| Raging Pencils
web comic, by Mike
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This is a story about how I didn't get the clap.
You see, one of the many things no one tells you when you first set out on the
Camino Real Te Amor is that, as a part of the act of love, the magical female
moisturizing fluids which grease the Greatest Show On Earth sometimes comes loaded
with tiny, naturally-occurring nano-ninjas that sneak down your meat-pipes and
sabotage your man-bits.
The symptoms look exactly like gonorrhea. (Incidentally, this is the happy, friendly
gonorrhea of Woodstock and disco days I'm referring to, not today's vicious strain
which can strip the flesh off of a pharmaceutical lobbyist in 5 minutes.)
When this first happened to me I went to see the family doctor, a grizzled and
rapidly deteriorating veteran of, apparantly, the War of Independence. As I entered
the examination room the biggest, fattest, nastiest, ugliest nurse I'd ever seen
plopped her butt in a chair by the door, crossed her arms and waited. Expectantly.
Although my experiences with physicians up to that point had been somewhat limited
this seemed a trifle odd. So when the doctor asked what I was there for I looked
at the nurse, and then at the doc, then back at the nurse before blurting out
something gross and slimey was being puked up by Little Mikey.
The nurse promptly stood up, left the room and loudly called to her nurse buddies
down the hall "He's got the clap!"
The antibiotics he prescribed had only a temporary effect as the symptoms quickly
returned. Needless to say, the words my girlfriend and I were exchanging at this
time were laced with anything but affection.
Luckily for the both of us I chose to visit the free clinic the next time this
happened, whereupon a much younger and more enlightened physican cleared things
"Infected prostate. Happens all the time. Take these pills for two weeks.
By the time I finally caught a real case of the clap my family doctor had passed
on, taking the big nurse with him. Too bad. I think she would have enjoyed it.
Raging Pencils is a massive conceit courtesy
Stanfill, Private Hand
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