Apr 02 2009
The Stabbing Of Pressed Ham 123.
In happier, healthier times, I was reviewing baseball games for the Wii. But in this dark day, I’ve found myself repeating my name and address about a thousand times on doctor forms. Two things I love: obnoxious bureaucracy and paying someone to tell me something’s wrong with me!
As it turns out, I’ve never been to an adult doctor in this town, so I had to be treated as a new patient (though I went to this doctor a million years ago to get my shots before high school just to be in their system… turns out they lost me after me not going back to them for 14 years). Long story short, after a lot of waiting and a lot of coughing, I’ve got an upper repiratory ailment and serious throat irritation.
I got a bottle of horse antibiotics (what better cruel joke to play on someone who can’t swallow liquids than to give them gigantic pills?), a bottle of green death cough syrup that doesn’t have enough codeine to knock me out, and orders to pick up some Mucinex D. (“No, pharmacist, I will not turn this into crystal meth, I promise. Now please put down the taser and give me back my ID.”)
Oh yeah, to put the icing on the cake, they had to have the nurse give me a shot. Not in the arm, either. Apparently once you start growing hair under your arms, they stop giving out candy to good boys who don’t scream and cry during the stabbing of the tender behindus. I’m disappointed; I was kind of hoping for a tequila pop.
Now if I ever get caught using steroids, I can honestly say I’ve had someone I don’t know inject me with God knows what. So I’ve got that going for me, which is nice.
Man, our family has ridiculous immune systems, doesn’t it? Richard’s had practically every disease known to man and he’s still healthy as a horse. That said, you’re getting old enough now that you probably ought to get a physical every year, ya know?