Part I: Blood is Thicker Than a Solution of Water, Urea, and Creatinine, Alternatively Titled "I Realize That I Have Something in Common With Daniel Snyder"

I spent the first 36 years of my life operating under the assumption that I would never have children. I don't like spending time with kids very much and they seem to be a massive financial loss center. My general lack of parental role models coupled with my miserable shrew of a first wife made me feel like I would be doing our offspring a disservice by trying to raise him or her.

But then I met zwoman and realized that being married with children could be a good thing, and it turns out this was the best thing I ever did. I am happier than I've ever been and I love my son beyond words. Indeed, I cannot find the words to explain why I still love him so much (or why I even allow him to continue to live in my house) after the events of last Saturday.

zson enjoys climbing and jumping all over me and I enjoy the roughhousing almost as much as he does. He's only 2 1/2 though, so his toes are very small and the bones inside them are sharp and pointy, with not a lot of meat surrounding them. That is to say, it hurts when he pokes you with his toes.

zson was doing one of his favorite maneuvers: while I sit in our recliner with my feet on the ottoman, he walks across my legs and jumps from my knees into my body. We've done this many times with nary an injury. Until last Saturday. As he had done countlessly, zson walked onto my knees and leapt forward like Jimmy Snuka.

Notice how Snuka's left foot is cocked back? That's exactly how zson flew at me. As all 40 pounds of him flopped onto my chest, he whipped his shoeless foot straight down, impaling his pointy little toes flush into the shaft of zpenis. To say that I experienced pain is to say that the Grand Canyon is a big hole. It was not unlike this. I folded up like a jackknife. I saw stars. My mouth snapped open but no sound could come out. zwoman's hand immediately shot to her mouth. zson laughed and rolled off me so that he could do it again.

The pain subsided relatively quickly. About 30 minutes later I felt no lingering effects from the affront to my schwantz, and I went into the bathroom to pee. I let loose the Kraken and it showed no ill effects from the blow it suffered. I pulled out the jammy, aimed it at the bowl, and let pee fly. For a second nothing happened; what happened next will haunt me forever. A large, shiny, burgundy mass shot out of my dick, much like John Hurt's famous "chester" scene in "Aliens" ... with my dick playing the role of Hurt's chest.



The blob looked like a cross between that little alien's head and a squashed grape. It hit the inside of the bowl with an audible "splat" and was followed by a contrail of what looked like fruit punch. But it was not fruit punch. It was blood-soaked urine. I finished before these events could register in my mind, wiped the fruit punch off of the rim, and flushed the alien baby down.

Once I realized what had happened I staggered into the family room and took to my iPad. I entered "blood clot in urine" and what I read sent me into a cold sweat and a Tony Soprano-esque panic attack. Kidney failure. Bladder cancer. Urinary tract infection. Kidney stones. Prostate cancer.

I relayed my fears to zwoman and because she is the most wonderful woman in the world she calmly noted, "Well, you did just get kicked in the dick ... really hard." She suggested I go to an urgent care facility. I peed fruit punch again (but no alien baby blood clots) so I went. In a long discussion with the doctor, I realized that I just had a physical for life insurance a few months earlier and that my application was approved, so I can't have all of the diseases I feared. The doctor (who was a lady and kindly did not make me whip it out for examination, but did ask for a sample of my fruit punch) said "You have a lot of blood in your urine but I think your son hit you just right and broke a capillary or two." Just right indeed.

I went home with my fears allayed. The next time I peed it was much less fruit punchy. And then the time after that produced a yellow bowl with just a few maroon streaks. Because I'm an idiot my immediate reaction was "Just like Dan Snyder, I piss burgundy and gold!"

Stay tuned for Part II coming tomorrow: my legal justification for changing the Washington Redskins' name to the Washington Hematuria!