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6:04 a.m. - 2003-10-15


So I go to the doctor yesterday because ... well ... to put it bluntly ... I felt like I had Satan's cock up my ass.

I get there and the waiting room, like every other room I had visited in the last 24 hours, was spinning like a giant blender and I was pina colada mix.

My appointment was for 10:15. I waited patiently in the Waiting Room Of The Dead(TM)as old people all around me were coughing and gasping and sneezing, making me feel even more welcome.

At 10:55 I was called from the waiting room to be weighed.

I wasn't impressed with the results.

I think the word would actually be "horrified". Yeah. I was horrified with the results.

I really need to gaze in the mirror more often.

Anywhooo...I sit in the second waiting room for 15 minutes, gripping the sides of the chair/bed that the nurse has asked me to sit on so I won't go tumbling off toward the ceiling.

The nurse comes back in and wants to take some blood.


I open up a vein and give her some blood. She seems thrilled. I don't charge her. She leaves.

Ten minutes later ... the doc walks in.

"How's your diabetes?" he asks.

"It's fine," I mumbled. "It said to tell you 'hello'."

"Did we do a prostate check on you last time you were here?" he asks, checking his charts.

Now I'm no dummy.

If he had jammed his fist up my ass the last time I was there, there would be a better than average chance that I would remember it.

"No," I moaned. "But I'd really like to just get some antibiotics and come back later for the foreplay."

"Are you sure?" he asks, flipping pages in my folder.

No doc, I'm lying. You shoved your hand so far up my ass you turned my belly button into a hand puppet and made it sing "I Feel Pretty" to my horror. I just didn't feel like reliving the memory one more time, you goofy fuck.

"No,you didn't," I mumbled again. "But honestly doc, I think my ass may be full of Satan's cock and you'd have a hard time getting your hand in there too."

Okay, I didn't say that.

But it did go through this spinning head of mine.

He told me about the virus that's going around which I have apparently caught and that the only thing he could prescribe me was antibiotics and plenty of rest.

Thanks doc.

I never even thought about going to Med School and I could have made that diagnosis.

He wrote me a prescription.

I managed to escape with nothing jammed up my ass. But I did have to promise to come back soon for the festive probe-a-thon. I snatched the prescription out of his hand, mumbled something about coinciding my next visit with a cold snap in Hell and left.

I got the prescription filled and rented three movies to watch while I laid in bed all day.

* WRONG TURN: Word of advice ... if you have a stomach virus where you've eaten nothing more than a banana and a few crackers in 48 hours, you may want to skip this flick. Watching backwoods hillbillies with their cleft palates dangling from their chins will turn your stomach quicker than a Sally Field film festival.

*IDENTITY: This flick was actually getting pretty good until the "twist" near the end. At that point I was so mad that I leaped from my bed, fell to the spinning floor, got up, placed my hands on the wall and felt my way to the TV, ejected the DVD from the player, attempted to have intercourse with it to show my displeasure with the twist, realized that my intercourse with an inanimate object could be misinterpreted as an act of love and not betrayal, stopped myself, got back in bed and cried that such a good movie was ruined by such a lousy twist.

I did watch the "Behind the Scenes" feature of the film and a couple of the stars said that when they read the script they had to do the film because this "twist" had "never been explored" before in cinema.

There's a reason for that, you ignorant jackasses ... BECAUSE IT SUCKED.

* RUN RONNIE RUN: Bob and David from "Mr. Show" do a movie. I had read horrible reviews of the film, but it had me laughing several times and as we all know ... laughter is the best medicine. Except for stomach viruses.

My favorite moment ... when Ronnie's white trash friends were trying to convince Fucked-Up Dog to eat vomit.

Now THAT'S comedy.

Anyway...I'm feeling better this morning.

Except my nose won't stop bleeding.

...Fucking cheap-assed cocaine...

Oh yeah...someone sent me a photo of the tiger that hurt Roy moments before the deadly attack.


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