There is nothing more nerve-wracking than getting tested for STDs. Especially when statistically speaking, I should definitely have some kind of herp-hiv-hybrid. When I think back to all of my recent sexual encounters, I feel a strange mix of nostalgia and concern:
-girl from my Girls Gone Wild tour
-klepto Joe's Crab Shack waitress
-Any girl within 50 feet of me when I'm drunk
Since I'm a responsible slut, I routinely get blood work done. So I go to Planned Parenthood, and then to my doctor to get the total comprehensive picture of how dirty my cock is. Unfortunately, it's nothing like an episode of House where they just tell you the results in like 5 seconds. Apparently, they have ship to my blood (see pic^) and urine (What, you want to see a picture of my urine, you pervert?) to goddamn Antarctica for antigen tests and it takes like a week. The worst part is that Planned Parenthood tells you that they only call you if something is wrong. This means that every incoming call from an unknown number makes me go #2 in my pants.
After a while, the suspense starts getting to me: "What if they forgot? What if they got the lab tests mixed up? What if Doctor House forgot to take his Vicodin and wrote the wrong result?" Eventually, I break down and call Planned Parenthood to ask them what's going on with my junk. After placing me on hold for what seems like an eternity, they tell me my tests are all negative.
Finally, I can breathe. And have sex. I'M SO GLAD MY DICK IS CLEAN.