"Oh, that's just an old wives' tale."
I've never thought about it before now, but that's a pretty hefty statement in the sexist department. I mean I've never heard, "Oh, that's just an old husbands' tale." I have to believe that many super- stitions, most disinformation, and the bulk of nonsense originated with men, simply because men are idiots.
Why would a woman, for example, pass this nugget of numbskullery down through her female line:
"Warts on the palm are caused by masturbation." Baloney. Everyone knows they're caused by handling frogs in the swamp out back.
Here's another example of dipshittery:
"If you sit on the toilet too long you'll get hemorrhoids." Baloney squared. I knew a fellow who had a terrible case of hemorrhoids, but I'm pretty sure he got them from sitting on a hard barstool all day long.
Personally, the toilet has always been my friend. Not only have I done my best thinking there, I've always used the quiet time to read and study, uh . . . stock and mutual fund prospectuses. I'm proud to say that our entire financial future has been planned on the can, and Martha will be retiring at the golden age of 97 with a treasure trove of two thousand pork belly futures.
This week, however, la toilette won't be so friendly. Utilitarian as hell to be sure, but hardly a place I want to sit for too long—who knows, I might get hemorrhoids.
On Thursday, dear readers, I will undergo my 326th medical test since 2003—not one of which I've asked for. It's a colonoscopy, and it requires all 45 feet of my intestines to be sparkling clean and springtime fresh. So I must spend Wednesday night and Thursday morning "cleansing" by drinking two litres of terrible tasting liquid and another litre of water.
Cleansing, my ass. Using the scientific theory of massive water pressure, we're talking about an explosion. Boy, is the dog gonna love this one, but I've got me all worked up about it.
Maybe I should take a nerve pill, settle down, and just hope that everything comes out alright.