I leave you to your quiet enjoyment of scenes that might give rise to the rousing request:  Go froth and mortify! 

Let's suppose someone wants to kill you.  Face to face.  Perhaps it's just a crazed assassin with free time on his hands and is determined  that you will die for practice and to keep him at the top of his game.  You, on the other hand should be just as determined to live.  Give him a kick to his vitals, never mind that you were told kicking was for girls, you need to grab his gun then you aim and shoot his dick right the hell off.  You win.

Digital rectal-exam is the medical term for "having someone stick their finger up your ass."  So what's the deal?  Most men go through life committed to the fact their assholes are "exit only."  Having a finger pushed up your anus is suddenly like the portal to the New World and is a morbidly unpleasant feeling that ranks up there with getting festering hairs on your taint.  The only other option to this perceived humiliation is to slip on the old pinky cheater and slip yourself the finger and get the job done preferably in the closet, next, give yourself a breast exam.  If all feels well, you're home free.

Women, by and large, have a limited sense of humor.  It's not their fault; it's genetic.  Women do not understand bathroom humor, sexual innuendo, or double entendres.  They are known to occasionally fire off a round or two when provoked.

I come from a land, from a faraway place where the caravan camels roam.  Where they cut off your ear if they don't like your face.  It's barbaric,   but - hey - it's home.