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If You Go to a Urologist, Expect to Get
a Long Device Jammed Up Your Schwartz
by Frank Haskins
When you're Frank Haskins, you pretty much expect to
get screwed 24/7. But you know what they say, "Variety
is the spice of life," so it's always nice to get
fucked over on several different levels. Keeps things
interesting that way.
Take today, for instance. There was the power outage
in the middle of the night, which flubbed up my alarm
clock, which in turn caused me to oversleep, which in
turn got me in to work 45 minutes late, which in turn
led to my boss "repacking my lunch," if you catch my
drift. Then there was the call from the bank informing
me that I had been turned down for a home equity loan,
thanks to my soon-to-be-ex-wife putting our credit
rating into the shitter with her 17 fucking charge
cards.
Well, I thought I had already been raked over pretty
good by lunchtime. Little did I realize that up to
this point, the evil forces of nature had only doled
out a little foreplay. For I had yet to go to my
appointment with a urologist.
Do you know what a urologist does for a living? He
fucks you over. I shit you not. He jams a long goddamn
tube up your johnson, and let me tell you, you have
not been truly fucked over until you've been fucked by
a urologist.
By the time I finished my little tea party with Dr.
Milosevic, the night was still young. Plenty of
opportunities to getted fucked were still ahead,
including my teenage son getting suspended from
school, the cable TV crapping out, and the toilet
overflowing after a healthy dump. To cap it all off, I
couldn't even scrape together enough change for a
Pabst Blue Ribbon on tap at the bar.
To quote Dickens, "It was the best of times, it was
the worst of times, but mostly, it was a time for
fucking Frank Haskins."
(Reported by Miles Walker)
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The Daily Probe is updated every Tuesday or whenever we damn well feel like it.
Copyright 2001-2004 / All Rights Reserved No use allowed without prior permission.
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