Bagged Lunch.

As you may have already concluded from my handle, I suffer from an ailment. I have lived with this ailment and the problems that arise with it for quite some time now. It is an embarrassing life, but it is all I know. I’m a captain in the U.S. military. I’m constantly put into situations where I am unable to do things that most people can. Being a captain in the U.S. military, my mental prowess is that of a loaf of bread. You can imagine that this hinders my ability to excel in anything in life, excluding the U.S. military that is.

Ok, ok, enough of the crap. I have Crohn’s disease which in most cases is known as Crohn’s/Ulcerative colitis. The two conditions are for the most part, the same. The captain title is more of an endearment from my friends and loved ones. I allow the title because it sparks my sense of irony. My friends and loved ones are there for me to command. I am their leader. I own people. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I am better then my friends and loved ones. Because of this, I like it when they call me their captain. Everyone should acknowledge the title and my superiority.
Now that we have established my superiority over you, you have my permission to read on. Anyone that has already read on without my permission is a terrorist and America will come and attack you in Iraq where we know all of the terrorists hide. AMERICA!!! We’re the greatest country on the planet, or we’ll bomb you.

All joking aside, I do suffer from Crohn’s disease. That’s nothing new for me or any of my loyal subjects. Crohn’s is a fun disorder. You get to visit the hospital and see all the nice people. They take pretty pictures of you with really big cameras. The photographers are scared of the cameras, and always hide in the photographer booth when they take pictures. Sometimes they give me a shake before we take pictures. I like shakes! If you’re too friendly with the nice people, they take naughty pictures of your insides. If you complain about the naughty pictures they put you to sleep and take them anyways. I can tell when they want to take naughty pictures of me now. I don’t mind so much anymore. Sometimes I get to stay in the hospitals for weeks at a time and I get room service all day and night. They actually care enough about me when I stay to come in and check on me during the night. I mean come one, what hotel have you stayed at where the maid comes in 4 times in the night to check your pulse, blood pressure, temperature, and weight? Evidently, they are really afraid that I might have just up and FUCKING DIED in the middle of the night for no reason at all. They are worried about it enough that they have to come in 4 times after midnight to see if my vital signs have mysteriously jumped from normal to HOLY FUCK, HE HAS THE SPACE PLAGUE!!! I didn’t even know that you could catch the space plague without exposure to terrorists. I’ve never been to Iraq, I figured I was safe. The nice people in the hospital know better, they treat you right, with every precaution taken. You will be checked for the space plague every two hours. If you come down with the space plague, they will take every measure required to ensure that you die a dirty, horrible, screaming death. We hate people with the space plague.

You do need to be careful around the nice the people in the hospitals. Sometimes they decide that parts of your body are dangerous to you. They say that your body is in disarray because these dangerous parts are starting to plot secretively to harm you. Sometimes they can give you medicine to keep the rebels calm and stop them from rallying too many others to their cause. If the rebels are crazy or persistent, they sometimes resort to separating the trouble causers. This is all fine and dandy in theory. To put it another way, THEY CUT YOU OPEN AND PULL OUT YOUR INSIDES!!! Yeah, think about it. Think about slicing open someone and handling their insides. Could you resist playing around while you have your hands in that? How many times do you get to cut someone open, play with the warm wetness of their inner-self, remove part of them, all the while smiling and offering up a sacrifice to Kali. Yeah, that’s right; I would play with your vital organs if I were your surgeon, reenacting old movie scenes. And afterwards, you would THANK me for it and PAY me a lot of money.

So… All of this has been leading to one thing. I shit in a bag. Yep. I defecate in a plastic receptacle which hangs around my abdomen. I shit in a goddamn BAG! The NICE people in the hospitals decided that my ASSHOLE was too rebellious to stay in my body performing its designated function of ensuring that my lunch doesn’t fall out of my body. They knocked me out, spread my happy ass, eagle, and sliced the hole, right out of my ass. Now, I’m sure that my asshole learned its lesson, but what about me? I didn’t rebel against my body. I didn’t do anything to deserve losing my lunch catcher. So while I was whining about losing my beloved butt funnel, the nice people gave me a new distinguishing feature. They cut a hole in my abdomen and pulled what was left of my colon through the hole. They sewed the ends of the colon to my abdomen, leaving me with a Shit spitting maw on my belly. Evidently, this bastardized solution for rerouting one’s waste is actually still acceptable! They cut a NEW hole in your abdomen, they cut your colon free from its normal home, and then they shove the remaining colon through your freshly sliced abdomen thus granting everyone’s life long wish to be able to watch while they crap. Seriously, doesn’t this sound like the kind of mongoloid, putting the square piece into the circle slot solution to a problem that should have been thrown out for something better a long time ago? Oh well. Until our Doctors are graced with the ability to think of new and interesting ways to solve problems, we can always fall back on the tried and true methods of drug it up until everything is too fucked to care, and if it isn’t doing what you want, CUT IT THE FUCK OUT! Remember, Doctors are practicing medicine, they aren’t always right. If something sounds dumb, you can disagree with doctors. Just talk to some of my old doctors that decided I should what they wanted without question.