Sunday, February 11, 2007

Mr. Freeze


Not to flog a dead horse, erm, but I am still coming to grips with certain future events. No, that's not right.

At the risk of punching the munchkin, oh, I mean pulling punches... I'm sorry. I won't beat around the bush (obviously). I am trying to shoot from the hip. Oh cripes... I mean, cough up the goods... ack, make an effort to relate my perspective on a... sticky subject without resorting to bowdlerism, euphemic babble, or male code.


Hmm. I just scheduled an appointment with a local fertility clinic/frozen sperm storage facility to enter into a (presumably) curtained booth likely on a main road somewhere, either in a glass house, or equipped with cameras beaming directly to some "niche" satellite station, so I may jerk off into a cup. I will head over there in less than two weeks. Of course, I did not call the office and announce "Hello, I am P-man. When may I attend your office and jerk off into a cup? Ha. Hahaha. When can I... come by?? Hahahaha... heehee." Of course not. First, that would be undignified and there is nothing, nothing at all, embarrassing of undignified about any of this. Second, far be it from me to discuss the itchy subject of vasectomies with strangers. That would betray a lack of dignity. No. I got a referral from my physician who likely wrote:

Dear Dr. Q,

Please see my patient P-man. He needs to attend your office and cough up the goods. Hahaha.

How are the kids?

Yours,

Dr. X

Thus sparing me the indignity referred to above.

I have quibbled about the tendency of those involved in this process to skirt the subject of vasectomy. Now I will complain anew.

The jerking off into a cup portion of this sorry affair involves some serious institutional euphemism. My appointment, not surprisingly, is not identified by the fully spelled version of the acronym JOIAC. No. It is called "the Freeze." Today I scheduled my Freeze. I will shortly be ushered into a curtained booth to the agonizing strains of Phil Collins with some well-worn pornography, and be given one hour to uh, perform. Into a cup. The Freeze... the Freeze it what happens AFTER the JOIAC event. I won't be there for that, but to pummel my point into submission, the portion of the process which involves my, uh, input (or output) is called: the Freeze! Come on. Can no-one keep a straight face?

Envisioning a styrofoam chalice,

P-man.

Labels: , ,

3 Comments:

Blogger Mad Hatter said...

May your cup runneth over.

9:51 a.m.  
Anonymous p-man said...

That is an excellent comment, but, eww.

10:02 a.m.  
Blogger Denver Dad said...

Wow! Thankfully my HMO let me "bring it in" from home. I think the performance anxiety would have killed me if I had to... oh, geez... "produce the freeze on demand!?"

Is it just me or does that sound like a Slurpee advertising campaign gone horribly wrong?

Good luck. I don't want to hear about your cup running anywhere....

1:15 p.m.  

Post a Comment

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home