Dear Penis

They called me back to the recovery room around 11:30 AM. I had traveled across state lines to be with my friend Kiki while she underwent a cystoscopy and a lithotripsy. Basically they wanted to blast a kidney stone and sneak a peak at her pisser while she was under. Good times. Good times.

I walked back through the recovery room hallways and rounded the corner to find Kiki wrapped head to toe in blankets. She looked like a mummy. A mummy who had imbibed in a little too much preserving fluids, if you know what I mean. Higher than a kite on a windy day.

"Hey Julie - I got a song for ya," she says.

Oh Lord.

Giggle Giggle.

"Hey - have you heard that penis song?" she asks.

Now let me preface this by saying that the stretchers in the recovery room are separated by curtains only. No auditory privacy. None. Zip. Zero. She then performs her first concert for the entire room.

"Deeeeeeeeeear Penis.............I don't think I liiiiiiiike you anymoooore................" she sings like a wino on the end of a 3 day binge. I hear snickers coming from the other side of the curtain.

"Oh! Wait Wait!" she says. "I'm gonna call Eric and sing it to him." I can't get to the stretcher fast enough - she has him on speed dial.

"Deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeear Eric - I don't think I liiiiiiiike you anymooooooore," she sings into the cell phone as he picks up. I just shake my head. I hear someone snorting beside us.

I wish I had been smart enough to whip out my cell phone and video her. Alas, I missed it.

I'll give you the next best thing - Rodney Carrington singing his own Dear Penis song: