Found at McSweeney's: My DJ, a short piece by Brian Bieber.
The doctor starts to give me a little lecture about the importance of performing monthly checks on myself, but it's hard to keep a straight face because my DJ is wearing a surgical mask he found in one of the doctor's drawers and pretending to scratch his records with a tongue depressor. I'm really relieved about not having testicular cancer, and I have to restrain myself from singing along with the words to the sample my DJ drops every twelve measures or so. The doctor gives me a little plastic card to hang in my shower that shows me how to check for lumps. Motherfucker say what, I mouth to the beat. My DJ encourages the doctor to throw his hands up, but the doctor declines.
Link (thanks, Invisible Cowgirl)