Parrothead Ramblings

Go ahead. Make my day.

Well, Friday was the big day for "Crime Dog's Great Ass-Cam Adventure Ride." It's just one of those little joys that we all have to look forward to as we become Pirates Looking at 50.

Let me tell you, the ass-cam is a proverbial piece of cake. It's the rollup to the ass-cam that is both a literal and figurative pain in the ass. Here's the regime:

1) No solid food from Wednesday lunch till after the Great Ass-Cam Adventure Ride on Friday morning.

2) Drink liquids till you slosh. Pretty much anything except citrus and dairy. They also told me not to partake of red Gatorade or red Jell-o. I can only imagine why. Yeesh.

3) Let's see....I think its five laxatives in all. They want you shittin' through a screen door before you can take the Great Ass-Cam Adventure Ride.


So I showed up at Banner Samaritan Hospital Friday morning and registered for the Ride. Great people down there! I actually had a $100 dollar bill in my pocket that I took along to make my co-payment (It costs a total of $1650 to enjoy the Great Ass-Cam Adventure Ride. I asked). Somewehere along the way, I lost the C-note and had nothing but an empty pocket when I registered.

No problemo, Crime Dog. You can still ride. We'll bill you.

That was a pleasant surprise. I figured they'd shout "NEXT" and have a bouncer throw my thoroughly worn but clean ass out of the joint. Anyway, The Fetching Mrs. Crime Dog found that I had simply dropped the hunnerd in my car. Problem solved.

They brought me in to something called an "Endoscopy Ward." Aptly named, for it looks as though they scope a fair number of ends in there. I changed into the obligatory hospital garb where your ass hangs out in the wind, but they gave me a second one to wear frontwards so I didn't do the "Nicholson Walk" from Something's Gotta Give.

I was wired up like a bad Disco and wheeled on down to the Great Ass-Cam Adventure Ride, where I fully expected to have to wait in a long line while passing those signs that say "Your wait will be 45 minutes from this spot." Not so! I was ushered right into the ride's staging area, where I found a machine with a big black cable hanging from it, right alongside a tube of lubricant. The cable had lines on it that apparently marked its length. It seemed to be about 100 yards long and a foot thick. I turned my head and refused to look, repeating over and over again to myself:

thinandshortthinandshortthinandshort.

The Doc showed up, and he seemed a nice enough guy. I tried to offset my uneasiness with subtle Crime Dog humor:

Hey, I hear you're really a crack physician.

I bet there's a lot of openings in this line of work.

You must meet a lot of real assholes doing this.

He laughed good naturedly, and I realized that by now, this guy had to have heard them all, so I asked him his personal favorite. Turns out it's "Rear Admiral."

That's the last thing I remember. The nurse stuck something in my IV and I was out like a fat girl in a dodgeball game. Next thing I knew, I was waking up with The Fetching Mrs. Crime Dog at my side. No muss. No fuss. No memory. The best thing about it was that they pump air up your ass to inflate everything so they can see better. When you wake up, they want their air back, so they actually insist that you fart before you go home. Hell, I turned pro at that game many years ago. I rattled their windows real good and they sent me on home. I managed to sleep till about 2:00PM, but never did get my head planted back squarely onto my shoulders till the following morning.

So, Parrotheads, I highly recommend Dr. Larson, as well as the Phine Pholks down at Banner Samaritan when it comes time for your own Great Ass-Cam Adventure Ride. You can't go wrong: Get a day off work, take a nice nap, fart, and go eat lunch.

What could be better?
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