I'M SLOWLY DYING, BUT SO ARE YOU

I went to a doctor yesterday because my wife was convinced I had skin cancer.

She's no medical expert, but when she sees something incredibly screwed up on my body ... by God ... that's skin cancer, Mister.

So I had two choices ... I could spend every waking minute with her rambling on and on about how my years of working in the yard without a hat on have now come back to cruelly taunt me ... or I could go to the doctor and find out the truth.

Therefore, it was a fun-filled romp to the doctor's office yesterday.

I got there and the doc asks me what's wrong.

"Well, doc," I said. "Shaved my head last week and there's some crazy assed bumps and shit there on the ol' scalp. Crazy insane bumps. It's like a gravel road on my skull. Talk to me, Doc. What the hell is this shit?"

The doctor, temporarily taken aback by my command of the English language, then began to feel my head like Stevie Wonder perusing a Playboy in braille.

He then told me that I had an inoperable case of seborrheic keratoses.

Naturally, I fell off the table when he told me. All the blood rushed from my head into ... I dunno ... the back of my knees or somewhere ... and BAM! I was down, baby.

He then explained to me that seborrheic keratoses are harmless and just another pisser to deal with as you get older.

In fact ... EVERYONE gets them.

Daunted, but not defeated, I asked him to check the freckles on my back.

He did.

They all looked completely normal.

I made him look at my penis.

There's nothing wrong with my penis. I just thought it might freak him out a bit if I whipped out Lil' Bobby for no reason.

He asked me to please pull my pants up and get out.

So I'm a healthy old bitch.

With crazy assed bumps on my head.

That are perfectly normal.

And if you don't have them, you'll have them soon.

So when you finally get the crazy assed bumps on your head and start freaking out, just remember your dear ol' Uncle Bob says they're nothing to worry about.

And send your $20 co-pay to me instead of some quack.

I had a full house at the club last night.

They were dancing to anything and everything. Waving their hands in the air like they just didn't care. Fighting for their individual rights to party. That kinda shit.

So a girl comes up and says "Do you have 'Let Me Clear My Throat' by DJ Kool?"

I did.

But I really had to pee.

So I told her it was coming up next.

I cued up the song without listening to it on the headphones because it's a CD. You don't have to cue stuff up anymore.

So the current song ends, I push Play on the DJ Kool song and make a beeline for the bathroom.

I come back and the DJ Kool song isn't playing.

Apparently I cued up the wrong song.

And Drag On's "Niggas Die For Me" was playing instead.

I'm guessing the word "nigga" appears about 2,000 times during the course of the song.

This probably would have flown if I was DJing a KKK rally.

However, I had a house that was about 50% white and 50% black.

And it's kinda hard to forgive the DJ when he puts on a song that makes everyone feel like shit equally and then hauls ass to the bathroom to pee.

I flew back into the DJ booth, mumbled into the microphone that the person who requested the song must have left and hit the "Next" button to play DJ Kool.

The dance floor filled up once again when I did this.

But damn.

Did I feel like an idiot or what?

Alright ... fine.

You guys win.

Take this into consideration ...

I'm letting it grow back.

This was taken last night when I was tired after a long night at work playing racially charged tunes.

And the goatee was just something I thought might make me look uglier.

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Let the giggling commence.