Vasectomy Unplugged (so to speak)

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Who would have thought a vasectomy would be so humorous????


So there I was, lying on the doc's table with the doc pulling out a hypodermic needle, a perverse smile on his face. I'm looking at the ceiling, the garbage can (is that a blood stain I see on the side?), some brochures over in the corner . . . ANYTHING but what is going on below.  I mean, I've seen the brochure.  I know exactly what is going to happen and how.  Call me a wuss, call me a wimp, call me a girly-man, but I'd really rather not watch my insides pulled out through my scrotum. But the doc doesn't seem to mind.

And then the pain hits me. Women can talk about labor pains all they want. Try having a needle stuck in your cajones to "deaden" the pain.  Finally the pain subsides, and I relax some while realizing the worst part is probably over.  But that relief is only temporary as another needle is stuck in me.

WTF???? "HEY, DOC . . . I thought I only needed one shot of anesthesia???"
"Too much real estate down here for one shot, I guess," he says.

Great. I got stuck with the smartass doctor.  Eventually that pain subsides also.  Still looking at anything but my lower extremities, a few minutes pass by before I hear a "sssssssssssss" sound.

"Uh, would that be the sound of cauterization?" I ask.
"Yeah . . . and I'm also putting my initials on the inside."

I start laughing so hard at his comment that he tells me I have to cease my laughing or he'll have to stop the operation - not being able to hit a moving target and all that.  Not difficult for me to do because I start seeing white smoke coming up from my nether regions and I’m thinking, “Did they just elect a new Pope?”

I throw in my own comment - "Hey, can you do me a favor while you're in there? Can you stuff a ping-pong ball inside so I can be the topic of conversation in the ladies restroom?"  Now I'm the one who has to tell him to stop laughing.

Well, a few minutes later, it's all done. Or so I thought.  That's when I'm informed that I have to come in once every 3 weeks for 9 weeks to drop off a "specimen" to make sure the operation was a total success. 

"And make sure it's FRESH," he adds.

Fresh???  Fresh is not a word I normally associate with my ejaculation.  "Whadaya mean by 'fresh', doc? You want me to gather a 'specimen' for you while I'm in your parking lot? Do you have an ongoing agreement with the local police so I don't get picked up for lewd behavior?"

Well, 3 weeks pass by. I'm at the grocery store, and I've just passed the baby aisle.  I'm staring at a baby food jar, having just decided that it would probably be the perfect container (which is rather ironic if you think about it).  I chose a baby food jar because empty 35mm film cannisters are hard to come by these days, and I probably would have looked like an egotistical idiot dropping off my "specimen" in a pickle or mayonnaise jar. 

And it takes a helluva long time to GET that "specimen."  I mean, I can't stop laughing at myself.  How is one supposed to get turned on for a baby food jar?

"Ohhhhh, baby . . . you're so smooth and clear. Mmmmmmm . . . really, I promise I won't cum inside you."

The "specimen" is finally collected.  I'm sure you don't need the details.  I screw the lid on, but then I get an evil grin on my face as I'm looking at my pantry's contents.  There's a half-empty jar of corn syrup on one of the shelves, but I don't see corn syrup. I see REVENGE for having to be put through this embarrassment every 3 weeks.  Imagine the nurse's reaction of horror as I hand her the baby food jar and she holds it . . . not knowing that prior to bringing it into the doctor's office, I spread a thin layer of corn syrup on the outside. Think she'll know the difference when she feels the stickiness on the outside of the jar?