So I was in with the doctor the other day and I told him I’d a rash on my helmet and it was particularly itchy round my jap’s eye.

The doctor’s face froze. He leaned forward, looking dead serious.

‘Is that bad?’ I asked.
‘My wife’s Japanese, he said.

I was confused. Did he think I’d bucked his wife? I’ve never bucked anyone from Japan. I’d like to though. I wanted to ask if her flaps go sideways like a letterbox. Then it hit me.

Illustration by StudioMH-London | rudoji.com

‘Does jap’s eye come from Japanese eye? Fuck me, I’m sorry. I thought it was a medical term, like one word.’
‘Have you had an STD test recently?’
‘Naw, no need. Haven’t had me hole in ages. Don’t know why. Could I have caught something off a toilet seat?’
‘It’s very unlikely,’ the doctor said. ‘Let me have a look at it.’

This seemed kind of funny, but I decided to trust him. I whipped out Cyclops and thought he looked in good shape, apart from the rash. The doctor tried to belittle me by putting on his glasses.

‘Something wrong with your eyes?’ I asked.
‘How often do you masturbate?’
‘Loads,’ I said. ‘I’m single like, and I’ve got this thing about Miley Cyrus.’
‘How often?’ He repeated.
‘Twice a day, at least. Once in the morning and again in the evening. In between too, if I get bored.’
‘It’s a sensitive area there. You should ease off on the masturbation and see if it improves…’
‘Houl on, are you calling me a wanker?’
‘No. I’d still recommend an STD test to be on the safe side…’

‘Is this because you think I’m racist? It was an honest mistake! I don’t care what colour people’s skin is. I see the person inside, whether they’re white, black, YELLOW, purple. Makes no difference to me.’
‘You see purple people?’
‘Laugh away. In 70,000 years of human civilization, we still haven’t learned how to treat each other as humans. That’s why the human race is fucked. We are on a path towards destruction with our twenty-first-century thinking and you laughing at my sore wang is another symptom of that.’
‘I’m not laughing,’ the doctor said. ‘You seem to be easily agitated. Do you think maybe some counselling would help?’

‘So I can be told how to think? No thanks! I see the world from a different perspective. The way other people just can’t. I see the truth. Other people see what they’re told is the truth. I could tell that counsellor how to see the world as it really is.’
‘Would you mind doing up your trousers?’ The doctor said.

I’d taken a huge rooter while telling him the truth.

‘Aye, you don’t need your glasses to see this,’ I said. ‘Come on Cyclops. Let’s leave this fucker to his smug talk.’

On that note, I did up my trousers and stormed out. My wang is still sore. I’m lying in bed now trying not to wank, but all I can think of is Miley Cyrus and how I’d buck her. I’d buck her. I’d buck her…

In a half doze, I start to wank, but thoughts of Miley soon fade as I imagine banging that doctor’s wife in front of him. But I don’t know what she looks like, so I imagine her as some cute anime doll. Her eyes are wide, wider than mine. Not like Japanese eyes at all. Maybe how a jap’s eye looks before the spunk spurts out. I need to stop calling it that. But as I reach the vinegar strokes there’s no time to think about it. I picture Miley and the doctor’s wife going at each other and the wanker doctor looking on in anger. Who’d he think he was calling a wanker? His face twists into an expression of despair. He’s crying, but I can’t stop. Just as I’m about to blow my load, Cyclops turns floppy in my hands. Now I’ll be up half the night with blue balls. Wish I’d never went near the doctor.

Gerard McKeown

@gerardmckeown
gerardmckeown.co.uk