Pragmatic Surgery

For some reason, Dr. Thomas always has a craving for donuts after finishing a hemorrhoidectomy.

If a family member picks a bad day to stop breathing, some unwritten law somewhere says friends and acquaintances must ply you with caloric wares.  Apparently death makes survivors hungry.  If you don’t believe me, see the story about them funky footballers who did everything short of setting and forgetting their fallen comrades on a goddamn Showtime Rotisserie Grill.   In that same vein – which may or may not be filled with country gravy – a family member undergoing some version of surgery necessitates being slathered with many types of eats, closely timed in between.  My wife is having her stretch reconfigured today, and on top of all the wishing wells, I have been offered more food than Kobayashi could stomach.  Hopefully I won’t have to baptize it in water to consume it in the appropriate time frame.  I feel like a death row inmate hours before go time.  I should start requesting weird shit like those cats.  I really do appreciate it.  I’m not against being wished welled.  In theory, I am not against being given food in response to someone else’s unfortunatestance.  However, when you’re being offered the fully gestated product of their famous family, well-known, always-loved, never regurgitated recipe by fringe acquaintances and human versions of those things on the side of sharks, you almost want to x-ray, MRI or have your cat scan it.  I don’t know whether to finger dip this stuff, or google the provider’s name to make sure they are not associated with any news magazine stories about suspected poisonings.  Thankfully, I can casually regurgitate with the best of them, so I should be able to snip it after it hits my taste buds.

Previously, I had never watched whatever show Kathy Lee dumbs it up on now.  Whatever channel it comes on seems to be must see surgery t.v. though, because no one has made any type of furtive movement in an effort to end its reign.  I have no idea why anyone would want to watch what I consider to be the television equivalent of drool, but hey, I will watch Roadhouse incessantly until I think everyone should be bigger.  And bigger brings me back to my original point.  Kathy Lee has either hit a post-menopausal stride or her funbags have filled with natural joy.  She’s got the tits of a MILF, and the brain of a Dodo bird.  The only anchor/talk show mystery bigger than her and Jay Leno is Katie Chronic, or whatever the hell her name is.

Is there a market for Bathroom Caddies?  I ain’t talkin’ about something to hold all the necessary apooptrements either.  I’m talking about some dude in a brown jumpsuit who stands outside of public bathrooms, and whose sole purpose is to help people navigate around all the nastily discarded paper materials and weirdly colored pools of liquid on the floor.  They could go through all the stalls for you, and advise on which head would give you the highest possibility of avoiding all the turd tracks and un-yourine on the seat.  Finally, is it just me, or does it seem like the vast majority of stallers are bleeding from somewhere south of the belt border?

In the waiting room, there is a guy in the corner hoggin’ two teeth to his self.  There is also some kind of humanoid rollin’ around in what can only be described as a retard Segway.  Some of these people should probably be waiting for some surgery of their own.  Me included.  I could use some strategic Shop Vac’ing around my goozle, gut and grip areas.  If I was having any type of surgery, I’d get as Nip Tucked as possible.  I’d come out looking like John Travolta or Nicolas Cage.

Oh thank God.  The local news is on.  There has been a semi crash relegating the video of the Jam and Marmalade winner from the county fair.  I hear she attributes it all to the fruit.  Clearly, she’s a team player.  No, it’s not a half-crash.  A big truck with two wheels short of Andrew Jackson overturned, and caused traffic to be as backed up as Elvis’ colon.  I’m glad they were all over that story.  I mean hell, if I was driving on the interstate I really need to be told a fucking tractor trailer accident was holding up my vehicular exportation.  Who cares what is causing the traffic jam?  Having to wait in traffic is waiting in traffic, no matter what the cause.  Illogical anger does not require a valid reason.  If road rage were well thought out, it would be more successful.

I’ll get back at ye.  I’m going to be here for a while.