Review: A Hemorrhoid

It was a cold winter morning; I was Russian; and the street was a cloud of children in their respective delusions. Little did they know, in general. Nor could they hope to pretend to know, for they were children; and children are terrible actors. They were fooling nobody. This is not to say that I was somebody, but let's just say I wasn't being fooled either.

It might have been a sad sight, but I had been work*-hardened; my eyes were waterproof--no less than my pants. My pants, now that I've got you wondering, were made of a stiff military-grade wool which I'd soaked in Scotch Guard for three days. So when I say my pants were waterproof, I think you'll agree: it was an undeniable fact. 

The hemorrhoid, as you can surely tell by now, induces a sort of mindless rambling. As it blocks the passage of shit (bull and otherwise) through the appropriate avenues, it is now forced out through other passages: notably those intended for communication. The expulsion of waste, being of such basic necessity, then supercedes any constructive discussion, until the source of the shit has been exhausted. 

The hemorrhoid may take the form of an alarming amount of blood from various orifices, notably the ass, which may or may not make up the entire person. Alternatively, it may take the form of a disturbing little nub in the butt, the sensation of which resembles a small ass-raping. In either case, it will not be resolved. You may apply a number of creams, but chances are that you will continue expelling shit through your conversations, bleeding from most of your body, and walking around with that disturbing little nub we discussed. This builds character. Eventually you will find that you are also Russian, criticizing the children in the dead of winter.

If you like to kid yourself into thinking that things need not be so, you might try thisstuff. Or, otherwise, one of these.

*My work, I don't mind saying, is of an eroticnature.