March 19, 2018
Dear Diary:
The day began like any other, which is to say funkdafied. So, so, so funkdafied. Today, I was to have my pre-physical lab test. Per the instructions of the booking agent, I hadn't anything to eat or drink since 5:00 PM the day before. Fortunately, my belly and soul were still full of the sustenance provided by one Justin Timberlake in our nation's capital the night before. After hopping out of bed and unlocking the gates to bowel country, I took a refreshing shower and did a quick pube check. "Looks good," I said as I compared the current state of my pubes with the schematics I had developed for my latest concept art.
I consumed several bottles of water as I drove into the office. (Being an introvert, I had a shy bladder and didn't want any doubts regarding my ability to perform on the highest stage.) As I entered the Health Center, I was greeted with the usual pleasantries.
"Mr. McCloud, what are we doing for you today?"
"My annual pre-physical lab work."
"Pre-phyiscal? How exciting. How are the pubes?"
"Looking good. They should be ready for sculpting in a day or so."
"When's the big reveal?"
"The 27th."
"What?!? I'm off that day."
"Can you keep a secret?"
"Is space time a fixed background on which particles move?"
"I...I really don't know."
"Yes, I can keep a secret!"
"You want to see the schematics?"
"Does a --"
"You know what; can we skip the questions? I rarely have any idea what the hell you're talking about."
"It's basic String Theory, but okay."
I whip out the schematics, artist rendering, and a working prototype.
"Wow...Just...Where do you find the time?"
"When you love something, you make the time."
"The soundtrack...and the lights. How do you get everything to work?"
"I have a guy."
"You have a pube guy?"
"Pube-gineer. It's like an imagineer, but for pubes."
"Where does one learn to become a pube-gineer?"
"University of Phoenix online, ecpi, snhu...Tufts."
"Hunh. Well, thanks for the preview...and the education. I think they're ready for you now."
I follow the nurse to the back room to get my blood drawn.
"Which arm?"
"The right is fine."
"Roll up your sleeve for me."
I oblige, because I'm a gentleman...and she has a needle.
"Can you squeeze this ball?"
[Silence. Some things are too easy...and she still has a needle.]
"Can you stretch out your fingers for me?"
"Can you, and I don't think I've ever said this to a woman, move your crotch away from my hand?" (She obliged, because #MeToo, and I obliged, because the needle was still in my arm.)
"Well, that's it. Thank you, Mr. McCloud."
That's it?!? I thought to myself. That's it??? I mean I'm not going to beg somebody to take my urine, but my bladder was at the tipping point. I could bore a hole into a cinder block with all the pressure that had built up in my urethra. My bladder was locked and loaded and ready to show the world what it could do. But, alas, it wasn't meant to be. There be no urination today. Not in public...not in public.
Distraught, I looked down at my bladder, gave him a gentle tap, and said, "Next time, brave warrior. Next time."
[To be continued...]
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