It was Saturday evening, and I had just dropped my movie ticket into the toilet in a local movie theater’s bathroom. The toilet was filled with impressive, neon yellow piss. It was nearly glowing with a haunting lack of dilution. It was not my piss. I stared aghast, as the ticket began to sink into the yellow horror. I didn’t know what to do. For as gross as I am, I don’t traffic in Movie Theater Piss Play with strangers. I probably just let you down, huh?

I had been acting like an asshole, and that’s how it goes.

Lately I’ve been suffering a wonderful hypochondriac madness. I’ve been certain, for no good reason, that I have some sort of penis, testicular, groin-based cancer. For no good reason. This has led to me confusingly rubbing my balls every twenty minutes. Checking for lumps. I’m not sure what I’m looking for. So I just rub my balls in a madness, confirm that I can’t feel anything worthwhile, and go back to my life. Certain that I have some sort of nut cancer, I just can’t find it.

Welcome to my world.

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