Brought to you by...

Back in the day as I sat in front of the TV with my young sons, I would dream of the future.  Not so much a future filled with soccer games or learner’s permits or ACT prep courses… no, no... I’m of a more practical mind.  Specifically I’d dream of a time in the years to come when we would watch TV shows featuring real-life, flesh and blood, humans.  You see, from the end of 2002 through 2009, if our TV was on… a cartoon was playing.  Now don’t get me wrong, I’m a HUGE fan of cartoons.  But by 2005, I was ready to smother myself with a Boppy pillow to escape the madness.

This show sucks…

Those early days were filled mainly by Nick Jr (then called Noggin) and hours of Go Diego Go, Little Bear, Moose A. Moose, and dozens of other mind-numbing, animated creations.  We learned and relearned our colors.  We counted and recounted our numbers.  We sang the damn alphabet song a million times.  It was almost enough to turn me off to TV altogether (I know… crazy, right?).  The only bright spots were the short musical interludes between shows featuring Laurie Berkner.  I don’t remember much about her except that she sang some catchy songs.  She was a real, human person.  And, she was bouncy.   Oh… was she bouncy.  But I digress…

Wait for it.

Now that my boys have grown older and the majority of our TV watching is of the non-animated type, you know what… I long for the good old days.  It’s not so much the shows.  True, we accidentally catch a random decapitation or an ill-timed boner joke during the seven o'clock hour… those I can handle.  It’s the damned commercials.  Honestly... how many people have mesothelioma?  Do we ALL have to know the horrors surrounding the transvaginal mess?   I'm afraid to take a bathroom break during the commercials due to the rash of questions that hit me upon my return.  "Dad... have you ever considered Cymbalta?"  or "Dad... are you concerned about your ereptile misfunction?".

I guess the moral of the story is to be careful what you wish for.  The good news is… Cartoon Network now shows Looney Tunes from 6-7pm every night.  If I can just get them to hire Laurie Berkner, we’ll be set.  Take that ereptile misfunction.

This End Up

I’m not sure why I’m telling you this, but I have another colonoscopy scheduled for this Friday.  As you’ve probably deduced, that means I’ve had one of these “medically sanctioned sodomies” before.  As you’ve probably also surmised… I’ve begun to reluctantly accept the suffix “oscopy” as part of the everyday language of my mid-40s life.

To be fair, the previous procedure wasn’t that bad.  In fact, I had two, two, two procedures in one.  The medical staff performed a colonoscopy AND endoscopy on me at the same time.  Now “at the same time” may evoke a disturbing image.  So, just to be clear… they performed one procedure and then the other procedure immediately after.  My only request to the doctor as I was rolled into the operating room was that they wipe down all the equipment at half time.  Apparently, he had heard that one before.

The good news… I was under general anesthesia and didn’t feel a thing.  That comforted me greatly until I realized that somewhere on the internet pictures may exist of me being spun on a giant spit by a hoard of scrub-wearing, medical-degree-having, hooligans.  Most likely that didn’t occur… but that doesn’t stop me from Google Image searching it from time to time just to be sure.

Because a real picture was too disturbing.

The bad news… the pregame.  For those who haven’t experienced a colonoscopy yet, here’s the rub.  In order for the doctor to get a good look at the goods, you need to be clean as a whistle down there.  To facilitate that condition for my last procedure, the doctor’s office provided me with a giant tub of liquid to consume the day before.  The process was simple.  I drank about 200 ounces of premixed “turbolax” and then I made sweet, sweet love to my toilet for the next 12 hours.

Those were good times.

Again… illustrations are a much better choice.

Now here’s the funny part.  This time around, the doctor’s office didn’t provide that same, easy solution.  Maybe it’s because I’m an oscopy-veteran.  Maybe the “wipe down the equipment” joke didn’t go over well… who knows?  Instead, I was sent a list of over-the-counter products that would replicate the results.  At first that didn’t seem like a big deal.  It wasn’t until I was standing in the checkout line with a heaping pile of laxatives that I started to get uncomfortable.  I half expected the freckle-faced, teenage check-out clerk to alert Homeland Security of my unusual purchase.  I mean, they track the ingredients that meth dealers use to produce their product.  Why wouldn’t my shopping basket full of "enough intestinal Drano to take down a small village" set off more than a few red flags?  Maybe she was too busy laughing to care. 

So now we wait.  I’ve still got a couple of days to go before I mix up my sinister concoction and release the Kraken.  The only thing I have left to decide is if I go for it and order the XXL Steak Nachos from Taco Bell tomorrow for lunch.  Why not… right?