You're not one of those fags who likes Foreign Objects Shoved Up Your Ass...

...but a gay man's gotta do what a gay man's gotta do. And your ass has been feeling a bit strange lately. You keep ignoring it, because, after all, it's your ass and it's embarrassing. Meanwhile you keep hoping that it will go away like a zit or a back ache or a Trick with bad morning breath who wants to cuddle. But it doesn't go away. And a ticklish ass is not so funny. Especially when it's your ticklish ass.

After convincing yourself that you have Anal Warts or Prostate Cancer or some new, as of yet undiagnosed Gay Leprocy, you eventually call your doctor and make an appointment. Only you make the mistake of calling from work and the receptionist asks you, "What seems to be the problem?" You cup the phone to your mouth and look around to make sure nobody is listening as you whisper, "I have a ticklish butt." There's a long silence before the irriatated receptionist eventually responds, "Is this a prank call? Because I have HBO on Demand and I've seen this episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm already." (see fagnote #1, below.) You assure her that it's not a prank and explain that your ass is only ticklish, "But kind of itchy. Only from the inside." The receptionist is nonplussed but makes an appointment for you.

You writhe and wiggle in the waiting room chair until your non-gay doctor sees you at 12:30pm for your 11:00am appointment, with nary an acknowlegement or an apology for being so tardy. He's like one of those bartenders at G who treats you as if mixing your cocktail is some massive inconvenience to their busy day of watching their reflections in the mirror. Only this doctor isn't even remotely cute. Before you know it you're bare-assed, lying on your side and facing the wall while listening to the snaps of a latex glove (see fagnote #2, below) as Tardy Doctor gets ready to Top you . Tardy Doctor informs you that, "This may feel a bit uncomfortable but if you push like you're about to have a bowel movement it should make it easier." You chuckle to yourself but his lubricated finger disappears into your itchy ass before you get to say, "Poppers help, too." However, you don't feel like joking when he informs you that, "You have two internal hemorrhoids that are very inflamed (see fagnote #3, below.) I'm going to write you a prescription and send you to a specialist for treatment."

The Hemorrhoid Specialist sees you and schedules an appointment for an IRC treatment, which he describes in depth but, luckily, most of the details are lost in translation due to his thick Indian accent. However one thing comes through crystal clear: the nice, yet indecipherable Hemmorrhoid Specialist who suffers from vitiligo is definitely going to shove a laser up your ass to burn away the hemorrhoids. You make the appointment with the indecipherable Filipino Receptionist who has a habit of yelling instead of speaking, and she gives you a Fleet Enema as she informs the entire waiting room that "NO EATING AND MUST TAKE ENEMA BEFORE APPOINTMENT! MUST TAKE ENEMA!" (See fagnote #4, below.) Since you don't have your backpack you ask the Loud Receptionist if she has a bag so you don't have to walk through the streets of Chelsea holding a Fleet Enema in your bare hands, but she just shoos you away, "SORRY NO BAG FOR YOU!" and then, just in case you or anyone else in the waiting room has forgotten, she repeats, "MUST TAKE ENEMA BEFORE APPOINTMENT!"

When you wake up the next morning, you substitute your regular breakfast of two scrambled eggs with one Fleet Enema. You are especially entertained by the instructions on the box which include drawings of seemingly irritated cartoons who are shoving the enema up their toon asses. You think about all the Enema jokes you've ever heard as you lay on your side and shove the applicator tip up your anus and squeeze the saline water bottle until it all disappears up your butt, "That'd be up the butt, Bob." The whole process is completely painless and unmemorable until, suddenly, you have the sudden need to, as the instructions on the box describe, "discharge." So you race to your bathroom with the speed and agility of Cartman when he was suffering from explosive diarrhea. (See fagnote #5, below.) Only when you get there, you are horrified to discover your Hobosexual roommate is taking a shower behind a locked door. You immediately start banging on the door and yell, "I've got to get in there It's an emergency!" He takes his time drying off while you jump up and down and consider the logistics of shitting into an empty Pepsi bottle while you wait for him to emerge. When the door finally opens, the Hobosexual is pissed but you don't have time for chit chat so you basically slam the bathroom door in his face and scream, "I'll explain later," even though you have no intention of ever discussing this humiliating experience ever again.

Later, at the Hemorrhoid Specialist's office you are asked four times by four different people if you took your enema this morning, yet one of the four actually follows up the question with an inquiry as to whether you went to the bathroom afterwards. You briefly wonder about the lethal possibility of taking an enema without using the bathroom, but you just assure them, "Yes, I did everything I was told." Soon you're undressed and your ass is hanging out of a paper gown like a pair of cheap Chaps. The anesthesiologist informs you, "This may burn a bit," as he pushes the the Smack from his syringe into the I.V. in your wrist. You feel like a junkie as the liquid crawls through the veins in your arm and it's a bit disconcerting for a moment because...

...the next thing you know some random indecipherable accented girl is helping you pull your pants up. You babble to her about wanting to "dishcush" something with the doctor. But she tells you that he's already gone to lunch and promises that he'll call you later. You kind of feel like some cheap teenaged Cheerleader who's just lost her virginity to the Football team thanks to an unexpected Roofie (see fagnote #6, below) in her Wine Cooler. But it's all good because your ass already feels less itchy. Not to mention the fact that you've never dated a football player. Or a doctor. Anyway...