As we approach fifty, many opportunities are available to us. The most obvious is that you can join AARP, the senior citizens club. Although they really have no age limit (once a 16-year-old joins), AARP lets you eat 10% off at 4 p.m. at some of the best country buffets in the world. , and maybe also rent a car for less than $500 a day.
I’m two months away from my 50th birthday. It started to look more like an opportunity, because of the types of spam I get and the types of Facebook ads I see. So my ads are no longer for bars and clubs in town, but rather for ointments and retirement villages. I see a lot of golf and vacation destinations even though I’m at least 60 years away from retirement. As digital algorithms continue to anticipate my wants and needs, this has also impacted my healthcare system.
I received an email the other day that said I had a special message from my doctor. Logging into my super secret medical portal, I was thrilled to open it. Maybe it’s because they finally reclassified the BMI index and I’m suddenly considered ‘thin’. Maybe they finally found a cure for my bunion on my left foot. But no. The subject of the email in question was about my asshole. COLON CANCER SCREENING REQUIRED. Well, that’s rude. Not even a mention of how I only gained 15 pounds during the pandemic.
Happy birthday to me, really. My doctor is suddenly interested in my back, and not because I’m up for the Kim Kardashian Man of the Year Award. No. They want to screen for colon cancer, and the best way to get to a man’s colon is through his anus.
But, she gave me two choices. The first, as enticing as it sounds, was to send a go pro camera into my poo shooter to look for cancerous polyps. Wow. I mean, I don’t know how it could get better from there. But option two convinced me: poop in a box.
No. This is not an SNL skit. There is a business. They send you a box. You poop in it. You mail it back to them and they tell you if you have cancer. How can a society so divided against itself also offer you the opportunity to shit in the mail? Oh you better believe I chose option B. Turning 50 has never been so much fun.
Forget the old adage “there’s mud in your eyes”. It needs to be updated to “here’s my poop in your mailbox!”
(Dear reader, I need your help. I’m nearing 500 columns for The Landmark, and I’d love to hear from you about your favorites. I don’t know what I’ll do to commemorate the event, but this will include re-release some of the best If you have one or two of these 500 that stand out can you email me at [email protected] and let me know Just email will be fine .please don’t poop in a box and send that to me)