I called my friend Andy Sable, a 
gastroenterologist, to
make an appointment for a 
colonoscopy.
A few days later, in his office, Andy 
showed me a color
diagram of the colon, a lengthy organ 
that
appears to go all over the place, at 
one point
passing briefly through 
Minneapolis.
Then Andy
explained the colonoscopy procedure to 
me in a
thorough, reassuring and 
patient
manner.
I nodded
thoughtfully, but I didn't really hear 
anything
he said, because my brain was 
shrieking, 'HE'S
GOING TO STICK A TUBE 17,000 
FEET
UP 
YOUR BEHIND!'
I left
Andy's office with some written 
instructions,
and a prescription for a product 
called
'MoviPrep,' which comes in a box large 
enough to
hold a microwave oven. I will discuss 
MoviPrep
in detail later; for now suffice it to 
say that
we must never allow it to fall into the 
hands of
America's 
enemies..
I spent
the next several days productively 
sitting
around being 
nervous.
Then, on
the day before my colonoscopy, I began 
my
preparation. In accordance with my 
instructions,
I didn't eat any solid food that day; 
all I had
was chicken broth, which 
is
basically water, only with 
less
flavor.
Then, in
the evening, I took the MoviPrep. You 
mix two
packets of powder together in 
a
one-liter plastic
jug, then you fill it with lukewarm 
water. (For
those unfamiliar with the metric 
system, a liter
is about 32 ounces). Then you have to 
drink the
whole jug. This takes about an hour, 
because
MoviPrep tastes - and here I am being 
kind -
like a mixture of goat spit and urinal 
cleanser,
with just a hint of 
lemon.
The
instructions for MoviPrep, clearly 
written by
somebody with a great sense of humor, 
state that
after you drink it, 'a loose, watery 
bowel
movement may 
result.'
This is
kind of like saying that after you jump 
off your
roof, you may experience contact with 
the
ground.
MoviPrep
is a nuclear laxative. I don't want to 
be too
graphic, here, but, have you ever seen 
a
space-shuttle launch?This is pretty 
much the
MoviPrep experience, with you as the 
shuttle.
There are times when you wish the 
commode had a
seat belt. You spend several hours 
pretty much
confined to the bathroom, spurting 
violently.
You eliminate everything. And then, 
when you
figure you must be totally empty, you 
have to
drink another liter of MoviPrep, at 
which point,
as far as I can tell, your bowels 
travel into
the future and start eliminating food 
that you
have not even eaten 
yet.
After an
action-packed evening, I finally got to sleep.
The next
morning my wife drove me to the clinic. 
I was
very nervous.. Not only was I worried 
about the
procedure, but I had been 
experiencing
occasional return bouts of MoviPrep 
spurtage. I
was thinking, 'What if I spurt on 
Andy?' How do
you apologize to a friend for something 
like
that? Flowers would not be 
enough.
At the
clinic I had to sign many forms 
acknowledging
that I understood and totally agreed 
with
whatever the heck the forms said. Then 
they led
me to a room full of other colonoscopy 
people,
where I went inside a little curtained 
space and
took off my clothes and put on one of 
those
hospital garments designed by sadist 
perverts,
the kind that, when you put it on, 
makes you
feel even more naked than when you are 
actually
naked..
Then a
nurse named Eddie put a little needle 
in a vein
in my left hand. Ordinarily I would 
have
fainted, but Eddie was very good, and I 
was
already lying down. Eddie also told me 
that some
people put vodka in their 
MoviPrep..
At first I
was ticked off that I hadn't thought of 
this,
but then I pondered what would happen 
if you got
yourself too tipsy to make it to the 
bathroom,
so you were staggering around in full 
Fire Hose
Mode. You would have no choice but to 
burn your
house.
When
everything was ready, Eddie wheeled me 
into the
procedure room, where Andy was waiting 
with a
nurse and an anesthesiologist. I did 
not see the
17,000-foot tube, but I knew Andy had 
it hidden
around there somewhere. I was seriously 
nervous
at this 
point..
Andy had
me roll over on my left side, and 
the
anesthesiologist began hooking 
something up to
the needle in my 
hand.
There was
music playing in the room, and I 
realized that
the song was 'Dancing Queen' by ABBA. I 
remarked
to Andy that, of all the songs that 
could be
playing during this particular 
procedure,
'Dancing Queen' had to be the 
least
appropriate.
'You want
me to turn it up?' said Andy, from 
somewhere
behind me...
'Ha ha,' I
said. And then it was time, the moment 
I had
been dreading for more than a decade. 
If you are
squeamish, prepare yourself, because I 
am going
to tell you, in explicit detail, 
exactly what it
was like.
I have no
idea. Really. I slept through it. One 
moment,
ABBA was yelling 'Dancing Queen, feel 
the beat
of the tambourine,' and the next 
moment, I was
back in the other room, waking up in a 
very
mellow mood.
Andy was
looking down at me and asking me how I 
felt. I
felt excellent. I felt even more 
excellent when
Andy told me that It was all over, and 
that my
colon had passed with flying colors. I 
have
never been 
prouder of an internal organ






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