And I’m about to tell you about one of the more intimate places things break down. If you’re at all squeamish or the type to scream “too much information!” at the merest hint of something personal, you’ll probably want to surf elsewhere.

No, seriously, scram. Vamoose. Get lost.

The rest of you still with me? You’re sure.

Okay, here we go, starting with a new post title:

MORE THAN YOU EVER WANTED TO KNOW ABOUT MIKE’S ASS BECAUSE YOU WERE AFRAID TO ASK

So I found this lump in my asshole this morning.

Late last night and early this morning I kept feeling like I had a turtle head going on, but the feeling didn’t fade, even after my morning constitutional. I still didn’t think much of it as I climbed into the shower. I shampooed. Ran through a kata’s techniques. Soaped up a rag. Started washi– what in the hell was that?

I damn near jumped out of the shower when I felt it. Not too painful, but enough to get a man’s attention, especially when it’s radiating from the rim of his sphincter like this was. At first I thought it might be a hernia. Maybe I pulled or popped something during last night’s karate workout. Maybe the loaded push-ups were a bit too much, and now my guts are flying apart like a ball of rubber bands.

But no, that didn’t make sense. If I had a hernia, I’d be in a lot more pain. At least, I think I would. I made another tentative probe and then it hit me:

It’s a hemorrhoid! I’ve got the frickin’ piles.

I’m officially old.

Reading through the Wikipedia page did not exactly fill me with glee, either. Phrases like “manually reduce,” “rubber band ligation,” and “transanal hemorrhoidal dearterialization” are enough to set me clenching, kicking off another quick jolt of pain.

And I sure as hell don’t want to go through a doppler guided hemorrhoidal artery ligation. I don’t know what it is, but I could have gone my whole life without ever hearing that phrase in relation to my own anus. Really. I have visions of doctors shrinking a B-2 like the sub in Fantastic Voyage and sending it in to take care of business.

“I say we take off and nuke the entire site from orbit. It’s the only way to be sure.”

Which begs the question, should I see a doctor? How bad could a colonoscopy be, anyway? *clickety-click*

Aaagh! Aaaagghh!! AAAAAGGGHHH!!!

Damn you, YouTube. Damn you to Hell.

Especially for what starts around timestamp 2:30 in that second link. (Come on. You know you want to look.)

Needless to say, I’ll be starting with my own treatments, thank you. I think a nice hot bath tonight will be in order. In the meantime, I’ve dismantled the porcelain library. Getting sucked into magazine articles for a half hour after pinching off a couple brownies probably hasn’t been doing me any favors. I’m also drinking plenty of water today to hydrate up, and I’ll hit the Metamucil hard for some (obviously) much-needed fiber.

At work I slapped together a standing desk and I’ve managed to stay on my feet all day except for a few minutes to eat lunch.

Samurai Jack remains ever vigilant in front of the monitors. Maybe he could put that little sword to use.

A more drastic measure may be the serious investigation of a squat toilet. I’ve read about them before, and the claim is Eastern cultures employing squat toilets have a far lower incidence of things like hemorrhoids than the Western world. Squat toilets are so prevalent out that way that they’ve even become an Olympic problem for China. It does look a bit awkward, but right now I’d be game to try it. Gravity rules.

All I can do now is hope this thing fades, and cross my fingers that it’s not actually a perianal hematoma. (Tell me that’s not a tasty after-dinner picture!) The blue tinge may be the giveaway, but I’m not sure how I’m going to get my wife to take a look for me. This isn’t exactly something one volunteers for, you know? Maybe I should go into the bathroom, strip down, grab my ankles, aim for the door, and call her in. I’m sure that will go over great. Nothing helps a hemorrhoid like a size 8 shoe wedged up your ass.

I’ll let you know.