nothing left but the angry dwarf
I went to see a real live doctor yesterday. I didn't see his degree, but he had on a nice necktie and seemed relatively well groomed. He couldn't have been much older than me, but he used big words with confidence, and that, coupled with the fistful of free pills he left me with, was enough to earn my trust.
He is my new doctor. I feel bad for abruptly leaving my old doctor like this, but my old doctor sucked. I only saw him once, and he seemed to dismiss me long before I was able to get into the bit about the microchip implant or my uncanny ability to always know what Tucker Carlson is thinking at any given moment.
It is still the theme song to "Matlock". The man is nothing if not consistent.
The fistful of free pills is doing a helluva job of dispatching the chest congestion and opening the sinuses for oxygen, but there is still a great deal of sinus pressure that has somehow spread through my entire cranium. I am still quite dizzy, and it feels not unlike a constant state of walking around with Herve Villachaize on your head. He kneads his tiny palms into my forehead and thrusts the brow downward, then presses at the temples and squeezes the bass of my skull with his gamey thighs. He laughs at first, but Herve is angry and looking for a fight, and there is no Ricardo Montalban there to tame him.
I didn't mention that bit to the doctor, but I see now that it might have helped me get that prescription for Guinness.
Or not.
posted by Rex L. Camino at 5:20 PM
5 Comments:
Poor, poor Rex.
De Pain! De Pain!
Ba-DA bum Ta da DA-da-da doo dad doo doo doo, ba-DA bum Ta da DA-da-da, doo doooo doooo do doooo do doooo do
That's the best I could do. That's supposed to be the Matlock theme song. I'm trying to put it back in your head, as you've now put it in mine.
Great. Now I'll spend the next couple of nights trying to shake the image of Herve's reanimated corpse riding your head like a spidermonkey jockey at the dog races.
Actually, now that I think about it, that's kinda funny.
I hadn't thought about it being a reanimated corpse, but "Herve's Reanimated Corpse" really should be a band name.
Trying to put music in one's head is a very dangerous game, Jag, as there is no protective equipment for handling the music and keeping yourself safe.
Herve is dead? FUCK YOU. ALIVE.
He's alive.
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