Psychedelic Geezerdom- the greying of the Stoner Boomer
Part 1-The Semi-Colon
At the Doctor’s office the Nurse informed me –while handing me a ‘Scientific American’ magazine to read , that the Earth is only (actually) six thousand years old.
Coming from a nurse this was a little disturbing.
I’m pretty sure a Creationist Colonoscopy is not a procedure I shall schedule in my immediate future. (Timing is everything.)
In the initial interview the Doctor asked if I had ever smoked marijuana. I told him maybe but I forgot. He was persistent. He asked me about two more times. Then I asked him if he kept any individually wrapped saltine travel packs in the examination room because talking about weed makes me hungry.
He said no –but please open up and say AH-HHH.
I did. I said, “AH-HHHH”
He said, “Do it again, please –say AH-HHHH.” I did, I said ,”AH-HHHHH.”
He began hitting my knee with a tiny rubber hammer, “Have you ever had a colonoscopy before?”
I said,” No…but I’m pretty sure that’s not my asshole you’re hitting with that hammer.”
“Well..” he said, “…you passed the intelligence test. I think we can move on to the eye chart.”
“I see what you did there. Should I keep one eye closed?”
“No, no… keep both eyes closed and tell me what you see.”
“Amazing…the inside of my eyelids are covered with cracks and neon sparkle-berries.” “Does insanity run in your family?” he asked, clearing his throat.
“Does phlegm run in yours?”
He cleared his throat again. I took that as his answer.
“Have you ever taken L.S.D.” he asked.
“Are you a doctor, Doctor…or a C.I.A. operative?” I answered.
“Why would you ask a question like that?”
“Because if you were with the C.I.A. I’m looking to score.”
I don’t think he got it.
“Do you know your blood type?” he asked, trying to change the subject.
“Red and drippy.” I answered, “..unless someone gets my Irish up.”
“What happens then?”
“That’s when I give ‘em my own version of a hernia exam.”
“I see…and thanks for reminding me,” he smiled, tossing his clipboard on the desk and jamming two very cold fingers into the cavity below my testicles, “Cough,” he said.
Part 2- The Actual Finger
“Please drop your pants and underwear and lean over the examination table.” The Doctor pointed at my mid-section and reached for a pair of latex gloves. The Doctor had a secret button on his desk he pressed he used to summon the Creationist nurse -like she was the Secret Service or a bank guard. He pushed the call-button and started putting on both gloves, snapping them on –it sounded like each individual finger was smacking its lips in anticipation.
I felt a slight sickness in the pit of my stomach as my mind turned over the thought;
If he’s only going to use one finger on one hand, why is he putting on two gloves?
“Now I’m going to use lubricant, but this may still be a little cold.” He announced cheerfully.
“It must be my birthday.” I announced almost as cheerfully.
“Do you ever suffer from rectal itch?” he queried. I could hear the squeak from the lubricant dispenser behind me. “ …if so we have something for that.”
“Thanks. So do I –but I rarely use someone else’s finger to deal with it.”
He inserted a digit and began a rollicking search for who knows what. Like a desperate husband searching for the wedding band accidently dropped into a garbage disposal. I kept trying to smile and keep up brave thoughts. The door opened behind me. It was the Creationist nurse and three female interns. I felt eight sets of chatoyant cat eyes – all staring at a guy in a white lab coat with a finger up my ass in a wash of bright jitterbugging fluorescent light -like maybe we were all at a church cotillion sugaring tea.
“Well, Mr. Brayton,” she began, as if trying to strike up a conversation on the Titanic; “Did you enjoy the Scientific American?”
“I sure am enjoying him right now.”
“Oh, I see.” She didn’t really understand my idea of irony
I turned my head and looked over my shoulders at the four women observing the finger attached to the Doctor attached deep within the crevice attached to my prone bare white rump. They were wearing hair-nets and safety-glasses.
“But I can guarantee, Nurse, that this exam has already lasted longer than six-thousand years.”