Monthly Archives: August 2010

A Doctor

For the most part my doctor is completely normal, and maybe even more professional than others I’ve had.

He’s always on schedule, usually forgoes small talk for actual in-depth conversations about current events, and never once made me physically uncomfortable.

But there are other things about him that bug me a bit.

They are rare occurrences, but I have a lot of health problems, so I’ve been in and out of here enough to say I’ve seen too much.

At my first pap smear with him he shaved an Om symbol into my pubes while I wasn’t paying attention.

It was shocking that someone would do that without asking, but it was just so darned detailed that I didn’t mention it.

Then he asked,

I thought he was hitting on me, so I said yes because it seemed like something that would make for a funny story. But then he just gave me the business card of a yoga studio and said, “Maybe try this place. I found this card in the parking lot.”

Another time, while I was reading in the waiting room, I spotted him hiding in a cabinet about 20 feet away, spying on me.

“What are you doing?” I asked.
“What are you doing?” he replied.
“Anything good?”
“Well, it’s kind of a campy romance, but I like that stuff sometimes.”
“Don’t laugh!”
“Awwww, stop teasing!”
“That’s hilarious! Do you ever imagine that you’re the woman in those fantasies?”

Then, very very slowly, vomit started to pour from his mouth.

We stared in silence for a long time and neither of us blinked and then he dove behind a desk and I heard him crawling to his office.

The appointment that day went so swimmingly that I thought it best to just not mention what had happened.

Another time he rode a nurse like a horse all day.

I told him I liked the cowboy boots he was wearing, and he said, “What, these old things? They belonged to my father. But he ain’t gettin’ ’em back.”

The nurse garbled something through the bit in her teeth.

“What?” the doctor asked. “You didn’t speak to him, I hope.”

“Mmfff… *cough* No, he just looks ticked off.”

My spine tingled and I peed a bit when I turned to the window to see a very old, very tiny man in a cowboy hat peering in at us and frowning.

The doctor hopped off his steed and ran out the back door, and we watched him grapple on the lawn with the old man, whom he eventually lassoed and hogtied.

The doctor looked at us and started posing and flexing, then the old man bit the doctor’s shin and he fell over screaming and rolled down a steep hill into some bushes.

I turned to the nurse, “Doesn’t it ever get to you? Having to work with such a lunatic?”

She stood up, pulled the bit out of her mouth, and said,

“The doctor is very peculiar, no doubt…

… but he’s a master in many fields of healthcare. His work in dialysis is unmatched by anyone in the state, and his patients are always treated with the utmost concern. In the end, he is my boss and my mentor, and as bizarre as he is, I accept him. After meditating on it for years, I now believe that those of us who see the world clearly must judge the hazy-eyed based on the good that they do, however odd their mannerisms may be.”

“That’s a beautiful philosophy,” I said. “Since I was a kid, I’ve always felt so alone in the world — as if I’m the only level-headed person around.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve been wandering down that road since I learned to speak, and it takes a great deal of patience, my child. A patience that will define itself and grow strong as long as you strive for truth… But anyway, I hope all this didn’t shake you up too much.”

“I’m OK, just a little parched is all.”

“No problem. I’ll take care of you, darlin’.”

Then she went outside with a tin bucket and tried to milk the old man, but he just bit her a lot.



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Foodie Blender

I will take all of the foodies in the world and put them into a blender. All the people who order food and whine about it or praise it as if it were a reasonable topic for conversation, I will put them into a big ol’ blender and slice them up.

First will be the people who send food back just because it has a dab of some condiment on it that they don’t agree with. I will lift them over my head (I’m a gorilla) and throw them into the blender.

Then will come the wine connoisseurs, then the people who think they can taste the difference between organic produce and this red stuff I found. All going into my giant blender.

I will slice them up until they are a thick beverage, and pour them into a giant trough for the homeless people.

Then the homeless people will say, “We don’t have to drink humans out of a trough over at the shelter. They give us soup in a bowl.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Well, can we have some money instead?”
“Yeah, take whatever’s leftover from the foodies. It’s not much, because they spent most of it on stupid things.”

And because of my kindness, the sturdiest of them will piggy-back me to church. There I will follow along with the service, listening intently to the preacher. When, after 45 minutes, he doesn’t say a goddamn thing of any use to anybody, I will stand and shout, “You there! Shut the fuck up!”

After that, I will go outside, and some cool people will tell me that I care too much about how others perceive me, and that I should be more laid-back. Then I will point to their cool tattoos and say, “You shut the fuck up!”

Then I’ll be parched, and I’ll drink some of the foodies, whom I put into my thermos.

Then a different type of cool person will walk up to me and say, “Chug, bro. Chug it. Bro. Chug that. Chug it. Bro. Bro. Bro. Bro. Bro. Bro. Bro. Bro. Bro. Bro. Bro. Bro. Bro. Bro. Bro. Bro. Bro. Bro. Bro. Bro. Bro. Bro. Bro. Bro. Bro. Bro. Bro. Bro.”

I’ll walk past this person. I think I see something more interesting over there.

It’s another cool person. She has someone lying face-down on a table. She is putting rocks onto the person’s back.

“Why are you doing that thing?”
“I’m curing him. These rocks will heal him up good.”
“What?! Rocks can cure people just by you putting them on their backs? I can’t believe no one’s ever told me this before!”
“The illuminati want to keep it a secret.”

“Oh… HYAAA!!!” Foodie juice all over her face.

Then I will start running, until I trip and fall onto my head. I will then realize what I’ve become — a cynic — and I will feel so low.

I will trace my steps, apologizing to all the people I had judged and yelled at earlier. I will ask if they want to come over to the community center I rented for a barbecue.

They will all come over and have a wonderful time, but I will be moping in the corner, feeling bad about how mean I was.

Then Alfalfa will come over to me and say, “Did you know there’s a blender under this floor? And did you know that button behind you causes this floor to open up? And, did you further know, that all your guests are dancing right over that crack? And I’ve got the key!”

Then after they’re all blended up, Alfalfa and I will hang out for a bit, then he’ll shoot me over something about a dog? What? Fuck you too, Alfalfa.


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In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is Larry King

… Cuz when those blindies hear poignant political commentary, they just start jabbin’

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How to Drive a Car

When I was learning to drive, the instructor actually told the class that pressing the gas pedal and accelerating should be done in the same manner that you would press your foot into a cat’s belly: slowly and gently.

He said this thing.

At first this seemed like the ramblings of a lunatic, and most of the class just gave him confused, lost looks, but actually, catpressing can be a simile for almost every single activity in life.

When calling someone on the telephone, do you slam your fingers into the buttons like a brute? No, you do it with great care, as if dialing a cat.

We created cat.

You take a good look at cat, and you see a little fluffy invention. What is this tiny thing? Is this even possible? Can we just continue to act as if it’s all completely normal?

Also, maybe God was created during man’s first earthquake, because a caveman would no doubt attribute all the shaking to some giant, wrathful hand in the sky.

And yield on green when turning left.

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