DON'T THINK ABOUT IT

One of the regular cigar-smoking gentlemen kindly inquired about my sphincter. This was NOT in any way related to my minor health problems.
Or the bout of influenza that put me out of commission for a fortnight.
Nor is it a customary salutation among friends in Marin County.
Even though it certainly ought to be.

It was, more or less, pursuant a conversation over four and a half years ago, when he was ranting about Obama and Ebola, and I advised him to incorporate one crucial question in every conversation: "Are you bleeding from your anus?" See, if they are, they have health issues. Perhaps Ebola. If anyone answers "yes", put some distance between yourself and them.

Asking "are you bleeding from your anus" may save your life.

[Ebola is a highly contagious viral disease that causes haemorragic fever, frequently death. Bleeding can be both internal and external, often from several orifices.]

To be polite, ask in old-fashioned very formal Dutch.


"Bloedde gij uit uwen aarsch?"


This was the conversation shortly after ten A.M.

"So, how is your sphincter today?"

"Fine, thanks, how's yours?"

"It's hanging."


I do not like this mental image.

In consequence of this courteous morning exchange, I've had sphincter on my mind all day. Typically Asperger, I could not get the word 'sphincter' out of my head. Not the body part, but the pronunciation of it.

A black hole is rather like a cosmic sphincter.

Cairo is the Great Sphincter of Egypt.

The king is a sphincter.

Bond movie.


Normally I do not have sphincters on the brain, and I seldom speak of them conversationally. There are, sadly, few opportunities to incorporate sphincters into day to day chit-chat.

Together we can change that.




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