Saturday, February 21, 2009

With all due respect, ask around, Mr. P.

I found your GI Joe, Bro.

Friday, February 20, 2009

Oh, my bologna has a first name, it's A-i-c-h-m-o-p-h-o-b-i-a

Aichmophobia - Fear of needles or pointed objects.

I've never been one for needles. But I find myself faced with a situation in which I'll be seeing them a lot more than I care to in the coming weeks.

The needle fear goes back to a really crappy childhood experience. But in order to tell this story, I have to rat on my brother. Sorry, bro. But I have to toss you under the bus for the sake of entertainment. My brother and I BOTH collected GI Joe's when we were kids. But HE sewed his own clothes for his. Neither of us were particularly tidy as children, as a matter of fact, our room was a disaster area most of the time. The evening I'm recounting, he left his sewing materials on the floor of the bedroom on the shag carpeting. I, of course, stepped on the needle. That hurt. And off to the Army Hospital we went.

Other than stepping on a needle, here's where the trouble REALLY began:
1. It wasn't a Hospital. Actually it was more of a glorified Aid Station. There was no Hospital on this backwoods post we were on. Did I mention it was in France? Rural, southern France, not the famous "South of France" the rich f**kers speak of on the southeast coast, this was just the south and was landlocked. A Polish K-9/U.S.Ammunition Post. Somebody negotiated one whacked out deal there.
2. It was the weekend so all the staff had gone home. In particular, the X-ray tech AND the anesthesia guy. Oh, that really, really sucks. The highlight of the weekend in this place was shooting pool and getting drunk. Even for the kids.
3. The doctor was Polish and spoke only pigeon English. So I couldn't understand a word he was saying, which is probably a good thing.
4. The doctor was something like 65 years old, so couldn't see very well. Not the best candidate to be looking for a needle that may or may not be inside my foot.
5. I wouldn't swear to it, but I think the doc had been drinking. Either that or he wore Eau du Pabst Blue Ribbon cologne. But who could tell? He wasn't speaking English and he had this BIG silver disk stuck in the middle of his head with a light in it so we couldn't see his face. But he sure smelled like it. Oh, well, it WAS the weekend. Yes, a tipsy, old, blind, Polish dog doctor, in southern France, with no X-ray tech. Couldn't get any more bizarre.

So, with no X-rays, we didn't know if the needle had broken off inside my foot or not. And with no anesthesia, it promised to be an interesting evening.

Ever seen one of those cowboy films where they wrap a stick with a cloth and have the patient bite down on it while they dig out the bullet with a knife, but first they give him a shot of whiskey? Give the whiskey to the doctor instead of me and that's what happened. Oh, holy CRAP that HURT!!!!! The cloth wrapped stick became my friend. Shots in the bottom of the foot! Which hurt worse than the scalpel. But didn't deaden the pain of the scalpel either. And then he, the Polish doctor, was digging around in there, like a shopper on Black Friday at WalMart ... without X-rays. And after about a half hour of rummaging around, he couldn't find anything. So he closed me up.

We waited a week and flew me to a proper hospital near Paris, with proper X-rays and a proper anesthesiologist and sure enough, they found 3/4 of a needle buried deep inside my foot.

My brother got to go to the beach in the "South of France" for a week with my Dad, while my Mom took me to have surgery to look for and remove my brother's GI Joe needle ... come to think of it ... YOU DO deserves to be thrown under the f**king bus! Fink. And how come you didn't turn out gay? Sewing your own GI Joe clothes... geez. Clearly we need to talk. I still have issues. I'm busy pushing poor Joe off the top step in his attack jeep like most 9 year old boys and you're making sure your Joe is donned in hand-sewn Speedos. Hmmmmmm. Did you take Joe to the South of France swimming with you? Hope a shark bit off his pecker. Wait, he didn't have one to begin with.

Regardless, ever since then, I do the Lamaz Breathing Technique any time anyone comes NEAR me with a needle.

Looking for investors

I discovered today that all the medical isotopes used in the US come from Canada. And the reactor in Canada went on the fritz Sunday leaving us empty handed this week.

So I had an idea and am looking for ground-floor investors.

If YOU'VE got $10 million laying around in unmarked bills, just send it to me. I've never built anything with bricks, but hey, how hard could it be? For every investor I get, I'll build a nuclear reactor behind my house and start a MADE-IN-AMERICA isotope factory. One we can be proud of. Screw the Canadians, eh?

We're going to have to hurry before someone else comes up with the idea, so send your money TODAY!

Did you check at Walmart?

I was supposed to have a bone scan today ... I mentally prepared for this all week. Not that the procedure is painful, but there's a lot riding on the outcome. So I take the day off from work. Show up at the hospital, get registered, get the little bracelet thingy on my wrist and when the registrar calls the nuclear medicine office to tell them I'm there, they inform her that the test needs to be rescheduled. They ran out of isotope and can't get any. The reactor in Canada is on the fritz. I asked if there was any isotope available at any other facility that I could go to? No, it's a nationwide shortage.

So now I get to prepare AGAIN for next Tuesday.

Ain't that the shitz?

You watch, I GUARANTEE you I'll get billed TWICE for this $10-gazillion procedure even though they didn't perform it today. Remember? ... they REGISTERED me.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

My New Favorite Sport

I'm going to put pillows at the end of the lane. They'll eat them when we're done.

Belated Valentine