I can accept death. But not the mechanics of it. Nothing else in my ass, ever. They found a nodule on my prostate. The prostate is a walnut-sized gland under your colon. Nodule is a synonym for tumor. Per Web MD a knuckle-like hard protrusion. Knuckle-like. Of course it’s H.R. Giger. Knuckle-like protrusion twitching under gunmetal-color Berlin college girl face with steel fangs and no lower jaw. She quaffs hydraulic fluid from ridgy black intestinal tubes, tangled nightmare quasi-organic hoses pumping ooze from disembodied black chrome tits on some Satanic Contra boss apparition… Nodule means tumor. But “tumor” just means swelling. It’s nothing, he tells me. They’ll check my PSA. Some chemical you make when you have cancer. Confirm it’s nothing after I fast, get my blood drawn, go back for his next available appointment in 2032. Until then put it out of your mind.
Lube and lidocaine leaking out my ass all day. My asshole not fully reformed. Still feels like there’s space in there. A presence where the old man’s hand was and of course the nodule which I can feel gnawing my colon walls like gopher’s teeth. Like a knuckle. Can you hire someone at Web MD to write more soothing metaphors. Can Web MD just say it’s nothing. Which it is. You know it’s not cancer at 45. I fucking took magnesium like Joe Rogan told me. I ate the chicken and broccoli, lifted vigorously yet they still planted the nodule in me, the nod-J*W-el, it’s the vaccines…
Why my asshole. Why must I be penetrated. Explain before he enters that there’s an old cut there that almost killed me. Careful not to rip it back apart when you jam in your finger and its knuckle and tell me to relax. You can’t relax your ass. How many old Syrian men fat finger dipsticking my asshole screaming RELAX. I need poppers, the “VCR Head Cleaner” they used to sell. Little jars at the gas station in the crackhead neighborhood…
God dammit why did they find something. Went to get tested for the cancer that killed my dad. I was meant to be reassured. But walking into a doctor’s office punched my ticket for the death train. A life of them taking me apart. Masticating my spleen in their rituals.
Prostate nodule. My ass loose from a man’s hand. Turds no longer beautiful. No longer wind tunnel tapered like a Japanese train. Ass just coughs scattershot shit contemptuously. They’ll find stuff in my other tests too. Die without finishing the book. And the afterlife just more office work.
delicioustacos 
I’m 66 and was just diagnosed with prostrate cancer. It was caught very early and the treatment will be to monitor it every three months as it is the slow version. The doc says that I will not die from it because something else will kill me long before it will. The biopsy was a bitch! Blood in urine for about three weeks. Good luck with yours.
It does your head, doesn’t it?
I lived. I was 51. You’ll be fine. Of course with me it was the sigmoid colon, not the prostate. Maybe you really are fucked.
You wrote some good stuff. I’ll miss you.
Don’t worry about WebMD, they have to say everything could be cancer in case they get sued. A runny nose, toothache, itchy elbow, just in case.
Even if it is, there’s controversy over whether to treat it as the bloke above said.
Hang in there.
Your prostate doc at 2:35.
This blog post has been flagged for promoting Vaccine Hesitancy. To continue using WordPress, you are required to edit or delete the sentence that contains potential misinformation. The Covid-19 Vaccines have been approved as Safe and Effective by scientific authorities such as the WHO, NIH, FDA and CDC.
We gotta keep this goy alive so he can continue writing the online tweeter funnies and help spread the racemixing meme. Here ya go tacos, don’t ever say I never tried to help you:
youtube(dot)com/results?search_query=dog+dewormer+cancer
youtube(dot)com/watch?v=HYILnjc_wuY
note: this is different from the ivermectin we’ve all been hearing about.
also look into the mel gibson jre podcast about stem cells. it only costs $23k and saved mel’s dad.
DoucheTacos is rich now, he can just buy a new prostate.
“WAAAH WAAAH I’m gonna die!!! but i don’t understand it!!!”
everything you write is so fucking gay and whinny.
you really are a tremendous faggot, delicioustacos.
prostate cancer has 90-99% survival rate.
wasn’t your dad an elderly man when he finally died?
anyway, if you wanted to get your asshole FISTED and prostate tickled, you could have just said so. one of your fanboys would probably jump at the opportunity. looney.
The toxic masculinity that has been festering inside your mind and body all these years has finna metastasized into an actual cancerous growth. Luckily, it’s not on your pancreas, which would be a death sentence. The only thing to do now is repent. Start your transition to female. Wear a wig and floral dress while writing. Make your blog and books even more female-friendly (than they already are). Keep this bright, gay, polkadot design. Just add in a BLM flag and a Transgender ally flag somewhere. Reach out to Jezebel to see if you can do a “collab” with them. Contact some female influencers on twitter, instagram, twitch, and female podcasters to see if they would accept a donation from you in exchange for a plug. Get on tiktok and do some funny singalong dances. Stop courting the alt-to-far-right, sexually-frustrated “incel” men as your core audience. Detoxify your toxic masculinity. Heal your body, and your mind. Rid yourself of all this negativity before it puts you in an early grave. These are not pieces of medical advice. This is Spiritual Guidance for your continued survival and well-being. Inshallah.
it’s Cancer, baby!