Butt cancer ... that sounds about right

The internet was all a-twitter last week over the newly released health report that states that cell phones might be causing increased incidences of brain cancer. At first I was all duh because I assume everything causes cancer. I convince myself I have cancer approximately half a dozen times a year, on average. This could be because of the whole been there, done that thing, or it could just be because if I'm not crippled with anxiety about life decisions, it might as well be cancer, right? And I'm not talking fleeting thoughts either. I'm talking beliefs as strong as your Sunday Southern pastor's. Interestingly, I always take it rather in stride. I sort of just shrug it off and mention in passing to my friends and loved ones how I'd like my ashes scattered and which songs I'd like played at my service and how long I'd like the open bar to go on for. JUST IN CASE, YOU GUYS. For the record, ya'll are getting crunked. It's on me.

I don't trust microwaves and refuse to consume artificial sweeteners. Just last week I proclaimed that it was highly probable that I had Leukemia because I kept waking up with inexplicable bruises on my thighs. Turns out I was getting up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and walking into my bed post on the way on a near-nightly basis without remembering any of these incidences. Every time I find a freckle I hadn't noticed before I count the days left until the doctor tells me I have skin cancer. And gah knows whenever I feel a twinge of discomfort in my stomach, I assume I have a tumor. Or I'm pregnant. Which would probably be worse. So yeah.

But then if you actually read these articles in their entirety, it's pretty clear that there's no real conclusive evidence that cell phones cause anything except fenders benders because you were playing Words with Friends while driving. And lordy knows I love a good national frenzy, but remember what happened when everyone went ape shit over the swine flu? Nothing. The same amount of people died from the flu that year as they do every other year. And if I'm just as likely to increase my risk for cancer by eating pickles or drinking coffee (which is not at all), well then I'm just going to continue on my merry pickle-loving, caffeine-infused way. And to be honest, I'd rather take my chances with cancer than wear a bluetooth headset because BARF.

And anyway, I spend significantly more time walking around with my cell phone in my back butt pocket than I do talking on it, so if I'm getting cell phone-induced cancer anywhere, it'll probably be in my butt. And now every time I WebMD butt cancer, the only topic that pops up that's even remotely relevant to my life is the subcategory of Marijuana and if WedMD is trying to tell me marijuana causes butt cancer then I am going going to consider my butt fucked. That pun was totally unintended, but I like it so it's staying and my mother is picking up the phone to call me and complain about my filthy sense of humor in 3 ... 2 ... 1 ... SORRY, MOM.

Click to enlarge. (That's what she said.)

In an interest in preserving the butt, I've consciously tried not to carry my cell phone in my back pocket as often which has led to an alarming increase in incidences of dropped phones. So unless the World Health Organization is willing to pony up for a new phone for me, I may just have to side with the butt cancer because gah knows I don't handle losing phones very well. This post doesn't even make sense and I've already lost interest in what I'm talking about so it's over now, okay? IT'S OVER. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW, WHO?! GAH.

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