"Massive Scrotum" and "Ass Daemon" stories in Wynn's own words

These are some emails from Wynn that are so funny
that we had to share them. They made us feel
better. They are a little PG-13 at times.
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Date: Thu, 14 Aug 2003 10:00:52 -0500
To: Frank Garcia <frank@techzentric.com>
From: wynn <wynn@zenx.net>
Subject: My MASSIVE SCROTUM

I had a life-threatening reaction to a tetanus
booster when I was 13; it was amazing. Ten
minutes after the shot, my arm was incredibly
sore, with a big knot of contracted muscle near
the injection site. I told my mother as she was
paying the doctor for having just nearly killed
me, and she scolded me, saying I'd never
complained about shots before. I, the dying
13yo, believed this fact should have worked in my
favor, perhaps suggesting that this experience
was genuinely different from all the other shots
I'd had (and there had been many, as I'd had some
six orthopedic procedures already).

So, off I went next to my tutor, where Mom
dropped me off for 90 minutes, and I was just a
groggy mess-- couldn't study or work at all. The
tutor wrote me off. I went home, complained of
feeling bad, my arm hurt, etc., and Mom,
disgusted with my whining, "allowed" me to go to
bed without supper. I was quite content to do that.

I woke the next morning with a fever and a
scrotum the size of a grapefruit. Mind you, at
13, I weighed 89 pounds and the Puberty Fairy
didn't even have me on her list of dudes to so
much as check on for the remainder of the season,
so at least I could still show Mom exactly what
was wrong without COMPLETELY dying of
shame. However, whereas all my gonadal goodness
is supersized TODAY, of course, a
grapefruit-sized scrotum (and I'm not
exaggerating there) was shocking at the time, and
I swear to God I thought it might burst. It was
taught and shiny and translucent, and your
scrotum just should not be like that.

I lay there in bed, and in silent terror, until
Mom yelled that I was going to be late to
school. I yelled back, feebly and with a tremor
in my voice, "I... I don't think I'm GOING to
school, today..." and finally Mom stepped in my
room to see what the big deal was. The deal was
big, let me tell ya. Since I hadn't any way to
tactfully convey the magnitude and nature of my
problem, in my 13yo modesty and befevered mind, I
just whipped off the covers to show Mom that, in
fact, my nuts were about to burst, and I wouldn't
be going to school. I was so scared. I was sure
they were going to have to lance my scrotum. Drain it... oh. my. god. >faint<

Mom was impressed, and promptly phoned the doctor
while I put a robe on. It had to be a robe,
because there was no possible way to don
underwear, much less pants, so I waddled to the
car with my feet spread two feet apart and went
back to the doctor wearing nothing but the fluffy
green bathrobe my grandmother had made me for
Christmas. "Have a seat," the receptionist
gestured as we signed in. "Heh," I whimpered, as
chose a corner in which to stand, legs apart,
with my feverish head leaned forward against the wall.

"WOW!" cried Dr. Ting, with that wide-eyed glow
doctors get whenever they know they're going to
have the April Case of the Month.

"You did this to me," I died.

"Just a second; I've got to get my camera," he
said with excitement as he skipped up the hall a
jaunt. I was sure he was kidding, until he came
back with a weathered Minolta and turned the
examination lights toward my glistening man-sac.

"Oh my GOD," I squealed from beyond the grave,
still dead from my death of moments earlier, "You've got to DOCUMENT IT?"

"Oh, no," Dr. Ting chuckled as he took another
picture, "It's just, when am I ever going to see
THAT again? Oh my god this is funny." He was
wiping away tears, and my mother had to leave the
room she was laughing so hard. Dr. Ting left
with his camera, and I heard the nurse and
receptionist burst into laughter. The doctor
came back, looking solemnly composed. "Well," he
said flatly, as if he'd just consulted with the
rest of the Vulcan medical council, "someone's having Benedryl for breakfast."
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Date: Fri, 24 Aug 2001 13:35:09 -0500
To: Frank Garcia <frank@techzentric.com>
From: "<< w y n n >>" <wynn@zenx.net>
Subject: The hilarious sagas of my butt.

This is mail that I sent to my Dad earlier this
week, and I thought it might crack you and Aubrey up:

I've had this crappy condition (yes, pun
intended) for about eleven days. At first, I
thought I just had diarrhea, but after three days
without any improvement, I began to realize some things:

1) It's not getting better.
2) I don't really have an explosive problem, or
even a very messy problem. I won't elaborate,
but there's some weirdness in this regard. Diarrhea is usually worse.
3) The cat now tries to poo when I do. What a weirdo.
4) I have to go suddenly and often, like every 40
minutes (and even during the night), but:
5) when I go, I can't go very much. Suddenly, a
little, and then I can't go any more.
6) I feel sick when I go, and:
7) I feel like I need to go more, but can't.
8) The bathroom could use some new paint.

And now, I have a very, very slight fever, of
just half a degree. Statistically not even a
fever, but it means that I feel a little out of
it. And when I begin to feel a little out of it,
I start rambling and telling people all sorts of
things that probably no one really wants to know about my butt.

Soooo, I called the doctor's office Monday
morning to make an appointment, and the horrible,
evil woman who answered the phone shared this hellish conversation with me:

Wynn: "Help! I need to see Dr. Rakel right
away! I've stopped eating! Please save my butt!"

PhoneWench: "Look, Dr. Rakel has RETIRED. You need to get another doctor."

Oh, no! I have no doctor! "Has one of the others taken over his patients?"

"No. You need to choose another doctor, and then
make an appointment. Call me back."

"Look, lady: please just sign me up with the
first doctor who can see me. My back is against
the wall, and my butt is about to unleash a
torrential fury that the world and that wall will regret forever."

"Sir, go to the website and choose another doctor, and CALL ME BACK."

What a bitch! That's just what I don't need:
ANOTHER pain in the
ass! Arrrrr! Okay. Okay. So, I go to the web
site (http://www.baylorfamilymedicine.org) and
spank me if I'm wrong, but there's not one word
there about each of the doctors. Ms. Helpfulness
swore to me that I could read doctors'
biographies on line and select a new doctor, but
there's not a thing about them! Their names
aren't even listed! What the hell!

So, I had to call WhatsHerJoy back this morning
to beg to be seen by the next doctor, resident,
med student, nurse, veterinarian, mechanical
engineer or high-school drop-out who can look up
my butt with a flashlight to tell me what the
hell is the problem. ARRRRR!!! Happily, I now
have an appointment to be seen by Dr.
Echolds-Elliot, whom I saw once before, when Dr.
Rakel wasn't available after my most recent
kidney stones ER visit. She seems pretty cool.

I really did stop eating yesterday, and haven't
had anything but liquids in 18 hours, because
it's just too unfortunate when I do try to go to
the bathroom. I can't deal with it any more. I
swear that if they don't fix the problem
tomorrow, I'm going to make a meal of Skittles as suppositories.

Perhaps there's an entire, quiet market for snack
and meal suppositories. M&M/Ass: "Melts in your
mouth, not in your hands... and, now that we
think about it, melts pretty well in your ass!"

McDonalds:
"Would you like that Breakfast-on-a-Bun for here? Or to go... up your ASS?!"

Tonight's Top Ten List-- FOODS NOT TO PUT UP YOUR ASS:

10) Melons.
9) Mounds Bars.
8) How far would you go for a Klondike Bar? Really! THAT far?!
7) Christmas trees (technically not a food).
6) not going anywhere with the joke
5) have no content
4) stalling to get to number one
3) oh what the hell,
1) The #1 food not to put up your ass: POP ROCKS.

Or Sugar Daddies. But whatever. If I don't
survive, and you have to write my biography, I
want you to call this chapter "Revenge of the
Turds," but only because "The Wind Done Gone" has already been taken this year.

Excerpts from Star Trek LXIX: The Wrath of Constipation:

"Captain's Log, Stardate 331-0892b: ...The captain HAS no log today."

Kirk: "CONNNNNNNNNNNNN! ...stipation!"
Spock, with raised eyebrow: "You sound quite... irregular... Captain."
Scotty: "Ya cannut push 'er any 'arder, Captain!"
Uhura: "There's something coming through for you
now, Captain. ...No, wait; it's not coming
through after all. Wait... yes it is! Here it
comes now. ...Hmm, no; I thought I had it, but
it's not coming through. It's as if we're being jammed!"
Khan: "Seti-alpha-five... THIS is Seti-alpha-five!"

(whatever.)

Okay. That's all I can handle right now. Back to work.

rrr mmph aaarrg! mbrrmbrrumph,
wynn
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Date: Sun, 26 Aug 2001 16:31:19 -0500
To: Scott Martin <scott@on-sight.com>
From: "<< w y n n >>" <wynn@zenx.net>
Subject: Transmogrification
Cc: Frank Garcia <frank@techzentric.com>

My friend Ed Draper from M. D. Anderson (now at
Microsoft) sent me this explanation:

Any fool knows that what you are faced with is a
simple matter of fecal transmogrification.

Are you not aware of the famous fecalist Klus
Gerbert von Strassengruber’s groundbreaking work on fecal transmogrification?

To refresh you memory: In the early 1620s, the
prolific alchemist von Strassengruber, who was
then working in the employ of the King of Spain,
was desperately seeking a way to transmute lead
into gold. However, his greatest challenge lay in
the simple fact that he was unable to overcome
the gastrointestinal havoc that was being wrought
upon his body by the notorious Barcelonan water supply.

Nearly at the end of his rope, he decided to
attempt a desperate measure ­ to transmute liquid
feces into Portuguese sangria. His method was both bold and controversial:

Step 1: Administration of sawdust

From his diary: “The problem was
straightforward. My anus was confounded. It had
simply lost touch with the third of the three
states of matter. You see, as turds are produced,
they coalesce from their initially gaseous state
into liquid, and then onto their final, solid
state. My hindquarter had simply “forgotten” how
this was accomplished. My suspicion is that the
devil was somehow involved in this tragedy. My
first step in the resolution of this problem was
obvious - the introduction of mass into my
sphincter. This was to “remind” my brown-eyed
friend of this vital final stage. This task was
accomplished via the introduction of common
sawdust administered via ramrod at the gracious
assistance of my chambermaid, Mme. Nina Garcia-Diego-Ramirez.”

Step 2: The Spicing

Again, from his diary, “After loading “Captain
Stinky” up with mass, the next step was my
greatest creative challenge: the “spicing” of the
mixture. The final combination of cinnamon,
frankincense, habanero, and ground pork rind,
administered in equal proportions of 1 teaspoon
each, mixed together during winter equinox at
7:00 AM, was obtained only after vigorous experimentation.”

Step 3: Fueling

He continues, “Once the foundation components
were in place, all that was needed was the
introduction of energy. The abundance supply and
relative lack of expense of common kerosene led
to my final selection of that flammable as the fuel of my deliverance.”

Step 4: Ignition

Strassengruber summarizes: “Fueled for
liberation, my ass burned like hot lava. Again, I
relied upon my trusted associate Nina
Garcia-Diego-Ramirez and her burning candle of
righteousness to deliver me from Satan’s grasp."

The rest is history.

In the event that you are unaware, the above was
scientifically verified by the 1977 film
“Chariots of the Gods” where producer Erich Von
Daniken discovered the mummified remains of 27
early Spanish conquistadors discovered near the
ancient Incan city of Tenoch Tietlan with signs
of sawdust still present in their rectums and
with early Incan tacos still present in their stomachs.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Date: Wed, 29 May 2002 19:05:01 -0500
To: Frank Garcia <frank@techzentric.com>
From: wynn <wynn@zenx.net>
Subject: update on my ass

Hey, Frank! I just thought I would update you on
the perils of my ass, since it's been a while,
and things are heating up again. There's nothing
like ass-sickness to bring out the humor in us,
of course, so here's the latest:

The devils up my butt are returning to
power. I've never been right-- the doctor last
year just ruled out Crohn's Disease without ever
doing any kind of lower-GI study. He treated me
for symptoms with cholesteramine, I got enough
better that I could eat again, and he was never
interested in following up. But, I've never been
normal, and I'll just spare you the funky symptoms.

Well, things have gotten worse in the past couple
of weeks, and starting last Friday, I've had such
audible churning that I am embarrassed to sit in
a quiet room with friends or clients or
whatever. I've also had other, less pleasant,
more serious symptoms, about which you just DON'T
WANT TO KNOW. Point is that things have gone
from tolerably not-normal to bad enough that I
have to go back to the (unmotivated) doctor, who
really needs to do more diagnostic work this time
and get <ahem> to the bottom of things.

Meanwhile, I've determined that the churning,
squeaking, gurgling noises are caused by the
Ass-Daemons who colon-ized my system last
September, hosting their annual Butt-Devil
Cricket Finals. These little critters aren't
actually evil, so much as naughty-- well,
devilish. You can hear their evil, funny little
laughs as they knock stuff back and forth between
their respective teams, all really playing
together more than against one another, for the
purpose of just stirring things up in their
host. What's more, instead of traditional
cricket widgets, they play with pitchforks. I've
enclosed a picture of one of the little guys to
give you an idea, though this one hasn't a fork.

Anyway, that's what's up, and-- more
particularly-- what's up my butt. I'll try to
get an appointment with the butt doctor some time
soon and see if he can exorcise the daemons.

Peace,
wynn

------------------------from Franka nd Aubrey Garcia