Don't Eat Meatloaf

nuff said.

...Eating Someones Family

This, by the way, is where all the players spit.

I wonder how that tasted.

Like Dr. Pepper

I'm not a real Doctor.

More of a Doctor like Dr. Pepper is a doctor.

Or Julius Irving was a doctor.

Or Paul Coffey was a doctor.

Speaking of which, if any of you three who read this (and yes, I said three. I'm banking that at least ONE other sheeple is out there. But I digress from my digression...) know of the origins of Paul Coffey being called The Doctor, please let me know.

So anyway, I'm a doktor, but not a real doctor.

You know, the good kind.

Dammit people! Focus! I can't write prescriptions! What good is it being a doctor if you can't do that?

None, I tell you.

Absolutely none.



Sigh!


Anyway. Our story begins at 5:06 AM, Thursday morning. Which means it is 4:51 AM, real people time.

Yes, you geniuses. My clock is set 15 min ahead. Why? Trying to trick myself, thats what.

How often does that happen? Almost never.

Why then, do I keep it like that? If I set it to real time now, I'll forget and be 15 min late.

By the way, I'm watching a show on dinosaurs, with this very cute paleontologist. Which makes me think I should have followed my second true love - dinosaurs. And by extension, my first love as well - cute chics, man!

So, whatever. I wake up super early on Thurs morning. That is my first clue that something isn't right. I feel like I'm wide awake, and I ask myself, "Self. Why am I wide awake this early?".

There is no answer forthcoming.

The next thing I know, it's an hour and a half later. Looks like I wasn't so wide awake after all. So I meander into work, shrug off Sgt Kickass, as usual, and sleepwalk through daily grind. It becomes more and more difficult as I realize that I'm getting sick. Brain isn't functioning very well, tingling balls, throat is bugging me, I'm letting people get away with saying super-stupid things without comment, and I'm losing my desire to be really, really drunk.

Friday I wake up with an awful sore throat. It takes about two hours before I can swallow without hurting. Fever - I sat and had a conversation with myself for about 8 minutes (not my personal best) and I mean really. I sat there and looked at myself and made fun of "Him".

Anyway. Sat I wake up and the same thing is going on. Not only that, I wake up next to myself again. I asked for hallucination head, but my mirror said, "I knew it. You're a fucking homo! Get it together, Man!"

Fuck!

So at this point I realize I need to get myself to a real doctor and get some pills.

I call up my favorite three and get basically the same response from all three.

"Where's my fucking money? You said this was foolproof. You'll die before I write a script for penicillin unless I get my fucking money." and BLAH, BLAH, BLAH.

Now where, I ask you, am I supposed to come up with 40 Large? What do I look like... a doctor?

Fuck them! If they're so smart, why aren't they rocket scientists?!

Lazy pricks.

Alright. Now, I have one other option. I have to go back to the emergency clinic.

Coming to this conclusion was no easy decision. And not without great risk. The last time I was there, Johnny and I wound up making money before the SWAT team was called, much to the chagrin of the employees there. I've been there numerous times, and told never to return every single time.

But I have something different in store for them. This time, I'm NOT wearing a disguise.

So I go there, and surprisingly everything goes well.

Until the doctor arrives. I'll call him... Flaming Dr. Pepper.
Hi! How are you today?

Sick.

Well, take off your pants and lets get started.

What?! ... ahhhhhh alright, I guess. But it's my throa...

Oh, just take them off, you silly. Now lets take your temperature.

LOOK FUCKER! Unless you want me to take YOUR temperature with that thermometer through your eye, you're going to behave yourself, and let me get out of here so I can watch the hockey game.

Oh. My. Dear. I'm so sorry. I sometimes get carried away... Hee, hee, hee!

Cripes. Look. I'm sick.

Dick? Did you say dick! I have in the drawer here...

SICK you fag! Get me meds now or I'm going to take one of your thumbs, and then get a taco!

Oh, my. You sound just like... no. No. NO! It can't be! Not you again! HE...

I quickly put my hand over his mouth and whisper: you will stop screaming one way or the other.

ok, ok. What do you want? You want me to take off my pants?

I don't trust you. Go get another doctor, and don't tell him why.

Well, ok. But I really don't mind taking off my pa...

I give him an ice cold stare.

And keep this in mind, Johnny is outside right now waiting for me. Any funny stuff and he's coming in.

So the new Doc comes in. He's cool. We exchange pleasantries, he checks my throat and leaves.

For a while.

I was starting to get nervous, and looking around for something I could bash someone over the head with should it come to that when the doctor comes back in.

You're throat looks painful. I'm going to give you a script for antibiotics and codeine for the pain.

"YES!" I'm screaming in my head, doing the original touchdown dance.

Take all of the antibiotics even if you feel better. And with the codeine, you can get that filled if you want...

heh, heh.

... right. Or you can flush them if you don't need them...

heh, heh, heh.

...uhhh, right. well, you can...

I ran right out of there and to the pharmacy.

I stand in line, salivating, already making my plans for the evening.

I get to the pharmacist, and I see not one, not two, but three pictures of me up there in various disguises with a sign saying "only essential drugs".

Apparently the pharmacist notices those like normal people notice those Wanted posters in the post office.

I get to the man and start talking.

"So what would you take with these?"

"Shut up", my brain is telling me.

I'm sorry. What?

What would you take?

"SHUT! UP!"

I don't know what you mean.

You know, what kind of fish goes well with this wine?

YOU FUCKING IDIOT! STOP SPEAKING! RIGHT NOW!

Sir. Surely you aren...

Look man. I got these drugs legally. All I want to know is what should I drink with these pills?

THAT'S IT! YOU'RE ON YOUR OWN. I'M OUT OF HERE.

what?

What? Why did you just ask me what? It doesn't matter. Look, I'm not giving you the codeine.

My brain apparently did leave me, because the next thing I know I'm lying face down in a puddle in the parking lot, with bloody knuckles and forehead, an empty wallet, and the distinct feeling I've just been tazed.

I check my pockets. One script. No codeine.

Next time, I think I'll wait until I have the chicken in hand before breaking its neck...

I think that's how it goes.