Before I begin, I would like to thank everyone for the kind words, and not so kind words, you’ve been emailing me. Truth be told, I hated Chapter 4. It gave me a chance to get everything off of my chest, so I appreciate everybody reading.

I have suffered from headaches my entire life. I typically have 3-5 headaches per week. I’m not talking about “I can’t have sex because my head hurts” headaches. I’m talking about a “turn you into Stephen Hawkings” headache. They’re crippling. There has never been a doctor who has been able to determine what causes them. I’ve been on every kind of medicine, patch, and even had nose surgeries because, for some stupid-ass reason, the doctors thought that my breathing may be causing it. It’s like walking into the doctor’s office, telling them you have the flu, and the doctor prescribing a haircut. It made no fucking sense! At that point, I was willing to do anything to get rid of the headaches, so naturally I went ahead and had the surgeries anyway. The last doctor I went to about my headaches, before finally accepting it, was a very interesting guy. He was Asian, so naturally I thought he would solve this mysterious headache puzzle like Rubik’s Cube and I’d be on my way (it’s not racist if everyone wishes they could solve one as fast as they can). As soon as he walked into the room, he pointed at me and said, “Your thyroid is swollen.” At the time, I didn’t even know what a thyroid was. For a brief second, I tried to convince myself that “thyroid” was Asian slang for “penis.” A swollen penis? Where’s the problem, doc? Then I remembered that a new born baby has had more experience in a vagina than I have, so a swollen penis wouldn’t do me many favors. For those who don’t know, the thyroid is a butterfly-shaped organ in your neck that produces a lot of your hormones and serves as your body’s thermostat. After the doctor explained this to me, it was off to get cell samples. If you’re unaware of how they retrieve cell samples, it’s typically done by numbing the skin and inserting a needle to gather the cells. Fortunately for me, I had a really gorgeous doctor’s assistant doing my procedure. Unfortunately for me, she was fucking retarded. It was like they had handed her a PhD. after leaving her Special Ed class instead of a sticker. She “forgot” to numb my skin. If you didn’t know, getting a shot in your neck hurts like Hell. It definitely ranks up there with pregnancy and getting kicked in the balls. But this wasn’t a shot. This was twice that size. She was jamming a needle through my throat and into my organ. I had to remind myself that I was at a hospital and not getting shanked in a prison cell. I’m really glad I went through the entire process too, because the cell sample that Helen Keller took came back “inconclusive.” That’s a good thing, right? No. It means they have to take the entire thyroid out because chances are, it is cancerous. The doctors were absolutely stunned by this. At the time, I was 19 years-old. Only 6% of men under the age of 30 have thyroid issues. Of that 6%, it’s only cancer 2% of the time. Thyroid problems mainly run in females. But if any guy is going to get a disease that mostly women get, it’s going to be me. I contract more female-prone diseases than most females. It’s as if God switched my vagina for a penis at the last second as a really cruel joke. (By the way, I have man boobs and I can cook. There is absolutely no need for me to ever have a girlfriend. God definitely wanted me to be a girl.) At the time, I was co-hosting an internet radio show at the university I was attending. We got into the discussion of this certain medical disaster I was going through and how it typically only occurs within females. One of my co-hosts suggested I must have a vagina in my neck, and that’s when “vagina neck cancer” caught on.

I’m not sure why, but my brilliant doctor decided to schedule my surgery two days before Christmas. I think he did it out of spite. He had to have known I celebrate holidays. I mean, I’m white for God’s sake. Luckily for me, Helen Keller wasn’t going to be in the operating room. Otherwise, I would have probably walked out of there missing a toe and a testicle instead of a thyroid. Once they had my thyroid out, they were able to do a more thorough examination and cell sample. There was one small trace of cancer. I guess I should just be grateful that it didn’t spread, but at the end of the day, I still don’t know why the fuck I have headaches! To sum up this story, I walked into the doctor’s office with headaches, and I also walked out with headaches… and cancer. I didn’t even get a Goddamn lollipop.

I’ve never had much luck with my body. Cancer wasn’t even the worst thing that’s happened to me. When I was a teenager, I was cast as the Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz. During a sold out opening night (400 people, 200 children in attendance), I jumped out of the bushes as they were singing “Lions & Tigers & Bears.” When I jumped out, I tripped on my way down, landed on, and broke, my big toe, and managed to scream, “FUCK!” at the top of my lungs. Dorothy’s jaw dropped, the Tinman’s eyes grew four times their normal size, and I’m pretty sure the Scarecrow shit his pants. Parents were grabbing their kids and walking out. Other children were crying. The atmosphere went from a fun, loving musical to a re-creation of the Holocaust. With all eyes on me to save the show, the only thing I did was sigh, “Well, shit.” By that time, the audio crew had turned my microphone on, so everyone heard that as well. The entire show was ruined. I wasn’t supposed to have any courage, but let’s be honest – would you mess with a lion who jumped out of bushes cursing at you? I didn’t think so. Needless to say, I was never cast in a musical there again.

As always, feel free to comment with your thoughts or email me at coffeepenis@gmail.com. Click HERE to follow me on Twitter.