Mr. Friendly Says So
Defending the Motherblog
Listen, I don't come over to ur blog and call u names. So don't u b dissing this here blog.
Not to my face anyways. What u say in the privacy of ur own mind or blog is ur bidnez.
I was called a racist.
But in the words of the near presidential John F. Kerry, thrice.
Well, I may be, but I doubt it. It's like theHost, the amiable host of our weekly poker game, said last week, "How can you be a racist, you hate everybody?"
That's right I am an equal opportunity misanthrope.
So if you, or someone you know, suspects me of singling out people due to their race solely, please drop me a line in comments or email and I will try to broaden my focus of ridicule.
By the way, I came up with a short list of things that are worse than being a racist. Again feel free to add your entries via comments or email. Without further ado:
2.) Serial killer
3.) CEO of Standard and Poor's 500 firm that goes belly up due to your ill conceived money making ideas and subsequent cover up of losses. Your firm's bankruptcy puts thousands of people out of work and destroys the retirement savings of thousands more.
4.) Money grubbing preacher man. (or woman, I'm not sexist)
6.) Wife/child beater/rapist (I know I have child rapist there twice, shut up, I'm on a roll)
7.) Street gang member
8.) Drug dealer/pimp
9.) Tort lawyer
10.) The guy who came up with "I'm luvin' it" ad for McDonals's
11.) Politician, any party.
12.) Some ill read, ill informed, and just plain ill twentysomething blogging your life away while tens of thousands of lonely, deluded middle aged males from across the globe think they have a shot at you because you were fool (exhibitionist) enough to put your picture up in your blog. Your additional crimes include: claiming fluency with the English language and displaying none; living under the illusion that people want to hear your facile take on the world around you when, in fact, your audience mostly wants to see nude pictures; finally, going off on me after reading ONE comment I made on someone else's blog.
Aaaaaahhhh. I feel better already.
By the by number two: why do people resort to calling others racist if and only if their particular race is made the butt of the joke? You don't see me crying foul everytime someone tells a drunken Irish joke. Suppose my object of ridicule were Pakistanis, then I would probably have the entirety of India on my side.
It's like my friend Sudhakhar says: "We wish the government would let us push the Pakistanis into an ocean." (True story)
Indeed, I need to work on my racial sensitivity.
That is all.
My car runs on beer fumes...
I have a pile of beer bottles in my garage even the most degenerate of gaspipes would be proud to have...Even the most diligent of panhandling, bottle seeking hobo would be impressed.
I mean had. They are all in my car trunk right now.
My plan is to return them and get a free twelve pack (or two six packs, no diff) in the bargain.
95% of the bottles are from an obscure Danish brewery, perhaps you heard of it.
Didn't think so.
What to choose? What to choose? What to choose?
I am leaning towards my socialist friends from the Republic of Europe, but that doesn't really solve anything for me.
Do I go back to Denmark?
Perhaps the Czech Repuplic?
Or my native Ireland?
Fug the choices, I am getting all three.
A word to my mass production beer brewing friends, FUG THE FLASH SITES!
I just want a picture of your beer bottle so I can post it on my site. I should not need a PhD in Software Engineering to point google in the right direction.
All I want, need, is a picture of a bottle (glass) of your beer and perhaps a pretty maid or two holding one. That is not too much to ask.
One more fugging slip up and I am returning to wine.
All right, I lied, you will never get rid of me but could you please make your websites cooler.
As a side note, to those two readers not already impressed with my wordsmith and fathering skills, I think you need to note something about me: I gathered up my treasure trove of beer bottles while lil Squirt hung on for dear life.
That's right! Lil Squirt and me are quite impressive.
Cell Phone Germ Farm
At Mr. Friendly Laboratories, a division of Mr. Friendly Industries, Inc., we spend countless hours and resources studying the effects of stories like this
. As saddened as we are by the spread of bacteria, like Staphylococcus aureus, we are heartened that ailments like pimples, boils, pneumonia and meningitis could be prevented by upgrading to a newer, cooler communication device
Here at the lab though, malady mitigation is great but, prevention through causal study is even better. So we put our best minds to work on how in the hell the germs got on the cell phones in the first case. Through careful study, mainly searches on the internet, our scientists discovered that Staphylococcus aureus
exists in the air, food, food equipment, dust, and SEWAGE.
That last item got our brains working. How the hell does sewage (or, let's be honest human waste) get on a cell phone? For many minutes we sat in the lab in silence until our resident genius, Dr. Savage
, came up with a plausible reason.
It occurred to Adam that a spike in interpersonal rage combined with the high levels of heat generated by the cell phone would generate the perfect breeding ground for Staphylococcus aureus. Dr. Savage's hypothesis theorized that a sufficiently obnoxious cell phone user could in fact enrage an otherwise normally social human being into performing an act with the cell phone and its user that would result in the diagram below. We leave it to the reader to ponder the various iterations.
Since prevention is the name of our game, The Mr. Friendly Laboratories propose that undisciplined cell phone users place a barrier,preferably latex, around their cell phone in order to mitigate the results of cell phone rage. Until such time that our firm brings the cell phone prophylactic to market, might we suggest cell phone jagasses go to their favorite drugstore, purchase some Trojans (germicidal please) and place one over their cell phone.
Thank you for your continued interest.
And have a nice weekend.
Freaky Fundamentailst Phone Line
As part of our ongoing efforts to save souls, Mr. Friendly International Christian Fellowship extends a hearty welcome to your questions and comments. May we have the first caller please:
Ruth: Hi. This is Ruth in Cohoes. I was born again in 1997.
MrF: God bless you Ruth.
Ruth: Thank you. My question is: Suppose I know the Rapture is right around the corner, so I, along with my fellow believers in Jesus Christ, my personal savior, will soon be swept up to our reward (and dodge death in the bargain). Should I continue to do housework, go grocery shopping, mow the lawn, etc.
MrF: Well Ruth, I'll tell you what my sponsors in Christ Jesus told me when I asked a similar question prior to being reborn: "What do you care, it's all going to burn anyways." Here's to seeing you in glory shortly. Next caller please.
Joe: His this Joe from Albany. Will I be good with Jesus if habitually stiff hardworking, yet ignorant, wait staff when I go out to eat?
MrF: Hey Joe, good to hear from you praise the lord. There is no mention of tipping in the Bible. So I think you are ok. Come to think of it, Jesus mentioned giving unto Caesar that which is his, and you know, the money is yours, so feel joyous, you will find yourself in heaven some day. We're talking to Heather.
Heather: Hi, this is Heather in Loudonville. Love your service here. My husband and I will be attending a Promise Keepers event later this year. Of course I will be seated in the back with the other ladies, but I was wondering if it is ok for me to wear something a little less "frumpy" to the festivities. I mean, I am still a good looking woman but my husband says "Gingham or don't go."
MrF: Oh, Heather, I am praying for you now. You are walking a tightrope over the abyss. An abyss that, if you fall in, your soul will be forever tormented by flame and demons. Your husband is looking out for your soul. Listen to him, he knows best! He knows your pride in your appearance will damn you to hell for all eternity. Listen to him! Additionally, he knows that if you dress in a sexy and or provocative way, you will only stoke the fires of his own loinful lust. Tell the clothing demons to STAND BACK, your eternal soul is at stake. By the by, did you know that the fashion industry is dominated by the homosexual cartel? A blow against them is a blow for Christian righteousness. Next call please.
Hong: Hello, sir. This is Hong from Troy. Can Buddhists find Jesus?
MrF: See you in Hell Hong! Next call please.To be continued
Back in January, I wrote a little tidbit about etiquette
. Through observation, I learned that the message has not reached all of you. For the recalcitrant retards, I present the following in the hopes that they will wise up.
Cellphones in the men's room are a NO NO. They are distracting and not in compliance with the common, yet unwritten, code of etiquette.
Last week, I lined up next to some jagass on his cellphone. He cradled it with his chin and shoulder while he did his dirty work with both hands. As he went on about some technical mumbo-jumbo, I wondered if the person(s) he was speaking to knew where he was and what he was doing. For their sake, I considered flicking the phone off his shoulder into the urinary stew below. It took all my self control, but I did resist the urge.
Instead, I posted this really cool sign in the john.
Next up is the moron who goes to the office restroom, urinates, then gives a cursory hand wash. And by cursory, I mean a 1 second splash of water to the fingertips. Look, I know water is a great solvent BUT
1.) You need to get more than your fingertips on one hand wet.
2.) Soap increases the surface tension of the water, thus improving its ability to lift scum from your hands.
3.) Soap has antibacterial agents designed to KILL the coliform bacteria that is all over your hands after urination.
4.) Spare me your bullshat efforts to prove to me and the other restroom user that you are not a sewer rat. Those efforts, sir, are in vain.
Don't believe me about the bacteria, check this
So, to summarize: don't use your cellphone in the john; wash your fugging hands when you are done.
Goddam, I sound like my mother. Only she used to give me a kick in the arse when I acted like a fugging pig. Upon consultation with Mom, I am considering her method.
Either way, there will not be a third warning.
I'm working, go elsewhere.
We changed some things as this here blog. Less poker, that's good. More bullshat, that's better.
Take a look to your right. You will see a plethora of new links. Let's take the quick tour:AlbanyEye
has been around for awhile. Generally, I hate left leaning smartarses, but he's willing to give a behind the scenes look at local media. Plus, he has a helluva sense of humor. Mr. Friendly says "Read."Shamus
give their perspective on life in the Capital Region. I think both are IT people, if that's a plus. Either one can bring on the funny in a heartbeat. Mr. Friendly says "Must Read."iSaratoga
reports on doings a tad North. Saratoga County is his domain. Generally an excellent read, despite Communist leanings.TroyPolloi
is the BEST at giving the lowdown on local politics. Even if you could care less about the Collar City, you should check it out because Democratus knows how things work over there. Plus, he too, has the knack for comedy.Howie Carr
is not just the best columnist in Boston, but the funniest one too. You need to read a few columns to get in touch with Boston way, but when you do, I promise fun.
Although Democracy in Albany
generally sees but the abject horror of Republicans and absolute virtue of Democrats, she does turn over rocks in the political garden. So read and watch the creepy crawlies squirm.Anonymous Coworker
is just a boon to anyone who works in an office.The Phoenix
is what I hope to be when I grow up. Someone who has an intelligent and skeptical view of the world. He then uses that perspective to slam all kinds of pseudoscience scams.McBlogger
offers her perspective on life, love, career, parenting, and photography from The Great White North. She found her way here and we hope she stays.ag
is abrasive. Mr. Friendly says he likes his ladies that way.Lightning Bug
is a witty, sardonic, clever writer. That is not why he is linked. I put him up because of the large, and I do mean large, community of women that read. every. word. he. writes. Mr. Friendly says check it out.Joe Speaker
is my last remaining poker blogger. Despite that, his blog is less about bad beats and poker strategy than it is about good times and laughter. Mr. Friendly says give it a try.
I am tired of this shat. Go click on a link. Why, because I said so!
Everybody Hates This Clown.
During the summer months, the Town of Colonie hosts a number of kiddie events . You know, a little something to keep the tykes entertained while the wise parents catch a few z's in the back of the room. Things must be awfully tight at our local library
as last night's entertainment left much to be desired.
Bob the Clown did not dazzle or amuse. He did not arouse giggles or excitement. Generally he showed little interest in anything "clown related." As he got more and more disinterested in his own performance, he began a monologue on how his life has gone sour and how the man done him wrong. Our progeny didn't understand many of the details but were certain that their clown was NO FUGGING FUN AT ALL.
When confronted with his ineptitude by Junior and some of her peers, he turned on the kids. First he spoke harshly, calling our greatest achievements brats and little shats. Then he got progressively meaner, dropping a f-bomb or two. The children, confused and hurt, began to riot. In the hoopla, some parents were roused enough to chase him out of the library. Due to the chaos, adults were generally unable to help with a good description for the police. Colonie's finest, being, well, pretty good, took voluminous notes from their only reliable witnesses. Below is the flyer the police printed.
Please take a good look and if you are in the area, keep your eyes open. Me, I will be spending the weekend explaining divorce, welfare, and the DTs
Everybody, in my house, hates clowns.
Rise and Shine!
A couple of weeks ago, I read a news story where some people needed to point something out to their neighbors and anyone that might come near their house.
Been really busy here in the salt mine. My latest application strikes a blow for workforce productivity. I got a little sneak peek for you below. Click on the image to enlarge if you must.
Experiments in Social Retardation
Mr. Friendly found this page
You say there is a group of people that can't help but say something, well, retarded. That, if locked in a room, with members of a control group (read normal people) and other members of the maladjusted, these morons will invariably act in socially unacceptable fashion.
As usual, the social science geeks are only telling you half the story. Afraid to impact negatively on the self esteem of goofs everywhere, they neglected to report other findings.
1.) Subjects were observed when experimenters uttered "All dweebs say what." 10% of the control group said "What?" That figured jumped to 96% for those deemed to be social retards.
2.) Of married geeks studied, 99% regaled testers with tales of their spouse's recent urological, proctological, gynecological or plastic surgery. Median length of the monologues was 30 minutes.
3.) In specialized studies centering on IT consultants and clients, it was found that H1B consultants were 100 times more likely to tell their clients that they were fugged up and could only survive technologically through services provided by these same consultants. Interestingly, language specialists found 4,562 ways to say "You insult me with your inferior intellect!" in Bengalese. The results in Hindi were 5,435. As a footnote, it was discovered that "I don't know." is a phrase foreign in both languages.
4.) 75% single adult dorkish men who live with their parents compared many of their day to day personal interactions to relationships detailed in comic books and Star Wars movies. The other 25% were scientifically declared, ahem, "whipped."
5.) Single adult socially retarded women were 10 times more likely than the control group to tell strangers about their past, disastrous relationships. A significant number of these (P=.87, t = .00001) could be characterized with violent climaxes.
6.) Poker playing bloggers, special subgroup of the cohort, impressed testers with their massive egos and interminable tales of victories at the gaming tables. This group was further characterized by their contempt for all other humans "non-poker or poorly players. (sic donkeys)"
7.) Single, adolescent and young adult male retards were 50 times more likely to sport tatoos on their biceps, use hair gel, and call their peers by the "N" word.
8.) Single, adolescent and young adult female goofs were 50 times more likely to sport chinese symbol tatoos near or on their buttocks. A full 100 percent of these females thought the male dweeb was beneath her consideration.
Mr. Friendly presents these results in the hope that his readers will one, not find him(her)self in the studied group; two, run after identification of suspected social retard.
What the hell are they teaching them in school?
This is going to be quick. I should be in a meeting right now. Ahhhh, I have my priorities.
This past weekend, the Mrs. and I took the kids to an amusement park. Well, since one kid is only 6 weeks old, I guess we took a kid to the amusement
park. On third thought, both kids went so,...
Anyways, yesterday I am at the "all you can eat" breakfast (highly recommended) when I hear the following:
16 year old hostess: She said she had a blueberry doughnut...
16 year old busboy: They is no such thing. She must have meant bagel.
This is where I stepped in. Never let it be said that I let this kind of abject doughnut ignorance remain uncorrected.
Mr. Friendly: Indeed, the Dunkin makes a wonderful blueberry doughnut
. In fact, they make two
Busboy: I did not know that.
Mr. Friendly: You will have to order one on your next visit.
Hostess: Are you from around here?
Mr. Friendly: I live a mere 45 miles away unlike your usual riffraff. Would you like some directions to doughnut happiness?
Hostess: That's ok. Thanks for watching my back.
Mr. Friendly: My pleasure. Have a lovely day.
So, what the fug are they teaching kids these days anyways?
Pffft. No. blueberry. doughnuts.
See that kid in the wheelchair? Bean him!
I was listening to the Dan Patrick
show on the way home yesterday. He was generating some talk by bringing up this story
in Sports Illustrated. Generally, I don't synchronize my outrage with the ESPN guys because, you know, they go to bat for alot of questionable personalities...
Where's the Barry Bonds outrage?
or Terrel Owens?
OK, you get the point. These folks save their sanctimony for some nobody Pony League coach who has the temerity to intentionally walk the league's best hitter so his pitcher can try his hand at striking out a cancer survivor.
Outrageous? Hell, yeah.
Despicable? In a game where they cap the runs scored to four an inning, yeah, this is pretty bad behavior.
Par for the course in the world of peewee athletics? You betcha.
I remember, back in the day, when my little league coach would make us run laps for losing a game. I remember riding the bench in high school basketball because coach was working on a dynasty or some such shat. When I played football, I saw alot of time but there was always one or two dudes who went to every practice, gave it their all and saw nothing but garbage time in the games. These, of course, don't compare to the egregious behavior cited above but, I'm thinking it is only a difference in degree.
Anyways, that is not really the point of this post. The point is Radio Dan opened the lines for phone calls. The second dude on the line says, and I quote:"I don't know what the big deal is. Just because you are a cancer survivor, doesn't mean you get a free pass."
I had to pull over the car I was laughing so hard.
Yeah chief, you're right. You don't have to go to chemo anymore! So, be a Man!
Clearly this moron needs to be schooled in Mr. Friendly's axiom number 311. It is, and I quote:
In the world of cancer, the only thing worse than being a survivor, is not being a survivor.
In other news, just wanted to thank ag, McBlogger, Phoenix, Shamus for their kind words. and, um Welcome Aboard the short bus, I guess.
Mayor of Currytown
Verily, I have nothing against those who come to America's shores to expand their opportunities and liberties.
Take, for instance, my boss, the project manager at this here IT shop.
Dapper fellow, no?
The other day, as we discussed various database solutions for a particular challenge here at the ol' worksite, I stopped Gupta as he drew 412th diagram of the database.
"Mr. Gupta," I said, always respectfully.
"Heebeewa, Friendly." he replied.
"You are pardoned. Might I continue drawing?"
"In a moment. Could you explain to me why you are drawing all these diagrams of tables, relationships, columns, processing flows, etc.?"
"So you may develop a deeper understanding of the inner workings of business process, technology flows, and database infrastructure."
"I would like to continue my dissertation," he told me.
"In a moment. I have a follow up question. Why is it that you think I need a deeper understanding of business process, technology flows, and database infrastructure?"
"As your superior in this information technology department, I have been tasked with educationing my subordinates on the importantcy of information technology issues."
"May I continue?" he asked.
"Mr. Gupta, how much experience do you have in Information Technology?"
He took a deep breath and said "I have a bachelor's degree in Computer Technologies from the Bengal Institute of Higher Computer Learning. After finishing my studies, I amassed fifteen years experience in database , ten years experience in Java, and twenty five years of experience in Visual Basic. While I got much experience in various technologies, I educated myself in the information management arts culminating in a degree of higher learning at the Mumbai Center for Information Technology Management Excellence. There I was first in my class."
"Pardon me for being so bold, but are you in the United States on a work visa?"
"Of course, Mr. Friendly. I am H1B for the last six months."
"This shop is your first sponsor."
"Oh no," he said, "I have obtained three other sponsors this year."
"I promise this is my last question," I said, "but how old are you?"
"I will be twenty five this fall."
And he continued to draw me some pictures.
During my lunchtime constitutional last week, some blue hair passed me a leaflet. I guess the hippies were having a gathering in Washington Park soon to commemorate the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Commemorate is probably the wrong word. Feeling sad and guilty about stopping Japanese imperialism probably nails it.
I took the leaflet back to the office, with the intention of dumping it at my earliest convenience. Sorry, I don't feel particularly guilty about Truman ending World War II.
This suave young fellow visits my desk in the afternoon. Glances at the leaflet that I forgot to throw away and says:
"It is very sad that America killed so many thousands."
"Yes, it is very sad that the Japanese did not surrender when we asked. Verily, it would be sadder if America lost many more thousands trying to conquer Japan island by island.," I answered.
"But the Japanese did surrender."
"Yes they did. Don't you know that history is often written by the victorious."
Hmm. Momentarily, I thought about throwing this buffoon down several flights of stairs. Instead, I asked some questions.
"Suppose we didn't drop the bomb, do you think India would be independent?"
"Do you think you could work in the United States?
"Do you think you would be standing around, annoying me, or drawing a bath for your Japanese overlords?
That's what they say about me. I am harsh but fair.
We lost another H1B the other day. He thought he was irreplaceable.
INTERRUPTION: As an aside, Mr. Friendly stipulates that NO ONE is irreplaceable.
So anyways, he is full of the milk of human hubris. As his contract comes to a close and it is time to bid again (perfunctory of course, but I like it too), his sponsor puts him up for the job. He is duly selected...
He gives his company an ultimatum. "Give me a raise or I am gone!"
Funny thing is the client was left to drop the ax. They did it late one recent Friday afternoon.
To one of the other Americans here, I ask,
"Don't the habibs realize there is no negotiating with slaves."
That, my friends, is why they call me the "Mayor of Currytown."
If you, or someone you know is interested in finding out more about the beloved H1B program, please visit this site
What to say to the Border Patrol
All right! Score one for the good guys.
I don't know, all these criminal masterminds...
It's funny the driver didn't claim that the Mexicans must have gotten into the upholstery through some "one in a million" car detailing accident.
That is all.
Poker, my once and future friend.
So Friday night, Junior wants to go to the local kiddie ride and putt-putt golf-a-rama. Mrs. volunteers to bring her. That leaves me and lilSquirt, who is looking like he would rather be in happysleepland, dreaming of, um, you know, "milk dispensers."
Time for...POKAH shenannigans!
Let the games begin. Time to call 8 newly made friends to the No Limit Hold 'Em table on PokerStars and try my luck at losing $50,
Not so random notes
1.) So I don't limp in to 80% of the pots. That must mean I AM THE FUGGING ROCK, baby. Well kids, that's what my opponents thought. After my 3x BB raises from under the gun were met by 8 folds 3 times, I knew it was time to:
a.) Play shatty cards limpily
b.) Win a pot or two
c.) Show same shatty cards
Didn't work out. Oh, I won. A lot of little pots. But my opponents sensed my aura of invulerability and begged off when I played the hammah, 83 offsuit, a jack and a four,...anything.
It got real boring real quick. So I switched tables. Same fuggin thing.
Now I don't play enough to have someone check out my tendencies. So I am stuck here wondering WTF? Really, I just want to play. C'mon fellas, please call me down with worst pair. Please.
2.) MarkyMark on Poker: I'd rather gnaw off my right arm than play poker. So, no, I will not play.
Oh. But poker is lovely game when you are sucking out on your friends. A few river suckouts come your way and you shat your knickers. I only have one thing to say to FuManMark:Your slip is showing
3.) Ok there was one hand where I made some money. I get AJc and raise it up 5x. Get one caller (I was so excited to see a flop). Flop is A-7-poop. I make a feeler bet of 3/4's of the pot cause I am thinking if this dude had a strong ace, he would have raised. He calls (Me likey). A fishy call if ever I saw one. No way does he have a high ace. Turn is like a 3 or something and this time I pot it. He min raises me and I raise enough to put him, how do you say, "All you can eat, baby!"
He calls, the river matches the board (not a seven) and we both show...He had a seven and a four. He lost a lot of money.
I did not question his play in chat or in my mind. I did not berate him. I merely thanked God for placing me in the right place, right time.
Then I logged off.
I will go fishing again some other night.
Listening to Vandenburgh
on the way in...
He was talking about some retarded poll and cited that 86% of those asked WOULD NOT date someone with gray hair.
OK. We like 'em young.
Pauly then chats up the news girl.
"You are happily married. I am happily married. I have gray hair but if we weren't, married would you consider..."Uncomfortable silence
"So, you're part of the 86%."
Newsgirl chimes in "Well, it's not because of your gray hair."
That one is for you, AlbanyEye
I wish I knew how to quit you.
Hey Batman fans!
Guess who's playing the Joker
in the upcoming sequel?I always thought his animus for the caped crusader was a bit of the love/hate thing.
Yeah, it's easy. Yeah, it's cheap. But, I'm fuggin' busy this week ok!
That is all.
Calling Dr. Gaspipe!
I would say that somewhere in the neighborhood of 80% (4 out of 5) of my readers knows that lil' Squirt will need some surgery to repair his imperfection. The surgery could hardly be called invasive however, it's fuggin surgery. Whatever, if you have seen the kid or heard me talk about him you know.
Which brings the Mrs. and me to the point of interviewing surgeons.
Woo hoo! You know how I feel about doctors. All quiet assurance until you ask them the trick question. You know, the specific, empirically based one like:
"Hey Doc, since you want me to help out with your car/boat/vacation home payments, how 'bout showing me the results of your latest wranglings in human meets scalpel series?"
"Huh, what, ...the temerity...don't you realize the privacy covenants of doctor/patient privilege are SACRED?"
OK. Moving right along to contestant #2: "Sawbones, show me why I should trust you with my son's life?"
"Well, I have an established practice of nearly 20 years dealing mostly in pediatrics.."
Wait right there. Refer me to three of your latest CUSTOMERS with the same ailment.
"Well, I can't do that! Those people entrust me with their deepest medical secrets..."
That's all I need to know. NEXT!
Suggestion to one and all physicians out there. If you are interested in drumming up business, do what the plastic surgeons do: report on a website, be specific, and offer referrals. Otherwise, you run the risk of losing the PIA (pain in ass) clientele.
Fortunately for my 5 readers this is not the point of my post.
The Mrs. and I head to the surgery group's office. Therein, we are seated in the cavernous waiting room so we might sweat it out with the injured, the sickly, the convalescing, and the "ready to pitch" salespeople. I grab a number (cool, 4,559,003, me lucky number) and wait.
We are called in after a 10 minute wait. Not bad considering the mob in the waiting room.
In the examination room, I look for a seat while the Mrs. sits down and gives lil Squirt a snack. I grab the examination table. And we wait.
I am immediately impressed when the doctor enters the room. I am quite impressed he made it to the office today. Close your eyes and imagine: disheveled hair, ink on his hands, bleary eyed, unstable feet. In a word, I'm thinking "Alky."
He seals the deal when he opens his mouth:
"Now, who are you again?"
"I've seen you before?"
"Yes, the defect is complete, I think."
"Did I write a letter to your insurance company? I am sure I did. It must have gotten lost."
"I feel like my hair is on fire!"
Social retardation was considered...for a moment. After watching him do the following:
a.) lean on wall
b.) try to stand upright.
c.) get upright but,
d.) leave a file he had behind his back
I figured the real culprit may be physical and/or chemical.
Later, when the Mrs. asked me what I thought he was on, I was open minded.
"Honey, he's either having a really bad day or a whole lot of vodka."