It was 8:00, and my ass hurt like someone used my left cheek for a target.  On Saturdays I usually bum around like, well, a bum - but not today, thanks to Sherlock Holmes' mystery pain in the ass.

I crawled out of bed like a tarantula with a hernia and grabbed the phone book to look for a clinic that can fix a pain in the ass without being a pain in the ass pocket.  Not the free clinic - they can't even fix a pinky hangnail.  Not the urgent care clinic - their idea of "urgent" is they see you when you drop.

I showed up at the emergency room at Our Lady Of Pain And Suffering.  Some joker offered me a chair.   Suck bedpans and die, dude.  They took me to X-ray, and a few sharp pains later I got the answer to the $64,000 medical bill pyramid question - they would operate to remove a "foreign object" from my ass.

And it finally hit me like a large stack of printed metaphorical cliches falling off a shelf - I was abducted by aliens back in college. 

Two fraternity guys in this weird engineering class project "concept car" thing offered me a ride to their frat party.  Well,  I thought they were frat brothers, because they had something Greek-looking on their shirts. We got to the party, and some girl put something in my rum and coke that must have been Rigellian Roofies, because next thing I know I was lying face-down and butt-up on the couch in the morning. 

Now it all made sense - as much sense as anything makes when you've had enough anesthesia in an operating room to knock out a Klingon.

So now I walk around butt-locator free, and no aliens can tell when I'm in the newspaper reading room whether it's number 1 or number 2.  But when it's number 2, you know I'm thinking of them all the way.