No, this isn't about being the poker but rather the pokee and not in the way you may think since they want to stick a bloody great camera up my whanger.
I said: that won't bloody fit!
They said: it bloody will!
That's about all the comedy to pull out of that aspect but it gets better. I'm to schedule a class prior to this glorious event to be an Informed Wiener Pokee.
Glory!
Dunno if you find that funny but I think it's a riot. It seems the reaction to just about anything in this context is you can't be fucking serious.
Yep, they are.
A friend once said regarding a colonoscopy, possibly the second most-feared diagnostic procedure, that procedure will never happen because 'that portal is exit-only.'
Well, no. That sounds so non-gay but carry it through to the end game in which you're dying of cancer from a rotting backside. Makes you feel more hetero by the moment, doesn't it.
The colonoscopy is the easy one since you don't even really know what's happening while they do it. Real men go for the sigmoidoscopy because you're not sedated for that one and here's the beauty part: you can see the internals of the backside on a TV monitor while the process proceeds.
There's a bit of wtf? WTF???
That fades quickly to, well, doctors really get off on some weird things.
Ed: that's so gay!
Now if you're equating being gay to having a metal thing probing your backside, you may be doing it wrong.
It's easy for me to be sexually-confident since, at sixty-six, no-one cares if I'm gay anyway (sob).
In some ways, I look at my present circumstance as the source of a travelogue somewhat akin to the one I was writing during Mister Toad's Wild Ride across Europe. I have no idea what's happening since anyone close to me in this circumstance took a, thankfully, short path. Since I'm the eldest of the sibs, there may be some information in knowing of what comes.
Ed: this is a fucking lesson?
It damn sure is one for me (larfs). It is sure as hell that (larfs some more).
See above about wiener poking.
Brit broadcaster during the Battle of Britain spoke from London while the bombs were falling: you've got to larf!
I said: that won't bloody fit!
They said: it bloody will!
That's about all the comedy to pull out of that aspect but it gets better. I'm to schedule a class prior to this glorious event to be an Informed Wiener Pokee.
Glory!
Dunno if you find that funny but I think it's a riot. It seems the reaction to just about anything in this context is you can't be fucking serious.
Yep, they are.
A friend once said regarding a colonoscopy, possibly the second most-feared diagnostic procedure, that procedure will never happen because 'that portal is exit-only.'
Well, no. That sounds so non-gay but carry it through to the end game in which you're dying of cancer from a rotting backside. Makes you feel more hetero by the moment, doesn't it.
The colonoscopy is the easy one since you don't even really know what's happening while they do it. Real men go for the sigmoidoscopy because you're not sedated for that one and here's the beauty part: you can see the internals of the backside on a TV monitor while the process proceeds.
There's a bit of wtf? WTF???
That fades quickly to, well, doctors really get off on some weird things.
Ed: that's so gay!
Now if you're equating being gay to having a metal thing probing your backside, you may be doing it wrong.
It's easy for me to be sexually-confident since, at sixty-six, no-one cares if I'm gay anyway (sob).
In some ways, I look at my present circumstance as the source of a travelogue somewhat akin to the one I was writing during Mister Toad's Wild Ride across Europe. I have no idea what's happening since anyone close to me in this circumstance took a, thankfully, short path. Since I'm the eldest of the sibs, there may be some information in knowing of what comes.
Ed: this is a fucking lesson?
It damn sure is one for me (larfs). It is sure as hell that (larfs some more).
See above about wiener poking.
Brit broadcaster during the Battle of Britain spoke from London while the bombs were falling: you've got to larf!
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