I'm not a doctor, but I play one on TV. Part of one. We might have met before, after the Season 6 finale.

I'm House's damaged, always-in-agonizing-pain-until-the-script-monkeys-decided-I-wasn't-last season leg. God DAMN, last season was a bitch, because over a decade ago I had a HUGE CHUNK OF MUSCLE, FAT, BLOOD VESSELS AND NERVES REMOVED! AND I HAD TO PRETEND IT NEVER HAPPENED! House's stupid bitch of a girlfriend Stacy (who has been conveniently forgotten in the Great Love Story That Is House and Cuddy) decided that cutting off a chunk of me was a good choice. FUCK YOU, STACY! AND FUCK YOU, CUDDY! HOW THE EVERLOVING HELL HAS HOUSE FORGIVEN YOU ENOUGH TO LET YOU KISS MY SCAR AND NOT KICK YOU INTO THE MIDDLE OF NEXT WEEK? OH WAIT, HE CAN'T, BECAUSE YOU DECIDED THAT A GIANT HUNK OF—

Excuse me. At the end of last season, you might recall, me and the rest of House's 50-year-old body were dragged around a crushed building, which was bad enough! Then he goes home without a cane, and believe me, I am in PAIN. Screaming, agonizing just fucking kill me PAIN! House finds his stash of Vicodin, and I'm like, "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, MAN, TAKE THE PILLS OR KILL ME, OKAY?"

And just as he's about to take the pills and give me the sweet relief I crave, Cuddy shows up, and her magical boner love makes him throw away the pills! And takes away his pain. But it HASN'T! I'm screaming at him, "YOU KNOW PAIN BETTER THAN ANYBODY! JESUS CHRIST LAYING FLOOR TILES! WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?"

Last night, on a "Very Special Episode of House" he PICKS HER UP and carries her into the bedroom. I know Cuddy only weighs 80 pounds, but WTF? I wanted to scream my head off but I was ordered, do what you're told and you're getting amputated—they can write that in now. Bastards. And House's whole goddamn BODY is nagging at me: "Everything hurts! We're 50 years old and we've been dragged around a crushed building! Ow ow ow make him take the pills, leg! You've always made him do it in the past! Please!" And I have to respond "Sorry, guys, I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO EXIST ANYMORE!"

They want me to TAKE MYSELF OFF AND BEAT THE CRAP OUT OF HOUSE! How am I supposed to do that?

They make mad, passionate love, and it hurts so much, oh man, it hurts, he keeps using my damaged muscles to roll around. And then he KNEELS ON THE FLOOR, and spends the whole rest of the day WITHOUT HIS CANE and goddamn, I'm out of my mind—if I had a mind, I mean, I'm only a leg—and they play Boggle and they keep having sex, if I had a head I'd beg God to skullfuck me to death.

So you won't be seeing much of me in Season 7, those assholes have decided I'm not important any more, until House and Cuddy break up, and watch for "psychosomatic" pain to return. BUT IT NEVER LEFT, DICKWADS!

Anyway, I promised this other body part he could have his say. So I'm going to shut up now. How I do that without lips, I don't know. So here he is (he gets to have a gender, I don't. Fuck me).

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Hello, I am House's dick. Yes, I know, the leg keeps complaining about how much pain it's in, and it is. What a toilet mouth. I may be a penis, but I like to think I'm more refined.

Here's a dirty little secret you've never been told—no, it's not that I'm not large, I'm huge. But, let's face it, House has been taking Vicodin for what, more than ten years? That pretty much trashes your libido. So I've been a little…slow on the uptake. Those hookers have had to work damn hard (pardon the pun). Plus, the dude is 50 years old. I'm supposed to slow down anyway, so the combo hasn't been great for me.

The sections on Season Six where you thought he was watching porn and masturbating?

Uh-uh. He was watching reruns of "Clean House" on the Style Channel. He really digs Trish. The porn was just for appearances. And it takes so long when he masturbates, he's going to get carpal tunnel syndrome.

Ooooh…Trish Suhr…she is one hot little babe…oh, man, I wish I could get hard…the testicles have been really frustrated. They keep sending me notes, but what am I supposed to do? I'm just a penis. (And I'm not far away from that right leg; do you know what it's like to live near someone who never stops bitching?)

Last night, they showed you House furtively calling his team in between bouts of making sweet, sweet love with Cuddy. She's hot, I don't care what the leg says.

What they didn't show you was House taking Viagra like, every half hour. The man's an addict, you think he'd only take one? Cuddy had to spend major time-age sucking me to get me to respond, because the rest of the body HURT SO MUCH, especially the back muscles and that damn right leg. I had to get the job done, you know? Fucking somebody's brains out is damn near impossible under the circumstances I was in (pardon the pun). A 50-year-old guy who hurts everywhere, who was emotionally devastated the night before, who has a LOT of hidden rage against Cuddy for gutting him like a fish the night before? I had to labor mightily to surmount (pardon the pun) all of that and do my fucking job. That's not swearing, that is literally my job. Fucking.

I should belong to the Teamsters union, that's how much heavy lifting I have to do. But I had to strap on a pair—oh, wait, I already have a pair.

Screw the warning labels, I wish I could get an erection that lasts over four hours. It would make my life so much easier.