MonkeyPope Archives: Fingerbang!, 09 Sep 05

[I have a friend who is an amazing writer but he tends to abandon his writing projects often. I wanted to save his writings for posterity and make them more widely available.  The MonkeyPope Archives contain his collected works.]

Friday, September 09, 2005

Fingerbang!

I learned an important lesson last night: Never tell a doctor you have blood in your stool because they’ll take that as an invitation to stick their finger up your ass.

File this one under too much information.

One of the few expressions I remember from my truncated time in China is “la du.zi,” which translates literally as pulling out your intestines, more commonly known around these parts as the G.I.’s, the hershey squirts, the backdoor trots, Montezuma’s Revenge, the Aztec two-step, or simply the shits (ok, no one around here really calls it hardly any of those things).

Must have been a case of mild food poisoning. Anyway, I got quarters for the day to recover (for you non-military types, quarters is your equivalent to taking a sick day except for a soldier, that sick day has to be mandated by a medical professional…who sticks fingers up people’s asses).

I’m still rather weak and suffering from nausea (to say I’m nauseous would invite too much criticism and debate on the proper meaning and usage of the word…by myself), but the feeling has abated enough that I’m able to hold down my liquids.

Back to the finger and ass thing. Time to shoot off on a tangent (whenever the word tangent is used, I think of Catcher in the Rye; strange little synapses). I’ve always been rather blase about homosexuals. Why should I care about how other people get off? I don’t give a shit. But after getting a finger shoved up my ass, I had to wonder how that could ever be associated with a pleasurable experience. Mind you, the conditions weren’t prime. Maybe if I weren’t suffering from uncontrollable diarrhea, maybe if the doctor hadn’t snapped his glove on, maybe if Tiny Dancer was playing on the stereo, maybe if the room was properly mood-lighted with scented candles, and maybe if he had the decency to cuddle with me beforehand and tell me how much he cares instead of skipping foreplay altogether, maybe THEN I’d be more sympathetic.

Instead our pillow talk consisted of
“Roll over onto your side.”
Patient rolls over.
“Bear down like you’re having a movement.”
Patient bears down.

Finger extracted.
Doctor says, “And you thought you were in pain before, huh?”
Patient replies, “Man, that hurt like a motherfucka!”

And the way the doctor said that line, it was as if…he was implying I was an ass virgin and so what if I am?! It made me think of Saddam saying to Satan in South Park, “Yeah, you like it like that, don’t ya, bitch?”
And my reply, what the fuck? Did I expect to enjoy it? “Finally, a finger up my ass! I wonder what that will feel like!”

If anyone’s read this far, you are sick, sick, sick.

Really, anal sex, queer or straight, is incomprehensible to me. It seems as arbitrary as someone who gets off fucking nostrils (and I’m sure those people exist; I read Savage Dan). “Honey, I have a cold. My nose is full of snot and I have to keep blowing it. It’s so red and sore.” “Oh yeah, keep talking, baby.”

Love is transcendent, but sex and what gives you your kicks? Well, that’s something else. But hey, fuck it, to each their own, but man, I’m not looking forward to getting my prostate checked.

And my final tangent, Stevie Wonder’s I Believe (When I Fall in Love It Will be Forever) is a great great song.