I have gone over and over with myself, where I fucked up. Was it in nursery school when I didn’t want to sit next to Newton? Perhaps when I made fun of a really gross kid named, Kyle? Or it could have been basically loads and loads of people that I’ve purposely offended, hurt, scorned, etc. throughout my entire life.
A friend shared this FB Post with Bill Maher, where he addressed Karma. In short, Bill was going on about how Karma isn’t sending ill will into the universe to cause one cancer for xyz- rather, it’s supposed to be a positive feeling sent out- in the hopes that the one who wronged you will learn to atone.
Regardless, I met with the proctologist.
All I can tell you is that I would prefer to be dead. Dead, dead, dead. Every room we passed had some farkakte table with a kneeling area. I could not believe my eyes!
Any who, my mother and I entered the room and there was no way to sit on the table (see photo) and frankly, it frightened me.
Moments later, the doctor came into the room, asked a few questions and then… and then… he asked that I follow him around the back of the “bed” ish; I was to pull down my pants & underwear behind some paper curtain that didn’t cover me from my mother!
Yep, she was still in the chair, opposite the table and according to her, all she could see was my head as I was bent forward while the table rose and bent with me! Like some child about to be disciplined in some 1950s horror film.
I had no other place to look but at my mother’s face as I was being ass-handled with some long q-tip!
I just wanted to die and if he could have made that happen then and there, I wouldn’t be typing now. Unfortunately, I had to stay bent while my toosie was being pried apart and my sphincter was trying to remain shut so I wouldn’t shart everywhere.
Needless to say, they’re fissures and if I don’t get them to go down with potions, it’s propofol time.