You’ve seen it happen, at least on TV.
A bunch of people are all having a quaint, quiet, cultured dinner at a high-profile restaurant. Wine is being poured, meals are being prepared, couples are looking longingly into each other’s eyes. A four piece mini-orchestra plays Mozart, candles glow throughout the room, and somewhere a woman with roses makes her way through the crowd. And then, out of nowhere, crashing glasses accompany someone shouting “Is there a doctor in the house!?”
Rude. Totally rude.
If I could perform complicated surgeries with a toothpick, my phone would never stop ringing.
Most calls, of course, would come from International locations like Burma and Greenland and Taiwan and Indonesia — where people are open minded about tricky, questionable, almost magical-like surgical techniques like mine and are more than happy to become guinea pigs if it means free gauze and syringes. But as quickly as they would call, the lists of patients would overwhelm…because when the media and journalists of the world saw what amazing things I could do with a toothpick…
…well, I’d be the King of the (Medical) World.
When I was a kid I ate Flintstones Chewable Vitamins as a replacement for candy.
There was the Flintstones Chewable Vitamins Incident of ’84, in which I had eaten an entire bottle of the glorious, sugary pills after finishing off a half container of Vienna Fingers. That came hours after having drank three Coca Colas and two Yoo Hoo chocolate drinks. There was a black out, a struggle and a mandate that followed: there will be no more Flintstones Chewable Vitamins for you from this day forward.
That’s why it’s good that Tums are the new Flintstones Chewable Vitamins.
Can you smell it?
Friday is here. A combination of buttered popcorn, vodka tonics, fresh air, old three-hole punched paper, burned rubber, licorice, beer, garlic bread, pizza and sushi all wrapped up into one very exciting day. At least, that’s what I smell when I think of Friday. You, as your own distinct living organism, may smell something completely different.
But can you smell today’s “Words For Your Enjoyment?”
There are many standoffs.
There’s the ones where you and your doppleganger each have a gun and you’re pointing it at each other and yelling to a third party with an even bigger gun that “he’s the fake” and no “I’m not the fake” and so on and so on until eventually the standoff ends and someone is dead. There’s the typical Western high noon standoff where two cowboys are separated by a distance, on a dusty road, trigger fingers hovering over their belted-guns.
And then there’s medicine aisle standoffs.