Today is actually my birthday. Thank you. I have had a happy birthday. So here I am, on my birthday, telling jokes to thirteen people at the Holiday Inn behind the Goodwill. And they say I don't know how to party.
But I'm starting to notice that birthdays aren't as much fun as they used to be. I think that's the first sign of aging. When you're young, birthdays are a lot of fun. You go out with some friends, have a few beers, get someone pregnant. You know, have fun. Now it seems like birthdays are just an annual reminder of just how old...my wife is getting.
See, I actually married an older woman. That was my first mistake. I married a full-grown woman with self-esteem. And the problem with full-grown women with self-esteem is they expect you to get a job.
See, I should've been one of those guys who dates really young chicks so they never realize just how much of a douche bag you really are. You know, get them before they know better. See, remember back when you were like thirteen or fourteen and there was that one hot chick with the boyfriend who was like six years older. He could drive, he could buy beer and cigarettes, and he was dating the hottest chick in the eighth grade. And we all looked at that guy and thought "Damn! That guy is cool!"
Then a few years later you run into them again at the senior prom and she's still with that same guy who's like 25 now because she doesn't know any better. And she's dancing with her friends and he's standing around like a dildo at the punch bowl telling everyone how he doesn't have a job and he stole the tuxedo he's wearing. And then you look at that guy and you think "Damn! That guy's a loser!"
And then a few years later you see that same couple again. She's working at Wal-Mart during the day and waiting tables overnight at the Waffle House. Meanwhile, he's sitting at home on his ass watching TV and drinking beer because he does nothing at all while that poor girl he's been with for ten years works her ass off to be his little blonde ATM. And then you look at that guy and you think "Damn! That guy IS cool!"
And that's why, if I had to do it all over again I'd say fuck eHarmony, I'm picking up chicks at the middle school!
So, as I mentioned it is my birthday and the ugly truth of it is, I am nearing the big 3-0. I'm not as close as my wife is, but I'm getting there. And this has caused some alarm for her gynecologist. Apparently married couples in their late 20's who don't have children must be sterile, so this woman is hell-bent on figuring out why we haven't had any kids yet. Of course she's freaking out over nothing because there's a perfectly logical reason we haven't had children yet. See, we used an ancient family secret that helps you not have children before you're ready. We call it a "condom." It works wonders.
But of course my wife's gynecologist is sold on the fact that we should be swimming in babies by now, so she wants to give us fertility tests to make sure everything is in working order. So a couple weeks ago my wife came home from the gynecologist with a prescription. Not for her, though. This prescription, she said, was actually for me, for a "semen analysis." That's right, I got a prescription to masturbate so they can look at my semen and tell me if there's anything wrong with it.
A prescription for masturbation. I didn't know there was such a thing. Hell I've been doing that over the counter for years. I wonder if I could get in legal trouble for abusing a prescribed substance. I'll have to go to rehab for perverts. Where they take your nudie magazines at the door. And you can't wear socks.
But this may actually work to my advantage. See, now when my wife comes home from work early and catches me watching the Playboy channel I can say "Hey, you can't get mad at me. I have a prescription for this."
So, intrigued at this prescription, I called the doctor to ask a few questions. They said that a lot of people aren't comfortable with the whole idea. And the doctor was a woman, so of course, not wanting to sound like a pervert I was like, "Yeah, me too, I've never done that before. I mean there was that time my roommate walked in but I was really testing my dick for lumps." So the friendly doctor informed me that the entire process is designed specifically to help me be comfortable. She said if I'm not comfortable "providing the sample" as they called it, at home, that they have rooms at the doctor's office that I can use.
Okay hang on. If I'm not comfortable whacking off in the comfort of my own home with my pornos and pictures of The Little Mermaid, I can go to the doctor's office, ask for a jizz cup, mosey on over to the community masturbation chamber, do my thing with everyone outside knowing exactly what I'm doing, walk out, walk past all the other patients and employees with my filled jizz cup, and hand it to the nurse. Hell yeah, sign me up.
So of course my next question was about the actual logistics of the event itself. So I asked how it works. I mean am I supposed to bring in my stack of Hustlers or do they have a two-way mirror into a changing room or how does this work? So the nice doctor says "Oh don't worry about that, we have aides."
Really? You have AIDS? That's perfect, I'm going to a doctor's office to pull my junk out where they have AIDS. That sounds safe.
But seriously, I get what they're trying to say, that's just a hell of a way of saying it. What I figure they mean by "aides" is they've probably got some generic newsstand porn from like 1983. Which is another good thing about beating off at the doctor's office in the community masturbation chamber, the community porn.
I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm not real big on the idea of used porno magazines. It doesn't bother me that they're twenty years old simply because I really don't think there have been that many technological advancements in boobs recently. Not, it bugs me because they're used. I mean just the idea of a bunch of other naked guys playing with themselves in the same room I'm in, drooling over the same nudie pictures I am is really creepy. Not to mention there's probably some pages stuck together from somebody who missed their jizz cup.
So, you've probably noticed my hair by now. I just got it cut yesterday. Mind you, this isn't necessarrily the cut I thought I was going to get, but it's what I came out with. See, I walked in, gave them my phone number and sat in the chair. The lady said "Your notes say you normally get a 3 all over. Is that what you want today?"
Okay, a word of advice. If you are getting your hair cut, never let them start if you don't know EXACTLY what they are doing to your hair. See, I didn't go to beauty school, so I had no idea what the hell "3 all over" meant, but like an idiot I said "Sure, whatever I normally get."
Now, when I get my hair cut, they use a razor to do the back and around my ears, so when she turned on the razor I didn't think anything of it until the bitch cut a fucking stripe right down the middle of my head. And of course at that point you might as well just do the whole thing because there's not many options left.
So now my head looks like this. I look like the pictures of the sex offenders we get delivered to our door when they move into our neighborhood. How am I ever supposed to get you people at the Holiday Inn behind the Goodwill to take me seriously?
I think the worst part was after I got the dumb skank to understand that there had been a grievous misunderstanding and that I only agreed with "3 all over" because she told me it was what I normally get. So she asked me what I normally get, which is a regular scissor cut adults with jobs get, not a buzz cut kids in the 5th grade get.
So she cried for about ten minutes. Hey, don't feel sorry for her. That bitch made me look like a child molester and now I'm going to have assholes trying to rub my head and call me fuzzy for the next two months. Not to mention the fact that every time I forget how stupid I look, I walk next to a mirror and say "Oh yeah, I look like a creepy pervert."
But after she finished crying she then decided to try to convince me that it didn't look terrible. She said "I know it isn't what your normally get, but it looks good." Yeah, it does look good. If I were in the Army! Or 13!
But I guess it isn't all bad. Now that I have a 13-year-olds haircut I'll fit in when I'm picking up chicks at the middle school.