Jim Varagona

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“Hey, what’s up man? My hand was just in my butt.”

By the way, if you disagree with my thoughts here, you may as well wear this.

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Imagine her with an iron gripped claw.

You must understand we hadn’t heard of such things at that age. His story was unfathomable. And his mother watched?! It must’ve been a joke.

Throughout the day, more boys were pulled from class, one by one, without explanation. They came back with an unexplainable look of horror on their face. The stories were true. Surely, my mother wouldn’t allow such a thing to happen to me. This ridiculous medical exam wouldn’t occur on her watch. My examinations and immunizations were up to date.

Then it happened.

My name was called. I took the long walk down the green mile to the faculty lunch room. It was cold. I pulled back the giant brown curtain to reveal a pudgy, old nun. Right away, she told me to take off my pants. I stood there dumbfounded. She told me again with that tone that suggests I do it if I know what’s good for me.

I dropped my drawers around my ankles and kicked the pile to the side.

“What are you doing?,” she asked with force. “Is that how you do it at home? Put them over that chair.”

My god, my god…why have you forsaken me?

I followed General Penguin’s orders. She grapped the waistband of my tightie-whities and pulled it forward. Her wrinkled, dry, and cold claw for a hand reached forward and grabbed my testicles. She ordered a cough, so I coughed.

Next she had me piss in a cup. I’ve done that drill before. For some reason, she wouldn’t let me close the door though. Granted my back was to her, but it’s still creepy. These situations give me stage fright. It turns a standard 20 second piss into a 3 minute affair.

After I finished, she had me put my clothes back on, and I scampered off like one of those female mongeese on National Geographic that were freshly violated by the aggressive male mongoose.

Well my co-workers seemed concerned that I would share this story with them and at lunch. They asked if she was wearing gloves, and frankly I don’t recall. I may need hypnosis to figure that out.

Looking back it seems like such a bizzare way to give boys their first “man physical”. Now when I go to the zoo, I break out in a sweat when I pass the penguins. Beware of those Catholic schools. I’ve already discussed my repulsion for the priests and their back rubs. Maybe I could sue them for making me the lesser man I am today.

>I can’t believe it. A new variety of Anti-Monkey Butt! This one combats that nasty friction you get between your thighs and chafes them until you walk like a cowboy or our president.

It also has a sweat absorber powder, which I need 10 minutes into my day because I sweat like I weigh 400 pounds. I also noticed that women have a need for this in terms of boob sweat…no fooling!

I admit this rant came about because I was checking stats for my blog, and the most searched phrase that leads to my blog is “anti-monkey butt”, because of a previous posting. The other search results lead to that boob sweat stuff…man, people blog about everything.

Anyway pick up some of the new AMBP. You can have discreetly delivered to your door if you’d like.

http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=diabetoboycom-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&asins=B0006B08O6&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&lc1=0000ff&bc1=000000&bg1=ffffff&f=ifr

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I spent the transition of years with rowdy teenagers unfortunately. It wasn’t all that bad though, considering how many poor schmucks I got to watch, like John (pictured above), that got incredibly wasted and puked their innards up.

These are the times of their lives.

Anyway, I look forward to the coming year. I will be wed this year, further entrench myself in debt, and hopefully make a movie and conquer the world. I also plan to revamp my main page of diabetoboy.com and launch an advice column, because the public demands that I share my wisdom.

May all your resolutions and hopes for the year be lost after one week.

I’m kidding.

…well maybe.