McGyver

Women complain that guys are lucky because they can pee almost anywhere they want. And it’s true: the world IS our urinal. I now have an even better perspective on just how cool it is to be able to pee like a guy.


As your movements become limited to being much like a Three-toed sloth strapped in a really exotic rolling La-Z-Boy, draining a vein takes on a new dimension: enter the condom catheter. What a great invention! Once you wrap the little guy up and strap on the bag, you can leak your lizzard whenever you want… as long as the bag is not full (another area where you don’t want to piss off your caregiver). This is extremely useful when watching football games and drinking beer.


But, get an itch on Mr. Happy, and you enter a whole new world of torture. It’s bad enough that you pretty much can’t scratch anywhere else (damn hands just don’t work) but now Mr. Johnson is encased in some rather thick latex and fingers just don’t get the job done getting rid of the itch. So, being a fan of McGyver (who can make a bomb out of a paperclip), I had a significant brain fart and determined the bristles on my wife’s hairbrush were exactly what the doctor ordered. So, being the devil-may-care kinda guy I am (and keep in mind my caregiver looks for any opportunity to torture me) I instructed her to get my wife’s hairbrush. It worked like a champ! I’m not too sure what the neighbors thought, seeing as how we were having breakfast that morning in the little patio in the front yard. But hey! Some things you just gotta take care of! Oh yeah: don’t tell my wife.