Why is it every time I schedule an appointment with the crotch doctor, I get my period? It's like clockwork. Really gross clockwork. With an annoying, red cuckoo that pops out every time it smells a speculum in the vicinity.

Then, when I call to reschedule the appointment, why does it seem like the very first time that office person has made an appointment for anyone, ever?

And I just love trying to explain why I can't come in, sit down, and spread 'em in a room that is suddenly, spontaneously full of inquisitive male co-workers.

I am going to call it the Full Pants Effect, or something. I think in physics, it relates to displacement of vital, personal information creating a vacuum which must be filled by nosy ions, at the molecular level, or, as an element, Nosipantsanium.

Nosipantsanium particles are predominantly located within the cerebral cortex of older, bored, and randy old men. They are molecularly charged to be extremely attracted to your dirty business, i.e. what's in your pants. Feh.

Damn you, C in Physics.

Damn you, Viagra.

I hope they all get jock itch of the anal region and are forced to sit on a foam donut for three weeks, which causes them to miss voting in the special election for Schwarzenegger's damned propositions, and also creates a surplus of chocolate, icing-laced, real donuts in the kitchen which I will use in order to get me through this farkuckt week.

May your pants be with you.