Pray For My Crotch

There is a crisis looming on the horizon that has the potential to adversely the very fabric of our society. Please pay careful attention, because I cannot overstate the gravity of this situation. No, I don't have advanced notice of an impending terrorist plot nor am I talking about an inevitable financial meltdown. No, this crisis is related to matters of a far more serious nature: This involves my crotch.

As you are well aware, my crotch serves as a cultural center for much of Western civilization and is even revered as a minor deity by the Maasi tribe of eastern Africa. Moreover, it has been demonstrated that my crotch holds the keys to solving the world's future energy problems. Unfortunately, it is my solemn duty to inform you that my crotch is in grave danger. There is a specter hanging over my crotch and I'm not talking about another helium filled Inflate-a-Annie doll. Last week, I managed to give myself an inguinal hernia (not lunch safe). Per my medical professional, an inguinal hernia consists of the separation of the abdominal muscle wall, allowing some serious shit to protrude through the resulting hole. Thus, I'm scheduled to see a serious shit specialist sometime this week to schedule surgery.

In the meantime, the doctor said that I am to refrain from any type of heavy lifting. This posed somewhat of a quandary, as I have to use the restroom several times a day. Fortunately, I put my engineering skills to work and came up with a solution:


Because of the astonishing resilience of my crotch, I am hoping for a full recovery. Per my medical professional, I'll be back to my crotch pilates routine in virtually no time. That's not to say that there won't be several days of healing required. In fact, any of my female readers who are available to provide sponge baths and therapeutic crotch massages should contact me immediately.