My doctor is trying to kill me...

 Bathroom humor is too easy...pee pee, caa caa...har de har! But when it's happening to you in real life I think that's fair game...

 So apparently my good looking female doctor who I discussed yesterday (finger up butt) is trying to kill me. She gave me 2 scrips for antibiotics & 1 scrip for the dreaded...suppository. I took my 2 pills after dinner & proceeded to inflict myself with this small white torpedo of hydrocortisone.When I came gingerly walking out of the bathroom clenching my buns for all their worth I caught Karans face. We both literally fell to the floor laughing with tears. Of course, mine were tears of laughter mixed with tears of foreign objects in my nether regions. But all was well until...

  This morning.

  I am a well oiled machine. After my first cup of coffee while reading the paper I visit my throne & proceed to do my business. Every day. Like clockwork. No problemo. So this morning I took 2 sections of the newspaper in with me, just in case. I am halfway thru the Sports section when it hits me...Houston...we have a problem. The well oiled machine is locked up. Now, my brain & my stomach are sending the proper signals to the gate keeper, but he won't open the damn gate! Uh oh...

  I remain calm. Give it some time. So I finish Sports & move on to City & State. Aaaargh....nothin! I start doing yoga moves, lifting 1 bun & then the other, like a wave of cheering fans at the Super Bowl. I dare not strain, that may be part of the problem in the first place. The torpedo from last night is apparently a dud & is blocking the missile silo. My lip is perspiring. I am out of newspaper. My butt hurts. I decide to signal the control center to abort the mission. They are none too happy about this.

 I walk out of the bathroom  humped over back towards my recliner & my coffee. I guzzle lukewarm coffee to hopefully get the system back up & running. Karan gives me a quizzical look as I hunch back to the bathroom. So without getting too graphic, I finally achieved liftoff. Butt* it nearly kilt me. So I go look at my medicine bottles & lo and behold one clearly says "MAY CAUSE CONSTIPATION." What in thee hell...my doctor has me inserting things in my back door and then....locking the door!

So.....I'll finish by saying I installed another missile in the silo before heading to work. My doctor knows best, right? And right now, as I sit here typing this, I feel the ominous glow of it's presence...lurking in my sphincter. Will tomorrow be a fantastic splashdown after low earth orbit or another scrubbed launch? We shall see...