Vacation

Starting in less than a week I will be going on what I am trying to look at as a vacation from my usual routine. Due to some fucked up legal circumstances the house that my pops and I plan on moving into wont be ready for around 3 or 4 weeks, and we have to be out of this place, since it’s already been sold, on or around the 21^st. The old man and I are going to be staying at my aunt’s late father’s house in Carrolton. On one hand, it’s going to be free. On the other, it’s fucking Carrolton. You know where that is? No, I really don’t either. But I’m trying to look at this as a break, where I can just chill and play guitar and read without the distraction of the internet. Oh, did I mention that? Yeah, I will have no internet for around a month. They don’t make a fucking patch for that.

The last vacation I took was in 2002. I was working at Subway and had been there for over a year and what passes for the management there said I had acquired a week’s vacation. You know, like one of the chance cards in Monopoly. So having a week off and a girlfriend who liked to nag the hell out of me, we “decided” on a road trip. Since my at the time Girlfriend’s freshman year roommate lived in North Carolina, and North Carolina had a beach, I was pretty much ok with that. Oh how wrong I was.

Before going on said vacation, I decided to go shopping. And like most of my shopping at the time it took place mildly intoxicated at Wal-Mart at 3 a.m. I’m buying crap like suntan lotion and shorts, the usual stuff like that. Then I realize that I’m probably going to need a swimsuit since we are going to be on the beach, from what I hoped, was most of the vacation. Being an intoxicated spendthrift I refused to pay $30 for a new pair of trunks. I decided, instead, on the lowrange pair that cost maybe $9.88 judging on the usual pricing scheme of Wal-Mart. The $10 swimsuit didn’t have a mesh liner sewn into it by the 9 year olds in the sweatshop, which didn’t really bug me since I had no idea what I was in for.

About 5 days into the vacation we sent to the beach on a day when the ocean was angry. Angry not just at humanity in general like on Captain Planet, but with me personally for some reason. At the time I did not know Aquaman apparently put a hit on me. So I put on my cheap swim trunks and wade out like the fat tourist I was and jumped in. Things were going great for maybe the first few hours. But it seems the time I spent playing in the water like anyone from Ohio on vacation does, was also time the waves spent thrashing my unmeshed, thus unencumbered, penis against the poorly sewn inseam of a $10 swimsuit. Several hours of being thrown around in saltwater of the ocean. Inseam! Pain! Saltwater! Girlfriend and Carolina Roommate decided that since it was getting dark (and I was secretly broken in the pants) we needed to hit the liquor store. I was completely fine with that plan since the chances of the ocean wrecking my man-parts any more were zero. So we hit the state store, and I get booze and since it is North Carolina, a few completely legal bottles of Everclear. Then we had to hit the local Wal-Mart so we could get mixers and I could get something first aid like to fix my now angry penis.

The second we hit the hotel room I limped to the bathroom with a bottle of Everclear and my ramshackle penis repair kit to grab a shower and inspect the damage. ‘My penis is still attached!’ I thought and sighed with relief. But the tip of it looked like a skinned knee. I cried a little inside like a mother that sees her child fall off a bike and took several hearty swigs from the bottle and grabbed the med-kit and sat on the toilet. Now let me give you a bit of helpful advice: under no circumstances should you EVER spray your penis with spray disinfectant, even if it does look like you dropped an electric sander on the tip. I only realized that a split second after I pressed the nozzle and before the alcohol based spray hit the skin as my brain shouted “wait…this stuff STINGS!” that this was the worst idea ever. It was like Matrix bullet-time. I could see the molecules of liquid. It felt like a hand-job of fire with pain as lubricant. And I’m not at all ashamed to say that I dropped to the hotel bathroom floor with tears in my eyes and Everclear dripping out the side of my mouth. Then I crawled into the shower, turned on the coldest water possible, laid down and cried like a rape victim. For maybe half an hour.

I finished having my cry and my shower and toweled off gently. Now for the application of bandages. Now I’m not sure if you’ve ever considered it logically, but do you know how hard it is to keep a bandage or gauze or ANYTHING on your penis while it is flopping around in a pair of boxers? Gravity is against you, since it points down when at rest. Plus like a switchblade, it could go off at any moment. You don’t want it wrapped in something tight if you suddenly see or think of something sexy that kicks away the flaccids. Plus it’s not like a finger where you can just tighten it up or use more tape. I didn’t want to cut off circulation and run the risk of losing Obi-Wan or throw a tether line of tape around the Skywalker twins. I mean this story is bad enough without having to go to the hospital or losing my junk. So I just wrapped it up like a mummy and threw some Neosporin and gauze on it. That worked fine until we started drinking.

It seems like that if you’re in no condition to have sexual relations, even if your partner knows it, she will not take no for an answer. Especially if Girlfriend is very very drunk on alcohol that is illegal in her home state. Now I’m not even sure my penis will even still work or if it’s in a coma or if it’s going to turn into a butterfly from all the gauze or what. But it turns out that if this noble pants monster, this King among peni, was going to die; he was going to die standing up. So he went in the ring, like Rocky at the end of the first movie of the same name and gave it the best he could. It was quite possibly the worst sex I’ve ever had in my entire life. The condom rubbed right where my penis looked like a skinned knee. Semen tends to burn if it gets a cut. Needless to say right afterwards I went and had a rape victim cry on the floor of the shower and drank a little more. Then more Neosporin and gauze. Needless to say I didn’t go back to the beach that week.

But the Epilogue to this horror tale is that after about a week or so of a gauze cocoon and painkillers, my guy was good as new. I still have a very little scar, but no one lasting damage. I just hope that this little vacation is better than the last one. I won’t be swimming, and if I do I’m getting a suit with mesh. And maybe a condom just for good measure.

Thanks for reading, but that’s it for now, kids.

Dr. Robinson