alcohol free
Straining for kidney stones has me feeling the spirit of '49, a golden rush of excitement every time I drop my drawers neatly around my ankles. I imagine myself a PROSPECTOR and my full bladders (there's two, right?) much like the bottle bottoms of Goldschlager, all that flaky goodness. I think it will soon be en vogue at my place of employment to use the restroom no fewer than 15 times per day (before lunch), how much I've been smiling at the urinal (I know, I know, I should probably use the stall, since it's not nice to flaunt all this good fortune, at the very least I could probably do without clenching in glee every time the tin pan goes CLINK).
Still, I look forward to taking all my winnings to the doctor. Followed, of course, by a roll in the hay with a soiled dove.
/cue the ducks
ME: Here you go. Remember, I'm WATCHING YOU, so no tipping the strainer over towards those openings in the wooden floorboards. I KNOW EVERY TRICK IN THE SALOON.
Doctor: Hmm.
ME: What's that? Is that a stone?
Doctor: Looks like a piece of lint.
ME: WHAT ABOUT THAT? IS THAT A STONE?
Doctor: No, that appears to be a peanut M&M.
ME: OKAY, WHAT ABOUT THAT ONE!?! SURELY THAT ONE IS A STONE!
Doctor: It's a tube of lip balm.
ME: IT'S MINE! ALL MINE!!! HAHAHAHA! RICH, I TELL YOU!
Doctor: I'm gonna go ahead and clear you to resume alcoholic beverage consumption now.
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