.
Like Robert Schimmel said: “Life is not about surviving the storms; it’s about learning how to dance in the rain.”
Forecast: Cloudy with a chance of rain for you Metten. Put on your dancing shoes. And tomorrow the sun will return.
I’ve been married TWENTY-TWO goddamn years. Nothing scares me!
You know you are really funny when you can make people laugh at the big C.
And you can take heart – it is only the good people who check it early. My guess is…you are safe!
I agree with Tiawan On – so sending you some good “juju”!
Hang in there metten! Sending positive vibes your way.
Good luck tomorrow – the WSVR/Mockable fambly will be with you in spirit. We’ll be hoping along with you for 3). something else – like bad film or something.
Only you could mock potential cancer and make it funny. Good luck tomorrow, hopefully we won’t have to yell at the pulmonologist and there will be no 70’s rock.
Fuck cancer, fuck it right in it’s ass…stay the course Metten.
We’re behind ya, bud. Everything will run it’s course in due time. In the meantime, laugh loudly, live it to the fullest, and hope for the best. I also agree with Zazu, we are a bunch of ballsy S.O.B’s to be laughing at cancer, but somehow I have the feeling that if you can laugh in it’s face, you can beat it (provided it even exists, which we’re hoping it doesn’t.)
if nobody’s wishing cancer upon you then you’re doing it wrong.
Hang tough bro. I hate to hear you going through this–but like I would do it, you are handling it with irreverend humor and hurtful comments directed at others. It’s a coping mechanism and as I always say, “Fuck’em if they can’t take a joke.”
Metten, it could be calcium deposits – I really hope it is. Hang in there. I’m keeping good thoughts for you!
There’s been several times I went into the Drs office thinking that the worst thing was gonna happen and it never did. My most recent scare was for throat cancer and it just turned out to be athsema which was treated for about 18 months and since aI’ve quit smoking its in remission.. I dont feel like I have athesma exxcept when I climb really big hills. Good luck Metten.
Mark
That was a funny piece. When scary stuff comes at you, you gotta laugh right back at it.
By the way, there are lawers who will be glad to represent you if you decide to sue the Little Debbie Mines. It could well be that you inhaled the cream filling vapors for too long.
Just read this. Hang in there guy.
Like everyone said, it’s probably nothing.
Virtual hugs to you, Metten!
My dad diagnosed with lung cancer in 1994. First doctor told him he had 6 months. Dad went to second doctor who did chemo and radiation, and told him his chance of survival was better than 50%.
Dad still going strong today. Retired and golfs 3 days per week.
God Bless him and you.
Good luck tomorrow, Metten. Your buddy here far away in CA will be thinking of you and wishing I were there to help you along! Let us know straight away.
Good Luck!!!
The only thing worse than the hot nurse, is the hot nurse my hubby had been teasing while she washed and shaved his whole self (it was a bad accident and a long story) only to have me walk in and note that I used to have sex with said hot nurses brother.
“Oh, this is your husband?”
“Yeah, how’s your brother?”
“Ummmm good, and now this is weird, so I’ll just go get the Dr.”
“Super.” Turning to hubby “She being a good nurse?”
“Yeah, she’s shy and very freeked out at the nakedness! I’ve been teasing her. Ya know her?”
“Yeah, well I used to f*($ her brother.”
“Funny, no wonder she hightailed it outa here!”
I’m glad I’ve lived in the same place my whole life otherwise……