Roughly a year ago, I had a STAPH infection on my lower thigh about the size of a football with a pussey mass underneath my skin equivalent to the size of a six month old fetus.

That hurt like the dickens.

I went to the hospital, where I was examined over by a couple of peach fuzzed junior tards who scratched their heads, played tic-tac-toe on my leg with magic markers and prescribed to me pussy antibiotics that could barely kill a zit and sent me on my way.

The weakling antibiotics did manage to push the STAPH infection into a dormant stage which lasted about six months, before reappearing as festering boils on my ass; first as a golf ball on my right cheek, then a grapefruit on my left cheek, and ultimately as about twenty minis ready to become massive mothers all over the damn place.

That pain was HELL ON EARTH.

Again, I went to the hospital. This time I was examined by a senior doc who had looked over my chart and knew exactly what I was dealing with. Apparently, some new Super-STAPH that was resistant to antibiotics was in the epidemic stage in Europe and the United States.

Confident that this doc knew his business, I gladly dropped trawe so he could gaze at the beauty that was my hairy, boiled covered ass. *SMILE* As much pain as I was in, I still got a chuckle when I turned around and saw the look of abject terror on his face. His eyes turned round, he stammered and fearfully stepped back about three paces. It was as though he was staring at the seventh seal being broken and saw the souls of a hundred thousand screaming martyrs. It was priceless. I wish I had a camera.

Apparently, I was ground zero for the mid-atlantic.

Senior doc prescribed SUPER-ANTIBIOTICS! and they worked swimmingly. Within three days I was walking again.

Last night I discovered three, count them, THREE big pimples wedged right between scrotum and right leg. Not being prone to crotch pimplidge, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t scared out of my fucking mind and had a rather fitful sleep last night.

The good news is that, as of today, ze pimples don’t seem to be developing into ze boils with which I am all too familiar. But for the next few days, I’ll be staring at my crotch like a hawk.

And mom, if you’re reading this, please please please don’t call me and ask for a status report on my crotch pimplidge. Really, it’s the LAST THING IN THE UNIVERSE I want to talk to you about.