Back to something lighter and more useful. Writing that last post gave me the gout, and I've been fasting and living off of only vinegar and Frank's Kraut Juice for the past ten days. I've lost over twenty pounds and the nightmares have lessened to the point where I sleep like a squirrel again. Here's Whiski Rae Shamrock's latest proctodermatologic tip:
Hi folks!
Dr. Whiski Rae Shamrock back with more advice concerning that living fabric which covers our bioarmature and feels oh so nice to caress and lick. In my practice as a proctodermatologist, I often see patients who mistakenly use soap to cleanse themselves after their morning evacuation, then fail to rinse properly in their rush to earn their daily dime. Come about eleven am or so and the itching can be intense. The reason? Natural anal juices are soothing and seep imperceptibly from glands lining the inner mucosa of the colon's last hurrah. These juices aren't in the least feculent, and their aroma is in fact pleasing, reminding some observers of brownies fresh from the oven, and me of a piping hot beignet dunked into a frothy goat's milk chicory latte at the Cafe DuMond. Yum, yum! Harsh soaps shut down the production of these juices, however, for up to twelve hours, leading to inflammation and the dreaded "bung bite," as we Cajuns call it. Scratching the offended area isn't very socially acceptable, and actually worsens the condition, owing to the release of histamine. Insertion of an ice cube into the heinie hole every five minutes for a couple of hours does ease the discomfort, but can cause frostbite and the eventual sloughing of tissue, which causes an unholy mess that tends to run down one's leg at the most unfortunate time.
So, what to do? Here's where an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Don't soap your crack unless you're in the shower! Otherwise use udder balm or llama lanolin as hygienic emollients, or, oddly, Arby's Sweet 'n' Sour Sauce. Apply these products directly with your hand, which you can wash off later. Take Q-tips and use them to gently separate your cheeks for an hour if you have the time, thus allowing for natural drying. Or go to a harmonic aesthetician or an organocosmetic enemologist for alternative therapies, including dark chocolate douches, meconium crystals, pulsatile ginger hosings and the Great Rubidium Pyramid of Gandor. And consider purchasing "Gator Ethel's Bayou Thundermug and Reckum Sprayer," which Plumbers' Digest named best new product of 2005 in the "Miscellaneous/Unnecessary" category.
Unnecessary my ass! Gator Ethel suffered terribly from bung bite for years, which kept her from pursuing her stripping career in Atlantic City, as the humid New Orleans air at least offered her some small measure of fundamental relief. Let's turn the laptop over to her now:
"This is Miz Gator Ethel writen, th' number one pole dancer of th' French Quarter and inventor of th' world's most refreshin' toilet. Th' spellchek ain't worken but I is, and while y'all was getten you fancy schoolen, po' me was shaken my ample rear in th' worse nudie joints you ever dreamed of in th' world. An' durren those years I had myself one sore crack, yessir! You could a sanded me raw an' rubbed me with cayenne pepper an' I dont think I would hurt anymore than I hurted. I tell you, cher, I cried th' night away after I comes home from work. I wents to doctors, voodoo witches, chiropracks, priests and a healer down on Jackson Square. I could hardly walk an' was one pair a g-strings away from haven to go work for th' New Orleans Public Liberry in th' children's secktion. Then I sees this clinic called "Clap and Clap," which th' girls sometimes frequented to heal themselves from diseases of th' trade and to worship th' Lord, as a lively gospel church shared th' premises with th' clinic. An' who do I see but a beautiful young doctor I reckonized from years before, my ol' dancen friend Whiski Rae Shamrock, now a doctor! Oh but we laughed an' hugged an' cried together! Then she gets down to doctorren business and checks me out real good, an' I hadn't been worked over like that for hours. She was peeren an' poken an' shinen lights up my yoohoo an' my merde canal an' swabben me clean. Th' stuff she found up there I cant even tell it's so embarrassen! An' she tells me I'm allergic to dollar bills, an' th' men will have to use plastic or coins thereafter when they reward me. But that was only th' start, for my bung bite required a month's stay at Charity Hospital an' many bizarre treatments involven sun lamps an' steroids an' pungent creams thick as gator gravy an' massages an' vitamins as big as a baby's fist an' some cutten of rotted skin. But I enjoyed myself overall, an' in occupational therapy I worked on a project that keeps me good an' clean. That's th' "Gator Ethel's Bayou Thundermug an' Reckum Sprayer." See, cher, I took an ol' bedpan that was extra big for the obese folk and drilled two holes in th' bottom. In one of them I inserted yore basic garden hose, an' in th' other an ol' hairdryer. Do yore stuff in th' mornen in comfort, give youself a good washen out, then blast yore bottom wi' the hairdryer. I tell you, cher, I aint never had bung bite since inventen this product. You send me a a check for $99.99 an' I send you back th' toilet of th' ages. Plus, a DVD of my exercise routine, 'Pole Away Yore Fat Ass.' You looken beaucoup better, cher, you follow my instruckions. My address is Gator Ethel Enterprises/PO Box666/New Orleans, LA 06572. Bye an' be good."
And bye to you, gentle readers. Yours for the biggest organ of the body.
Love,
Whiski Rae Shamrock, MD
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