I am not friends with any doctors. There are none in my family or social circle who I could call for free advice on anything. And so there’s really no way that I would know any of their inside jokes. My friends, my family—they’re all blue collar guys: carpenters, construction workers, electricians. I know the gags they like to pull, like making you touch the hot black top to “see if it’s done,” just to watch you burn your fingerprints off or “hold the ground wire” while they flip the power on. That’s their idea of funny and I quite enjoy it. But one would think that doctors, with all their knowledge and money, would have more intellectual pranks, but no. We’re all the same. We all get kicks from watching others suffer.
Recently I had my second and final child. It was decided some time ago that this one would be our last. We have limited space in our home and limited income, so regardless of whether the second kid was a boy or a girl, we were done.
The next discussion was what form of birth control would we use for the rest of our days. (I’m sure my poor wife, who has to deal with constantly getting raped in her sleep, was probably hoping I would suggest abstinence.)
Here were the options:
—Tubes tied. (Out. I read about too many problems for the women down the road.)
—IUD (Out. Nothing plastic in or near my wife’s vagina unless it’s in the shape of an animal and takes batteries.)
—Rubbers (Out. I’ve worked too hard in life to be banished to age 16 for eternity.)
—Pull Out Method (Out Out! I know my luck. I’ll end up being one of those weirdos with 19 kids.)
—Getting Snipped (Bingo! Only takes ten minutes and “it doesn’t hurt.”)
That’s the set up for the biggest gag in the medical profession. For its origin I picture a bunch of fat fucks in lab coats at a poker table drinking whiskey, trading silly work stories when one says, “So this guy walks into my office today to have me slice his balls open with a knife and burn his fuel line and then has THE BALLS to ask if it’s going to hurt. It’s your fucking balls we’re talking about here! Wind hurts them! Cold water hurts them! I just smiled and was like, “Oh, no. Vasectomies don’t hurt. You won’t feel a thing. You might just be a little sore afterwards”
They all erupt with laughter.
“I love it.”
“I’m gonna have to use that one! “A little sore!” Ha!”
And so the joke spread across the land. Generations passed and eventually it became part of the straight-faced script that the doctors and nurses read from.
Yes, the nurses are in on it, too. It’s taught in nursing school. I mean, how is someone with a vagina going to tell someone with balls how anything having to do with a pecker feels?
So here’s the joke: A half-Polish/half-Portuguese guy walks into a doctor’s office to get his balls snipped. The fat nurse who was there for his consultation has been replaced by what looks like a stripper. Name? Anastasia. She tells the man to undress from the waist down. “Don’t be shy,” she says, leaning forward to accentuate her cleavage. The half-Pollack tries to strike up conversation to divert attention from his full-boner. On cue the stripper/nurse delivers one of the scripted one-liners written for this staged scenario, “Oh! You’re excited for your vasectomy, huh?” Wocka wocka.
The man sits on the operating table and delivers his line, “How bad is this going to hurt?” Nurse: “Not at all. You won’t feel a thing. You might just be a little sore afterwards”
The doctor enters the room and repeats the nurse’s three lines. They have the routine down pat.
The man lies back and looks up at the white drop ceiling, never diverting his eyes from those 2’x 2’ foam panels making him unable to see the doctor silently giggling when he sticks the first needle in the sack and says, “Just a little pinch.”
The second needle is longer, has more medicine, and feels like it’s shot directly into the ball and its job is to crush the testicle like a grape.
“You might feel this one,” the doctor says, most likely with a huge smile on his face.
The man feels it very much. Straight to the core of his being. A dominatrix gets 500 to 1000 dollars an hour to administer less pain. The man hopes his insurance will cover this claim for S&M.
The third needle in the other ball is worst.
Picture what Gallagher does to watermelons with a sledgehammer.
“You should be good and numb now,” the doctor tells the man. “Shouldn’t feel a thing now.”
A snicker is heard. The man thinks he imagined it.
Then an incision is made with a scalpel.
The man was not good and numb.
He felt a great many things and he lets the doctor know in a very loud, primal delivery of the word, “FUCK!”
If the man looked up he might have seen the stripper sticking her tongue out in glee and giving the doctor an ass-pat for his uncanny comedic chops.
More medicine is injected. The sense of touch has been eliminated from the gag.
Now the doctor goes to work on the man’s sense of sound and smell.
Instruments are purposely dropped into metal pans and scissors scream their cutting sounds relentlessly right next to the man’s ear for effect. The man is certain he hears a chainsaw fire up.
The man wonders, “If they’re just cauterizing a wire thin tube, should the entire room really reek of burning fleshing?”
The man swears there is a campfire in the corner and the stripper is just tossing body hair and corpse flesh onto the flame.
When the man is told to sit up the doctor is gone (most likely exited through a trap door in the floor) and he is alone with the stripper.
She begins to tell him things, important things about his manhood, which she knows he won’t remember because he’s been brutalized.
She says something about not lifting more than 20 pounds (or was it ten?) or else the balls will swell like a cantaloupe. (Or was it a mango?)
“You’re probably wondering, ‘when can I have sex again?’” she says.
The man wasn’t wondering that. He was wondering how the table was covered with so much dick-blood.
“Whenever you’re UP to it,” she says, laughing. “Get it? UP to it?”
The man hates her.
“The first few times your ejaculate will have blood in it or it’ll be brown or black,” she tells him.
Super. The man assumes it’s some sort of dye to heighten the effect of the joke.
Are you ready for the punch line?
Are you even still reading?
The stripper tells the man, “You might experience a little soreness for the next few days.”
A LITTLE SORENESS???
Oh, you must not be a doctor.
See, what makes that line so hilarious for doctors is that “might” is actually “DEFINITELY,” and “a little,” is really “A SHIT TON.”
What they should actually say is, “Sir, have you ever been kicked in the balls by a professional soccer player? Did you enjoy it? How would you like to get kicked in the balls by a professional soccer player for the next 48 hours, non-stop?”
But that would give away the gag prematurely. It’s way funnier to say, “You might experience a little soreness for the next few days,” and then wait for the anesthetic to wear off.