Want to gain weight? Get a vasectomy.

The last few days of my life have been the absolute weirdest of recent memory.

I was prescribed a single Valium to take 1/2 hour before my ‘procedure’. 15 minutes before my procedure, I received a particularly cantankerous email from my primary place of employment on my Droid X. Ordinarily, this email would have sent me into a tailspin of emotional what if scenarios. Valium. Shazaam.

I have been half naked alone in a room with a woman who was not my wife. Said woman had warm water and soap.  And it was absolutely nothing like my 17 year old “Weird Science” fantasies. It was more like George Costanza getting out of the tepid pool at the Beach House embarrassment, actually.

I have had a man that likes to perform delicate genital procedures with a boom box playing Twisted Sister “Come on feel the noise” in the corner of the surgical room. It gets really weird when he sticks needles where they don’t belong during a popular pancake purveyor’s commercial. I used to like pancakes. Oh well.

I’ve redefined my expectations of the words, “pinch a little”. Apparently this is a clinical medical term which defines the acute sensation of hot lava being injected into your testicles. When asked why the third injection hurt so much more than the previous two, I remember feeling a curiously high level of anxiety when Dr. Dee Schneider said (with my junk in his hands), “You know, I don’t know why that 3rd one always hurts so much”…

I said, “Hey Doc…as a general rule, when you’re holding a needle near a man’s cash and prizes, the last words that man ever wants to hear from said doctor with a 12 year medical degree is ‘I don’t know‘.”

Yes – I did say that to him. No, I was not trying to make him laugh.

I’ve gone into a Bojangles restaurant to buy chicken for my son’s Pinewood derby luncheon. Filled a cup with crushed ice. Gone in the men’s room at said Bojangles and replaced the melted ice in the ziplock bag in my pants with fresh reserves of pure filtered frozen goodness. FYI single guys, big bag of crushed ice beats a rolled up sock, like paper covers rock and rock crushes scissors.

I’ve asked my wife to pull into the Kernel Custard’s parking lot on the way home from Hotel Holditforya – because if someone get’s ice cream for having their tonsil’s out, they sure as shinola deserve some for having their kumo-say-yama’s injected with hot lava.

Somewhere in all of this, my weight has spiked from 220.6, back up to 223.5. It may not seem like a lot to a lot of you, but to me – it is. I’ve never gained that much weight. Plus I was at the 220 barrier…ready to crush it and push through to the elusive 217. The 50 pound holy land…..no Moses….you shall not see it. I have not changed my eating patterns. And there can’t be 3 pounds of water in my boys. I’d have noticed that, I think.

Mentally, this has been a hard 4 days to swallow. Even with some ice cream. The plus side of it all is that apparently, I am in some kind of “club” now. I’ve gotten all sorts of notes and texts and phone calls from guys who’ve gone down this road before…telling me that I’m in the ‘club’. I wonder what the secret handshake is like, with this gang of guys. (I hope they have Purell at the tree fort.)

These have been some really weird days, to say the least.


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