Me and My Butties (Cigar Smoke 1-20-11)

I just got the word that my column will only run once a month. It used to run every week until they cut it back to twice a month, and now its only once a month. It’ll probably be cut down to one sentence a month soon. But I can live with that. I can write a 1,000-word sentence easy.

It kind of reminds me of when this guy was in the army and his parents were killed in an auto accident, and then the sergeant had all his troops line up, and he asked anyone who still has both their parents to step forward. And this one guy steps forward, and the sergeant says, “Not so fast, Johnson.”

Anyway, I’m going to keep writing as if I’m not an orphan yet. But don’t worry — I’ll try not to make the columns any more meaningful than before.

So I go into the hospital the other day to have a colonoscopy. I’m getting to that age where they recommend this procedure be done on a daily basis. I had done the prepping very well the previous evening and I was emptier than Barney Frank’s head. I mean, there was nothing in there, baby.

I get into my hospital gown with the open back and I walked up to the nurse and she said, “Ah, geez. Tie that thing.” So I did, and as we walked down the pre-op area, I noticed that there were about 15 other presumably empty-bowelled people lying in their beds waiting for the grim reamer. I thought I would lighten it up a bit, so I said, “Hey guys, why don’t we all be butt-ies?” I really emphasized the “butt” in butt-ies to ensure the forthcoming mirth. The mirth is still forthcoming. Nobody laughed. Not one butty out of 15 butties laughed.

So the nurse put me in a bed and I had this warm sheet on me and me and my tushie felt all cozy. She asked me if
I had eaten anything this morning. I told her just some pizza and a couple of Snickers bars. She did what all women do: ignored me.

I asked her if this was going to hurt. She said, “Not me.” And then she gave me the sedative and I went semi-beddy bye. I was just awake enough to feel the intrusion of my nether region and was able to gasp in desperation at the violation of my soul and dignity and buttmobile.

When I came to, the doctor told me everything had gone well. I asked him if he if found anything, and he said, “No, except for the three peanut M&Ms and the corn nuts.” Finally, the mirth had arrived.

And then he showed me this X-ray picture of my colon. And he told me it looked great. I asked him if we were looking at the same picture.

Then he said he would like to see me and my colon again in 30 years. I told him I would be about 100 then. So he asked, “How about 20 years?” I said, “Doc, I probably won’t make it to 90, either.”

I suggested he see me again in five years. His face went ashen and he pleaded with me. “I just can’t look at that thing in five years. They don’t pay me enough.” So we compromised on 10 years. God, I hope I’m still here then. I’m going to put a little lily in there to cheer him up.

Anyway, I’m recovering from the colonoscopy and from the trauma of the doctor’s bedside honesty, and I’m lying down on the couch watching television, and I turn on “Men of a Certain Age,” which is one of my favorite shows. And what is the theme of the show? The theme of the show is about three guys having colonoscopies. I am serious. Check it out.

But because they are more creative than I am, and because they may possibly have more photogenic butts than I do, they decide to go on a three-day weekend to Palm Springs, where they can combine having fun with their buttmobile procedures. They do a little gambling, they check out the babes, they go to a steakhouse and get in a big barroom brawl that cements the bonds of their friendship. Did they invite me? No. The bastards.

So then they all go into the hospital and they try to make their nurses laugh, but their attempts are just as futile as mine. And then they have their colonoscopies and they reflect on the meaning of life and they bond even more by fusing all three of their butts into one gigantic butt, and music played and life was good.

And I felt alone on my couch watching three nice-looking masculine butts fuse into one even better manly butt and I was depressed because I hadn’t gone with them to Palm Springs even though they had one empty seat in their car. But they did finally cheer me and my colon up.

One of the guys says to one of the other guys, “You know, even after the colonoscopy, you’re still full of shit.”

I bet the nurse would have laughed at that one.

Jim Laris is a former publisher and owner of The Weekly. Contact him at jimlaris@mac.com.