Hell hath no fury like an Aza scorned!

Who needs Karma when you’ve got Aza on your side?

The last few weeks have been a bit of a whirlwind. As some of you may know Kojak, my bestest friend in the whole wide world is going through one hell of a vicious divorce. His former bitch is trying to take him for everything he’s worth. She apparently thinks a 7 year marriage with no children and no property constitutes 3K a month for the rest of her life. Think again, bitch! Aza’s on the case!

So long story short she’s been playing the “I’ve got mysterious illnesses and can’t work” role. Every time she’s showed up to court she’s not worn a bit of make-up and looks like soft serve shit. Yet behind the scenes she has been working and playing. The playing part is where I come in. She’s been bar hopping, shopping and vacationing all over the place for the last year now. All this time she’s been claiming she’s at deaths door and cashing a 3 thousand dollar alimony/temporary needs check, slowly dragging out this divorce killing Kojak financially each month. Heh, her friends and family have been taking pictures of these little outings. Lots of pictures. Pictures of her at parties, on vacations, at theme parks, during the holidays and all the while drinking like a fish in a good number of the photographs. These pictures were put on their myspace pages. Her myspace page as well as those of her friends and family are all set to private however the online slide show websites hosting the pictures posted to myspace are open for general viewing.

Sooooo, should you decide to get into a vicious nasty divorce with your spouse, lie your ass off about your health and screw them financially/emotionally for over a year- ya better make sure your retarded friends and family don’t post pictures proving you’re just fine. Ya also better be sure your spouse doesn’t have a friend with a computer that wants to see you crash and burn in hell.

To my dearest friend’s ex-wife- I hope you shit yourself on the stand when Kojak’s attorney brought out 60+ pictures of you acting like the completely healthy, white trash, gold digging whore you are. I also hope you shit yourself when your married lover (that recently dumped your stupid ass) was brought up on the stand and confirmed in testimony that you were just fine when the two of you went to New York and on that cruise.

So lots of other stuff going down but that's what I was most consumed with last week.

Thanks for nothing Fay! And an open letter to a scumbag.

Yeah, I’m alive, incredibly busy but alive. So I figured “Geez, it’s been over a month since I’ve bitched about anything on my blog!” So I pulled out my incredibly long list of things to bitch about and guess what was on top? Let’s look at the “Top 5 Reasons I Fucking Hate Fay” (and all tropical storms/hurricanes in general)…

5. After dumping two feet (seriously, two feet) of rain over three days, my backyard and garage are now under a foot of water and mud. Special thanks to the city for not keeping the ditches cleared on the street behind us…because you fine folks won’t do your damn jobs my shit floods every time we get a serious storm!

4. Since the ground is so saturated one of my favorite trees in the backyard pulled itself out of the ground, realized the ground a few feet away was no more dry than what it just pulled itself out of, said “screw it!” and fell over.

3. No power = no T.V., no computer, no A/C and basically nothing to do but sit in the dark watching tree tops nearly touch the ground illuminated by blue bursts of light on the horizon from transformers exploding all over the city as trees fall on power lines because of violent winds.

2. Our fabulous two new skylights because of Fay. Thanks an extra flipping bunch on this one, I love going to pee and getting rained on at the same time. Roof repairs are going to be not only extensive but expensive as well.

And the number 1 reason I fucking hate Fay…

The two teeny tiny baby squirrels I’m now raising I’m sure would much rather be raised by their actual mother.

The positive side? These storms tend to bring folks a little closer to each other. People that would never normally talk to each other open the flood gates of emotion. While store hopping for supplies you can hear nervous chatter in lines. Folks talking about and confiding their own personal fears, losses from storm seasons past, the latest news on storm severity/location and plans to hunker down or evacuate. They lean on each other for support. After it’s over, neighbors pull together in even the worst neighborhoods to survey damage, remove trees from yards and roofs sharing chainsaws, supplies and man power. It always amazes me at how folks come together when there’s a common threat. Finally, I think these storms pull us a little closer to our own personal paths of faith too. All you can do when it starts getting really ugly and evacuation is no longer an option is sit and pray that everything and everyone you love will be okay.

So aside from the inconvenience that my Top 5 list has brought forth, all things considered, it could have been much worse. Stay tuned for my “Top 5 Reasons I Fucking Hate Gustav” list. Hopefully that post won’t come because Gustav won’t be an issue.

Now I’m off to feed baby squirrels and vote…

An open letter to our current State Attorney:

You sir, are one of the biggest scumbags to come down the pipe. I hope when you die your higher power shows you more mercy than you’ve shown all of the victims of violent crime in our city, you piece of shit! You’ve favored the criminal element for far too long and as this election will show, the people have had enough! You are the rapists, murderers, child molesters, puppy kickers best friend and the law abiding citizens worst enemy because you refuse to prosecute. I’ve been awaiting this day for a long time. The day your low life ass gets tossed out of office and my vote helped make it happen! A storms coming asshole and it ain’t brewing in the tropics, it‘s in your own backyard. You won’t need to watch the weather channel for this one, just keep your eye on the polls cause that retarded douche you‘re endorsing doesn‘t have a snow flakes chance in hell of being elected. The storm that’s coming is a flood of police officers that had open and closed cases tossed because of you. It’s a tsunami of victims who’s pleas for justice fell on deaf ears as they watched their assailants strut out of court with a big fat smile spread from ear to ear thanks to you. Sit back and watch as our city pulls together once again and deals with a common threat, you! Reap the whirlwind you son of a bitch!

Sincerely,
Glad our city is waking up to who and what you really are!

I didn’t catch a cold, a cold caught me!

For me to catch a cold would nearly insinuate that I was actively hunting for one. Not the case. As much as I love feeling like crap: dry eyes, dizzy spells, horking up UFO‘s, shortness of breath, fever, bitchy attitude, chills, total body aches and wanting to cram an M-80 down my throat to break up the congestion- I was going to pass on this year’s cold and flu season. Apparently some jackass informed the pestilence that I’d be skipping the festivities and it came looking for me instead.

Surprisingly enough this doesn’t seem to be hitting me too bad (knock on wood...DO IT!!!!) as I don’t feel like something that crawled out of a construction site Port-A-Potty, yet. It got nasty for a few days but my preemptive strike in the form of vitamins, 200 hot showers a day, tons of fluids and being jacked up on Pseudoephedrine have kept my involvement with the plague minimal.

Now if you’ll all bow your heads in prayer:

Dear God,

You’ll be shocked to learn that I’m not begging to win the lottery, promising that I’ll never drink again if you’ll just help me make it through the morning or talking to you via the toilet as a conduit/medium. Nope, this time it’s important. I ask you Holy Father to spare me and my family from the misery and despair that is “Walking Pneumonia”. And should walking pneumonia come knocking at my door, I ask that you cast his uninvited, unwelcome, unwanted, unwarranted, unwholesome batootie back into the fiery depths of Hades in which he arose.

Amen.

And for my atheist friends in the audience (we don‘t discriminate ‘round these parts) or those of you that are looking to go preemptive too- below is the recipe and instructions for Vitamin C Tea. It’s not as good as praying to God (it is good in conjunction with, though) but as earthly remedies goes, it’s damn near divine. It works wonderfully as a preventative but will also shorten the duration of a cold if already infected. Rose gave it to me an age ago and I’ve sworn by it ever since! It is loaded with Vitamin C (as the name suggests) and tastes amazing. Most cold and flu seasons I enclose the following in “Get Well” baskets; I put together a ton of the dry ingredients, jar them up, add honey sticks, a huge mug, a tea infuser and instructions. Viola! It’s “feel better” in a cup!


Vitamin C Tea

2 parts Rose Hips

1 part each of:
Peppermint
Spearmint
Lemon Grass
Chamomile


Boil water, turn off the boil. Steep for a minimum of 5 minutes. Tea should have a pinkish-amber hue and smell like flowers. Honey is preferred to sugar for sweetening. Drink as often as needed.

An open letter to the Potential Deadbeat eBay Seller

Remember the “Strike and Awe Until I Get my Shit” (aka: "Holy Shit, This Bitch Is Crazy!") campaign? Remember how it had a happy ending?

I guess I should formally announce that I may very well be on eve of yet another “operation”.

I think I may call this campaign “Rain Hell, Havoc and Misery Down Upon the Deadbeat eBay Seller Until I Get my Shit!” Yeah, I know, it’s a little “wordy” but I feel this title truly captures the essence of the impending battle.

As with every major war it starts in peace talks. The below letter (sent early this morning) is my metaphoric version of going to the U.N. and airing my grievance. Should this idiot not respond within a reasonable period of time, the next letter will be my official declaration of war.



Dear Potential Deadbeat eBay Seller,

I am writing in regard to eBay item #blah blah blah. Paypal sent me an email on January 23rd (the same day the auction ended) confirming payment had been transferred from my account to yours in the amount of $18.45. Today is February 5th, 13 days since auction end, I am wondering what the status my order is; has it been shipped? Thank you for your time in this matter I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,
Preparing myself for war!

An open letter to a dickhole

Dear **dickhole *cop,

Do you think D is stupid? I mean, he may come off as a total ding-bat but trust me he’s way smarter than he looks. Which leads me to… he knows he didn’t get that ticket this morning because he left his keys in the car at the donut shop. He got that ticket because he got in your fucking douche bag way. Here’s how his morning routine works.

1- He gets up after I kick the shit out of him right around the 300th time the snooze alarm goes off.
2- He bathes, dresses and gets ready for work.
3- He warms up the decrepit piece of shit we lovingly call “the second car” (I usually refer to it as the “Flintstone mobile”).

~Addendum Numero Uno~
D’s car is a 1990 Ford Escort Hatchback (yes, you read that right). Its paint is peeling, it has been through a tornado- seriously, it has over a zillion miles on it, it runs on prayer and is in general every goddamn car thieves wet dream. I know those sonsofbitches take one look at this car and get a little hard with envy.

4- He drives directly to Dunkin’ Donuts to get his morning barrel of piping hot Joe infused with extra cream, 10 pounds of sugar and a near lethal dose of caffeine.
5- He proceeds to drive across the city to work.

Now, after reading the above process I’m sure you see where you fit in and fucked up D‘s morning routine. That’s right! Between steps 4 and 5. So here’s how I’m assuming YOUR morning starts off …

1- You get up, look in the mirror and see a giant douche bag staring back at you.
2- You ram insert a fresh corncob up your ass with vigor and pride.
3- You go to work in a very bad mood because women flee and or laugh at the sight/thought of your penis.
4- You take your bad mood out on the first person you see in the form of a ticket for the most retarded fucking thing you can think of.
5- Immediately thereafter you jack off (hard) to your ability to be the biggest prick best cop in town by keeping our streets safe from vicious, dangerous, predators….you know, all those sorry assholes who leave their keys in their piece of shit jalopies! After all, they are such a danger to society!

~Addendum Numero Dos~
I don’t feel addendum numero uno got this through clearly- I just really can’t stress the following points enough: A- It’s a Flintstone Mobile NOT a fucking Maserati. B- The vehicle was not left unattended running C- It was parked 10 feet away from its owner D- No children and or animals were left unattended and strapped in the backseat. E- If someone stole that sorry piece, they’d be doing us a favor. And F-The coffee shop knows what time D comes through and has the coffee ready the way he likes it. He runs in throws the money on the counter and runs out.

So lets be honest with each other- it wasn’t the keys in the car that got D that 75 dollar ticket making him late for work and putting him in a shitty mood that I‘m going to have to deal with. It wasn’t the corncob that’s shoved so far up your ass you’re constantly picking kernels out of your molars. You were pissed that D got in your way by parking at the front door, in your space and you got even more mad when he laughed at you. Plain, simple and best of all- honest. When you snarled at him “What are you laughing at?” did you bother to notice how nervous he was? Wringing his hands, shuffling his feet- he laughed because he was nervous you dumb fuck. And the sad thing is, it doesn’t take a fucking degree in body language to observe and conclude that.

Hold your head high today fucktard because when we go to court and I show the judge the car you ticketed for the keys being left in it and HE starts laughing- I guarantee, it won’t be nervous laughter. He’s going to look at you like the idiot asswipe that you are and he’s going to think the same thing we all thought- “You really are pathetic to ticket someone simply because they got in between you and your steaming hot cup of Joe and freshly baked Boston Cream.”

Sure, I’ll pay the $75 bucks because D is such a danger to society. Heh, 75 dollars, that’ll teach him!

Enclosed is a picture I took especially for you. Now I know they say a picture is worth a thousand words but I think this one pretty much sums it up in two…enjoy…

fucker.

Sincerely,
Saddened By What A Huge Douche Bag You Are.

**This dickhole is a true minority in my city. 99% of our police force consist of really great men and women (3 of which read my blog so they’re even cooler) just doing their job.**

*And to the cops who read my blog, please don’t take my rant personal. I certainly don’t mean to cast an ugly light down on everyone- just the one idiot who I’m sure even pisses his coworkers off.*

Yeah, smart move asshat!

Alternatively titled "Strike and Awe Until I Get my Shit Part 2: A Happy Ending"


Dear Retarded eBay Store Merchant,

Guess you got the picture, huh? What was it about the “Strike and Awe Until I Get my Shit“ campaign that finally made you fold- the emails….the 800 voicemails….? I hadn‘t even gotten to the snail mail part! Did you think because you finally picked up your phone and had quite a lovely conversation about my MIA shit after the 500th call you could pacify me and I’d shrink back into the shadows to forever leave you in peace? Without my shit? All that conversation accomplished was to tell me a little more about you, your family, your background and all I wanted it to do for you was tell you how serious I was about getting my shit. I don't think I got that message through clearly enough as I was still shitless a week later. Well, 300 more phone calls must have been quite the surprise for you. Your decision to finally send me my shit on February 20th (as the package is postdated) was a good one, because for the last week I’ve been pricing plane tickets.

I will admit, I don’t understand the message behind the shit you sent gratis with my original order. That includes the “I Heart You” lollipop. What? Were you trying to freak me out a little by packaging everything in that heart covered ziplock? Were you trying to express in the form of heart shaped candy and free shit that after our lovely conversation you’ve become smitten by me? A little enamored? Well, let me explain something to you, you freaky little fucknut- I don’t freak that easy! In fact you could pretty much do anything- shy of me coming home to find my Betta boiling in his bowl on the stove- and I wouldn’t give a shit.

So, in summery- good job on getting your shit together and sending my shit! That's the best $5 fucking dollars I've spent in ages! As for the gratis shit? I’ve justified keeping it based on the fact that I had to wait well over a month to get my shit. However, I threw away the lollipop as you probably dipped it in poison. Have a nice life penis wrinkle!

Sincerely,
Glad I Finally Got My Shit

P.S.
Call me, we’ll do dinner. XOXOXO

An open letter to the Retarded eBay Store Merchant

(Wow, it's been forever since I've done an open letter)

A new and improved “open letter”, now with gratuitous use of the word “shit” because this situation is “bullshit” !

Dear Retarded eBay Store Merchant,

Here’s how it works. You set up a little store on eBay to sell your shit. I come along, see a piece of shit I can’t live without that I must add to my accumulation of shit and thoroughly read the description of the shit you‘re selling. Your shit fits the bill, I’ve gotta have it- cause’ well, it’s the shit! Menacingly written within your description is “Payment is due within 3 days of purchase!”. BUT, you’ve got a really decent feedback rating so that seems to take the edge off of your shitty insinuated/implied threat. Again, after thoroughly reading and comprehending your description and instructions, I buy your shit. The very next day I mail you money to ensure the speedy procurement of my shit. Then here’s how it’s SUPPOSED to continue.... You get my money and mail me my shit. A week or so later, I check my mail and sure as shit, there it is! We leave each other positive feedback in the process. The end. No bullshit.

Seems simple enough right, asshat? Then why do you have to screw up such a simple process. Here, let’s go through this step by numerical step.

1/ You sell shit on your eBay store.

2/ I see and purchase your shit.

3/ I mail you money for said shit.

4/ You receive the money and in turn mail me my shit.

5/ You leave me positive feedback saying “This chick is the shit! She paid within 3 days and is an asset to the eBay community”.

6/ I get my shit within a REASONABLE period of time.

7/ Happy with my shit, I reciprocate your positive feedback saying “This seller is the shit! My shit was exactly as described, was shipped warp speed fast and arrived in perfect condition. Said seller is an asset to the eBay community and I highly recommend them!”

Seven simple steps asshat. Seven simple steps that you have to come along and screw up. So here’s how it actually happened and where the shit hit the fan…

I saw your shit, bought your shit and paid for your shit. I gave you my money, for your shit. It’s now MY shit. Soooo, where’s my shit? I bought it on the 5th, mailed my payment on the 6th, emailed you on the 20th requesting the status of my order and now today, the 25th, called your stupid ass and left a message. Still nothing. So what? Am I shit out of luck? Because right about now I'm starting to feel like I'm up shits creek without a paddle.

I think you’ve forgotten a few very important key factors in this shitty business transaction: I know your name, I have your home address and I also have your phone number. Do you really think it’s a good idea to piss a complete stranger (me) off over 5 bucks? I’d have to say it’d definitely be in your best interest to mail my shit to me immediately or be subject to a snail mail, email and phone call campaign which will hence forth be known as “Strike and Awe Until I Get my Shit”. (aka: "Holy Shit, This Bitch Is Crazy!") Now you may ask yourself, "Would she really go that far over 5 bucks?" You can bet your ass I would. I shit you not.

So in summary, I want my shit. Now. See, here’s the thing- you could have totally avoided this unfortunate situation one of two ways. A/ You could have sent my shit in a reasonable period of time or B/ You could have simply stated in your item description “I expect payment within 3 days but you won’t get your shit for 30.” Then you would have been kind enough to give someone potentially interested in your shit the right to decide if they want to wait that long.

Thanks for screwing up a very simple process. I look forward to you getting your shit together!

Sincerely,
Pissed That I Still Don’t Have My Shit

An open letter

To the lady with the 'mite' cream script.

Dear sweet elderly three days older than Jesus lady,

I understand now more than ever in the pharmaceutical field that odd, disturbing and at times down right creepy shit is just going to happen. Period. There will be days that TMI is the understatement of the century. There will be times that I will hear someone say something that will make me want to douche my ear holes. Yesterday you won the "Gross Aza The Fuck Out" award. That's no small feat, madam. I hear about rectal ulcerations, "intense" anal itching, green vaginal discharge, and much, much more daily. Yet each day I come back with a smile on my face, holding my composure like a Marine.

Please let me congratulate you on your award. It was truly earned. I'd shake your hand but to be quite honest I'd rather you keep your scabies to yourself. I must say, the best part of our conversation was when you leaned your sweet 90 year old face over the counter and said with your gentle, old lady, well of knowledge smile "The doctor said I've got the infestation cleared up off of my hands pretty well, now we're working on my nipples."

Hon, I have so much respect for you just because of the fact that you've weathered so many years on this planet but I must say, you could have kicked me in the fucking head and gotten a better reaction out of me. No, no, you didn't see that reaction on the outside but trust me, it was there. If you'd looked deep enough into my eyes you would have seen the depth of my horror. That's where the blank (thousand mile) stare and faux smile cemented to my face came from. There are two things I'd like to go over with you so you'll understand where that "I think I just shit myself" look came from...

A/ Infestation. Let's look at that word for a moment. I N F E S T A T I O N. That means there is a colony of creepy crawly creatures residing under your skin.

B/ "Now we're 'working' on my nipples." Well, your 90 year old nipples pretty much speak for themselves. I don't think I, myself could have painted a more vivid picture if I tried.

Bless your heart, dear. May your days be filled with joy, your mite cream be plentiful and here's wishing your nipples (and my brain) a quick and permanent recovery!

Yet another open letter....this time to God

God, if you’re listening....or reading this (btw, please blogroll me)...

First, Thank you for whatever hand you played in my dad turning 59 today. We know he wasn’t supposed to live to see his 18th birthday after the accident but here he is, 59 going on 16. After dinner, I bought him 3 “quick pick” lottery tickets, so ummmm, if you have a hand in running the numbers- he’s the one! I mean come on! You hardly ever see disabled people winning the lottery, much less high functioning paraplegics. Look at it this way- he not only survived a car accident that according to the doctors should have killed him. He survived raising two daughters and a stepson. He survived being married to an abusive alcoholic for 19 years (that he loved/s more than anything else in the world)- that is, until she killed herself in a car wreak in 1990 leaving him with an 11 year old going off the deep end (me) and a 14 year old who didn’t (and still doesn’t, btw) give a shit about anything but herself (Krazy K)- to care for alone. He lost his sister, mother, father-in-law and wife in a four year span for cryin’ out loud! And to top it all off you know that this is just the very tip of the ice-burg. If you could throw him that 84 million dollar bone I’d be ever so grateful. If anyone deserves it, he does.

Uh, also, I think I’ve contracted the plague- it certainly feels that way. If there’s any way you could help protect dad and D from catching it, that’d be great too. Neither of them can physically afford to get sick- which leads me to dad being extraordinarily concerned for my personal wellbeing. If you hadn’t noticed, I looked three shades of dead at dinner tonight and well, it kind of freaked him out. He’s very worried so if you could send him some “it’s all good” vibes (read: Aza isn’t dying although she feels like it and thinks she is, vibes) that’d be great.

I have to work tomorrow, I need this job (or at least right now I think I do). Don't get me wrong, I’m not asking for a “miracle healing” overnight or anything like that but it’d be wonderful if you could direct me toward those herbs, meds and things in general that will lead to the quickest possible recovery so I will quit wishing I were dead because I hurt so bad. Oh, and something that will make the garbage I’m coughing up taste like anything other than putrid flesh (read: a five day old dead persons lungs.)

Thanks for your attention in these matters.

P.S. When I’m rolling around, clutching my heating pad, drinking cough medicine like water, coughing up a lung in my 102 degree delirium at 3am please disregard the string of obscenities and expletives that will follow.

Another open letter

To the lady that wanted to include me in a debate with herself over purchasing a $234.00 script for vaginal use.

Dear lady with the prescription for her vagina,

I really don't feel like there's a whole lot to discuss here.

A/ Keeping the big picture in mind, which is your lifespan- $234.00 doesn't seem like an unreasonable amount of money to spend on your vaginal health. I'm kind of lost on the fact that you would talk yourself out following your doctors orders. Which leads me to...

B/ I understand that $234.00 is a lot of money but after hearing "My husband isn't going to appreciate me spending this much money on a prescription. We have the money but I think he'd be really upset." I say, "Fuck your stupid husband." Should he ever need a prescription for his penis, I hope you let it fall off since he's the kind of man that can appreciate saving a few bucks at the expense of his wife and her health.

C/ You did not look embarrassed when talking to me today about your prescription, you looked ashamed. A grown person pointing at the lower portion of their body while using the words "down there" makes me sad. Whoever told you the word "vagina" was wrong, rude, shameful or dirty should be ashamed of themselves.

and D/ I hope you see your own self worth and quite allowing other people in your world put a price on your health.

Crazy people, the black plague and internal hemorrhoids

The insane woman I mentioned in the previous entry was back today. She came up to me and began to cry as she apologized for losing it yesterday. I handed her tissue and tried to comfort her by telling her that I took what she said seriously but I didn’t take it personal. I wanted to say “Hell Ms. So-and-so, half the time I’m one pill away from the nut house (or prison).” Since shit rolls down hill and usually takes about a week to do so, I’ll know if this has truly blown over sometime next week.

I took a nap when I got home from work tonight. D is on his last overnight shift so I woke up around 11 and gave him a call to tell him about my day at work and to figure out what I’m supposed to take him for dinner (which he’ll probably be eating around 3:30am or so). I’ve got class at 8am, it’s now nearly 1:45am and I’m avoiding my homework like the black plague.... Which brings to mind a paper I wrote on the Bubonic plague my second term into college titled “The Black Death”. My English comp. professor thought I was a freak but I got an A. My second paper? “How To Survive A Pap Smear”, it also got an A and had a little note from her at the bottom that said “This was hilarious! You should submit it to Cosmo.” There, see? I'm doing it right now. I'm avoiding my homework by blathering on about nothing. I digress.

And finally…..An open letter to the gentleman that wanted to discuss with me the possibility that he might have an internal hemorrhoid today.

Dear Sir,

You explained to me in the greatest form of depth and detail a human could possibly explain to another that you’re having a major ass issue. The detailed information you bestowed upon me in the course of nearly 45 minutes could have been neatly and less nauseatingly summed up in 5 minutes. You’ve admitted that you’ve purchased at least $50 in laxatives in the last few days. That money could and should have been spent on a doctors co-pay to figure out what the fuck is happening to your anus, rectum, lower intestines and stool.

Which brings me to my next point. Just because I can look you straight in the eye and use words like “anus”, “rectum” and “stool” without cracking a smile doesn’t mean I’m not in hysterics on the inside. It also does not mean I’m a doctor nor does it mean I want to discuss your “anus”, “rectum” or “stool” for 45 minutes. I am but a mere pharmacy technician. But since you want my “professional opinion” here it is. Your body is in my view sending out a pretty big mayday. A/ You’re in a great deal of pain. B/ Whatever is prohibiting you from taking the browns to the superbowl needs to be addressed, immediately. And C/ If you have an intestinal obstruction you could die. Really, what more needs to be said here?

I’d also like to take this opportunity to say that starting a conversation off with “Oh wow, ummm, I don’t know how comfortable I feel with telling such a pretty young lady and a complete stranger what I’m about to tell you….” should tell you something. It should tell you that if you’re uncomfortable with discussing your anus, rectum and stool with “such a pretty young lady and a complete stranger” that is not a doctor maybe you should do us both a favor and not. This does however raise a question in my mind. If your (temporary) reservation of telling me about your ass in such depth and detail was based on the fact that I’m a “complete stranger” then this would lead me to believe that all of your friends and or family know about this issue because they are not “complete strangers”. If none of them have told you to see a doctor you might want to re-evaluate your friendships after you fully evaluate (with a doctor) what is wrong with your tail end. Now that we both know you can muster the courage to take on such a taboo subject with a “pretty young lady” and “complete stranger” it is my deepest most sincere hope that you will take on this subject with your doctor before you kill yourself with laxatives.

In summery, I think you should ask my boss to give me a raise based soley on the fact that I held my composure like a Marine when you made the following statements throughout our conversation not once but twice (honestly, I really did hear you the first time) “It feels like my rectum is on fire when I use Prep-H wipes or laxative suppositories but it also hurts real deep inside so that must mean it’s an internal hemorrhoid, right?! I mean, it hurts so bad I double over!” and “I feel like there’s a hard stool up there and I wanna push all the time but nothing comes out!” With that last exclamatory statement I leave you sir. But before I do, please, for the love of all that is holy, go see a freaking doctor!