Posts Tagged ‘medicine’

Bon Jovi once wrote a song called “Bad Medicine.” Or at least he stole it from someone else. I’m convinced that one man with so much talent couldn’t possibly have come up with all of those great ideas. A cousin of his taught music in my high school. I never had him yet whenever I would see him would be an ass and use Bon Jovi puns whenever I saw him. One day when it was raining I warned him to be careful outside because I heard it’s “slippery when wet.” I think he heard that one before but he slipped and cracked his head open anyway.

I don’t take too many bad medicines. Most of the medicines I take are good ones. They help me live longer. Maybe not. None have killed me so they must be good, right? I knew someone who told me Reese’s Peanut Buttercups was her medicine. I think she was serious, not a practical diabetic jokester like she turned out to be. If Bon Jovi ever wrote a song called “Good Medicine” it better fucking be about peanut buttercups. The only thing better than chocolate filled with peanut butter is a sexy woman covered in chocolate filled with peanut butter. I guess you could have sex with a peanut buttercup though. Off to the store to find out!

(If it’s got a hole we can make it work)

Every morning I try to take three different medications. The first I take is a multivitamin. I’ve heard conflicting reports about multivitamins. They say they’re a waste while other people say you should take one. I have them so I take them. How can a multivitamin be bad? It’s vitamins! Multi amount of them! Next in my line of pills (I actually do keep them in a line) is my allergy medication. I take allergy pills everyday. I used to get allergy shots once a week I’m such a nerd. These usually do the trick and help me from sneezing. I’m not a fan of sneezing. I swear one day I’m going to get a hernia from sneezing. I’m getting older which means my sneezes get more violent. I miss my little “achoos” and not my current “blah blah bloos.” You shouldn’t have to drop your pants and cough after a sneeze is what I’m getting at. My final morning pill is a fish oil pill. Like multivitamins, I hear these are essential or a complete waste. It would be kind of an ass move not to take them. Fish were killed for their oil just so I can delay a heart attack. That sounds kind of cruel. Americans are so obsessed with oil. I hope we invade a country filled with fish oil. Even in a buy-one-get-one-free pack they were a little pricey.

There are other medicines that I have stored away in case of emergency/post nasal drip. I have a lot of Mucinex, the most disgusting name of a medicine. It says exactly what it is, yes, but mucus is one of those words that make me shiver. Like supper or Cher. I also have a lot of anti-headache pills. Four straight years on July 4th I would get a massive headache that would last up to a week. The most painful throbbing motherfucker of a headache. It always happens on the right side of my face. You can see the vein throbbing out. I’ve actually cried from this pain and nothing makes me cry. Except dead kittens underneath lost kitten signs. I haven’t gotten one of those horrendous headaches in a little over 2 years now. I think it’s because I eat too much salt. Can you believe that salt actually helps with sinus problems? That delicious goodness will never be limited in my diet.

(What did this fictional character’s relatives do at Ellis Island to get such a bad last name?)

I used to have a lot of trouble sleeping when someone was next to me. I never would have survived marriage in olden days. Well actually, didn’t they not share beds? Or was TV lying? For a good 3 months or so I would pop a Benadryl down my throat to get some sleep. Even if I was sleeping alone I’d do it out of habit. Why is sleeping alone such a “lonely” thing? I sleep amazing whilst by myself. A flamethrower to my face couldn’t disturb me. Unless I drank too much water before bed. For someone my age I sure do wake up a lot to urinate and completely miss the toilet.

Amongst digestive pills I also have many creams. I think I have about 8 different containers of lotions. People come over and find out I’m a professional hand job giver. I’m retired now. The hours weren’t flexible enough. I have simple lotions, Vaseline, anything to help keep me from getting too dry. And boy do I get dry. My face, neck, and arms are the worst victims of winter dryness. Some days I feel like I’m a giant piece of dandruff with arms and legs. I already have the same lack of complexion and personality of one. Not much is known about my family tree. I would like to officially claim myself as a piece of dandruff. Where’s my casino?

(Even this brave chief wouldn’t be able to figure out how you scalp a man made entirely of dandruff)

I can’t imagine a world before medicine was plentiful. I guess it’s not that way everywhere. Some parts of the world would envy me for having moisturizing cream. But they live in climates where they rarely get little red rings near their noses. I should be jealous of them, right? I appreciate my medicine. It keeps me from sneezing, helps me sleep at night, and lets me look more beautiful to people who don’t find me beautiful and never will. Medicine, you’ve done a job well done.

Here’s something you may not know about me. I am so exceptionally skilled at sports that I am banned at participating in them. It’s true. I’ve dunked on Jordan, blocked every shot by Gretzky, and I fucked Sheryl Crowe while Lance Armstrong was busy trying on a new “Live Strong” bracelet. But like all great athletes I have had my fair share of injuries. Joe Dimaggio once tore his rotator cuff punching Marilyn Monroe in the jaw. They’re freaky and come out of nowhere. Sports injuries have plagued my life.

The first injury I remember getting was having a softball hit me in the eye. It was at my dad’s company picnic when I was in second grade. My dad told me to stand near a man named Wilson who he worked with. I knew nothing of the man other than his name was Wilson and he liked doing that lame “take off my thumb” trick for me. My references were pretty poor back then and for some reason I thought Wilson was Ozzie Smith, short stop for the St. Louis Cardinals. There was also a man who lived on my street with grey hair. I assumed he was Cal Ripken Jr. Anyway, I disobeyed my father and had a softball land in my face. I went to the emergency room and had to wear sunglasses to school for the next week. I felt like a movie star. Especially when all of the teachers would take me into a room alone and ask if softball was code for mom or dad. It wasn’t. And despite the name, softballs are not soft. Maybe if I didn’t take things so literally I wouldn’t have tried catching the ball with my eyelid.

(Someone buy this woman a baseball glove! She needs to stop catching her husband’s fist in the face)

My second big injury came while playing in an organized baseball league. I was the catcher someone slid into my leg and knocked me over. I came out of the game from catching it hurt so bad. I remember the umpire saying “Don’t worry, chicks dig scars.” I was 9 years old. I didn’t even know what testicles were yet. I still could pee without having to hold my penis. I also was smart enough that a broken leg wouldn’t leave a scar. I guess when you’re a little league umpire, medicine is hard to comprehend. I did stay in the game though and managed to get a base hit. Of course, I didn’t know at the time that my leg was broken. This was a blessing in disguise as it gave me something interesting to write to baseball players begging for their autographs. They wished me well and asked that I stick to playing ball. Little did they know I used that story years after it had happened. Sorry about that Pete LaForest! I had to trick you because I thought you’d be a big name by now. But thanks for the letter encouraging me to stay tough.

It wasn’t just baseball that gave me injuries. Most of those injuries I would eventually fake or over exaggerate. It was the only way to save myself from the embarrassment of a rare 0 for 5 day with 4 strikeouts and a ground out to the pitcher. I never got hurt much playing soccer. I remember getting my feelings hurt one time because I was having a bad game and I insisted that it was because the sizes of the goals were not even. Classmate and kid who once whispered “Let’s get physical” into my ear, Stephan Giffin, agreed and helped me get a teacher to confront them about the goal size. The cones were moved in 2 inches each and I finished off the game magnificently. I even won an award that year for being the best recess goaltender. It was made of tinfoil but that didn’t matter. So is the Stanley Cup.

(Some kid with Down Syndrome touching a coveted sports trophy)

My other big soccer injury came in gym class of ninth grade. I was goalie (I’ve mentioned that I was a fat kid before right? Fat kids are always the goalie) for a game of indoor soccer. My team was made up of two stoners and me. The other team was three lesbians. You can’t make this shit up. The fattest and probably meanest lesbian kicked the ball at me. While stretching for it, my knee felt like it exploded. I crashed to the ground and held it tight. Like an army buddy you knew was going to die and you knew you’d sleep with his wife when you got home. I went to the nurse and then to the doctors a week later. My doctor said that it was because I was fat in oh so many words and I was fine a week later. Not all problems are due to being fat. Starvation for instance.

Football was one sport I never received any injury in. It was such a rough sport that I was able to tough anything out. I played on the high school football team for one practice then quit because everyone seemed mean and I hate(d) running. I had no idea the quarterback and the cornerback were different positions. I thought whenever people mention them they just had a speech impediment. I did jam my finger a few times catching footballs with my dad. Other than that, I’ve never had a major football injury. Probably because I was always the fattest kid playing.

There’s a legend going around that I am not a good ice skater. Yes, photographs might suggest I don’t know how to properly place my ankles on the ice. Despite popular belief I wasn’t that bad in my prime. I could skate forwards, backwards, sideways, I could jump up and not fall on my face. I’ve fallen down a lot ice skating and each time I got right back up after crawling back to the wall. My most memorable fall happened getting off the ice. I never learned how to properly stop which is the most important part of slowing down. The blades hit against the edge and I flew forward onto my face. It was loud and everybody saw it. Worst of all, I remember someone who worked there that I had a crush on. She came over to me later on and asked if I was all right. That made falling down worth it. To have someone unattainably older than you show concern for your existence, it made every injury mean something. A sports injury doesn’t always have to be a bad thing, I guess. It can be good. It will get people to pity you. They’ll come over and talk because they’re afraid their souls are headed for hell. Asking someone how they’re doing makes them feel like they have a chance at a better after-life. I know, what a shitty lesson to learn in the end. But I’m trying to be more positive. Sprain your ankles, cut up your knees, get hit in the head with basketballs, do all of it. Maybe you too can learn an invaluable lesson.

(A soccer player at Lesbian Camp injuring her knee. I can’t wait until footage of the “muscle rub down” is released to the public)

What are your sports injuries? And unrelated, should I update my avatar? I wrote a whole blog post about updating my avatar but reread it and thought it was worse than that Freshly Pressed article about the yogurt selections.

I’m not a fan of doctors. I’ve never had posters of them on my walls. I’ve never purchased a pack of doctor trading cards either. They’re not people who I generally enjoy being around.

Of course, if you’re near a doctor, chances are you’re already sick. But I’m not even talking about that. Instead it’s the personality of these over sung heroes that I would like to discuss in today’s edition of Shitheads I Encounter in Life. It’s not a new edition or anything. More of a summary of my entire life. I meet lots of Shitheads. Doctors always make the list.

My first doctor memory is me lying on a cold metal table, my family all surrounding me looking down, as an older man plays with my nads. I know it didn’t happen that way. In my memory, my family was looking down at me like aliens look at abductees. I’ve read that sometimes people suppress alien abductions and have thought that maybe this was one. But why grab my testicles? Aliens are gross.

My childhood pediatricians were a Jewish couple with their own practice. My mom hated them and I’m not sure why. She would encourage us to pretend to do a drive-by shooting whenever we would pass by them. She especially liked when I used an invisible flame thrower to kill our Jewish doctors. Grenades were my favorite to pretend to throw at them. We all had a RAGE LAUGH!!! about this.

All I remember about the office was that all of the nurses smoked and toads lived in the nearby woods. All nurses smoke apparently. That’s like a stereotype. I usually think nurses are pretty cute. They’re always tuckered out from working 12 hour shifts. Their work uniform looks like my pajamas. It’s adorable! All they need are teddy bears instead of cigarette packets and I’d be all in on nurses. Yellow teeth scare me so that’s why nurses are on me Not-To-Do List.

My Jewish doctors got a divorce at some point. I’m not sure what the divorce was about. Maybe testicular exams lasting too long and the other got jealous. We left there and I got a new doctor, an Indian whose son went to my school. I never really liked him that much. He blamed everything on me being too fat. I hurt my leg during gym class and he asked me how much weight I had gained recently. He’d always end our meetings by saying “I think you vill do very vell” saying v’s instead of w’s. I guess I did turn out okay, so in hindsight he was a smart man. No thanks to him though. Telling a 10-year-old not to eat salty foods isn’t a solution. Especially when he just got a giant container of salty snacks for his birthday. My favorite gift ever of all time still is and always will be a giant container of cheese balls. It had to be 10 pounds of round cheese doodles. If I was to give up salty snacks then I would have to turn down my nice gift. That’s rude. I don’t know how they celebrate Christmas in India, but here in the USA we accept all gifts. Not like those Canadians who have a holiday the next day where they return everything. Pessimistic bastards.

My only other complaint about the Indian man was that he grabbed my testicles too hard. He reached down my tighty-whities and didn’t so much check for testicle tumors, but instead tried to crush my nuts. It really hurt and I wanted to say something. I think he also got some curry in my pee hole because it started to burn. I stopped going to him when he told me I was his oldest patient by 5 years. We said goodbye and I got a lollipop and a picture book before leaving. I got into my car and drove away from my pediatrician. It was time to grow up.

I don’t have health insurance like you Canadians. Healthy bastards. I still guess I have a doctor though. I’ve gone to him twice and I know a lot of people who go to him. He’s never asked to grab my testicles so I guess I like him. He’s also very quick and I remember there was a fat nurse there that was really nice to me. Too bad it would cost me a week’s pay to get headache medicine. Otherwise I’d go there more often.

There are still more doctors that I’ve encountered in my life as I have had a multitude of problems. I had a leg doctor when I broke my leg in back-to-back years. He always had one of those Home Alone 2 devices where he would record whatever it was that he said. He’d end his statements by saying “period” and I always thought that was funny. He was really saying everything the way it should be typed, punctuation and all. There was another Indian man who worked there that would sing “Fill Me Up Buttercup”, the song from There’s Something About Mary. I liked that place. There were pictures of athletes that they had treated on the walls and it made me feel like a real sports star when I went in there after breaking my leg playing baseball. A man in his 30s scared me by saying that if I was his age my leg would never heal. That place was a good place and I’m thinking my subconscious told me to break my leg often in order to go there. They also didn’t make fun of me too much when I didn’t know how to use crutches properly. I assumed you were supposed to walk normally until you got too tired and could use the crutches to lean on for a rest. I’d like to blame that on a mental injury, but I can only blame it on being a dumb kid with no way of understanding physics. I should have had my neck broken to put society out of its misery.

Out of all of the doctors I have had, my favorite was my allergist. He had a lot of pictures of sinuses which always makes my eyes water, but other than that he was great. He was a friendly older man and his nurse said she liked me arms because they had meat on them. Everyone that worked there was always really nice. I was like the cool kid that would come in to give them a break from all the geezers who couldn’t handle being around their cats. I went there for years, getting two shots in each arm every week for my allergies. Eventually my allergies got a bit better and the doctor moved to Florida, as all older people do. His replacement was a young Indian woman, and out of fear of her handling my testicles without a delicate touch, I retired from having allergy shots. I didn’t call a press conference or do any other showboating move. My retirement was quiet and I think the people who worked there that knew me figured that I had died from sniffing pollen.

Doctors are a weird thing. I could never be one. I could never even imagine wanting to be one. They really are a special breed of person. What do failed doctors do though? To be a doctor, you have to be really smart. I’ll probably never know someone who grew up to become a doctor. That’s pretty amazing and shows you how stupid the rest of us are. Such a necessary job is so difficult to learn to do. They make a lot of money and I think they deserve it all. The vacations, not so much. Ease up on the travels buddy, maybe it’s you bringing back mosquitoes that’s getting everyone so sick.

Maybe it’s not doctors that I dislike. It’s the people who want to become doctors that I want to kick in the face. The careers that we all dream of are the ones that usually have effected us personally. Wannabe psychiatrists usually have had rough childhoods. Real special. Like we don’t all have it rough. Wannabe filmmakers usually are nerds who enjoy watching movies alone. Just because you like something doesn’t mean you’ll be good at it, stupid. Medical doctors are people who should want to do the job to help people. Not to make up for a past mistake like not being able to help a sick grandmother, they should do it for all of humankind. Not just their stupid family illnesses. But, who am I to stop someone from becoming something good like a doctor instead of a professional skateboarder? We need doctors. Even if they’re assholes sometimes, take too many vacations, or don’t know how to properly handle little boy scrotum beans, we need them. Unless you believe in Voodoo. Then all you need is a doll, a sewing needle, and a potion that’s 95% shampoo. People still believe that shit! And they drive cars, fly on airplanes, and cry at sad movies. A doll doesn’t control your destiny, a doctor’s competence does.

“Is there a doctor in the house? Yes there is, my son Mort.” – Proud Jewish Mother