HEY DOOGIE ... HOWSER BOYFRIEND?

Alright ... where was I?

The nine gigs in nine days thing has been over for a week and I'm just now recuperating.

Yesterday was my first official day off from any work in three weeks and while there was plenty of work to be done around the house ... I slept and transferred stuff from my TiVo to DVD in order to free up some space on the TiVo.

THAT was the most productive I got yesterday ... making DVDs.

And it felt GOOD.

There's good news on the Andrew front.

Andrew (who just turned 6 this past Thursday, thanks for the cards and letters ... NOT) went to see a neurologist on Friday.

Actually, Susie took him. It's not like Andrew drove himself or walked or hitched a ride.

To make a long story short, the neurologist refused to label Andrew with anything like "Asperger's Syndrome" or "Autistic" or "Slightly Fey" or "Tastier Than A Fried Vagina".

The neurologist said he was "quirky" with a pinch of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

Or, as my family calls it ... OCD.

Both my sisters have it and one of their husbands has it. So Andrew having it is no big shockeroonie.

What does all of this mean??

Andrew is not nearly as bad off as we thought he might be for the last year.

The neurologist also said that Andrew was gifted.

Naturally, I took this to mean he was like the kid in "The Shining" who was also gifted and could see hot naked ladies running around abandoned hotel hallways and could sit and have long, drawn-out awkward meetings with Scatman Crothers in kitchens.

And even though Scatman's gone off to the big scat house in the sky ... could it be possible that my son could have conversations with the big guy?

Hmmmm??

Answer: NO.

He's not THAT gifted.

Which sucks donkey balls because it'd be so cool if I could sell Andrew to a traveling state fair thing and then maybe get a job as the fair's resident stage hypnotist so he and I could travel the land together ... me hypnotizing the fabulous hillbillies in small towns nationwide while Andrew regaled audiences with his one man show "My Telepathic Conversations With Scatman Crothers".

Alright ... enough. I'm tired.

Anyway ... the doctor/neurologist (he is a doctor by the way and I'm going to call him such because quite frankly I'm tired of typing "neurologist") compared Andrew to Vincent Van Gogh except Andrew has an extra ear.

The doctor said Andrew would be a leader and with his smarts would "probably" end up being the CEO of a company when he got older.

Which is funny, because the guy didn't want to "label" Andrew but he was quick to jump the gun on "He's like Van Gogh! And he's going to lead a major company someday!!"

Whatever Doc.

Bottom line ... Andrew is NOT ELIGIBLE to receive services, therapy or care from the National Association Of Doctors Who Won't Label Your Kid No Matter How Much Money You Slip Into Their Lab Jackets.

I'm just tickled shitless because ... other than the occasional booger-munching ... my boy's as normal as yours.

Unless your kid eats handfuls of mucus at a time.

And in that case ... YOUR KID'S A FREAK!

(Did I put the "Doogie Howser" in the right place? Should it have maybe been between Neil and Patrick? This is gonna bug me all day)

Honestly folks ... I never saw this one coming.

Granted, I'm not the biggest Doogie Howser fan.

But wouldn't it be so freakin' cool if photos surfaced of Doogie Howser having sex with that preacher guy who just admitted that he had a "dark side" to his 14,000 member congregation?

The guy who said he bought meth from his gay prostitute ... but threw it away.

Ha!

THAT'S the part that cracked me up about that guy.

"Yeah, I paid good money for the drugs and then threw 'em away. That's it. Tossed 'em out the car window on the way home from my massage from the amateur massagist. What?? You mean there's professional massagers that don't work out of seedy motel rooms and sell drugs after the massage? Uhhhh ... no more questions, I've gotta go make sweet sweet love to my wife."

Keep in mind ... I'm not trying to kick the guy while he's down.

But damn man ... it's just so freakin' easy.

The guy (Ted Haggard is his name, by the way) is some big-time minister who when the allegations started coming in last week was all "What a pack of lies!"

Then it was ... "the guy gave me a massage once".

Then ... "Well ... more than once."

Then ... "I bought drugs but threw them away".

Then ... "I forgot to throw them away and accidentally took them"

Then ... "I love me some meth ... but I didn't have sex with the guy."

Then ... "I might have got a blow job once. I don't know. I was too whacked out on the meth."

Then ... "Alright ... so I sucked a dick or two in my life and fought hard to ban gay marriage in Colorado. What's so wrong about that?"

Then ... "Alright ... I've had penises shoved in every orifice of my body at the same time on a weekly basis, I freebase heroin, I killed a village full of little Korean orphans with my bare hands for crack money and I once voted Democrat. But goddammit ... I'M AT CHURCH EVERY SUNDAY!"

Tell it to the big man upstairs, Johnny Hypocrit.

Doogie?

I've got no problem with Doogie. God bless ya, Doogster. I hope you find love with some massive Mandingo who treats you like a queen.

The guy who stands up and says gay people should have no rights while getting repeatedly butt-banged by a guy who has sex with men for money, while popping amnyl nitrates and singing Liza tunes?

Slight problem there, cochise.