“I couldn't live a week without a private library
- indeed, I'd part with all my furniture and squat and sleep on the floor
before I'd let go of the 1500 or so books I possess.” ― H.P. Lovecraft

Whistling In The Graveyard: May 13, 2007

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Holy crap.

So I had a doctor's appointment this morning at 10 with the guy that's gonna fix the leg problem. In short, they're ready to do it just as soon as we figure out how it's getting paid for. They referred me to the hospital financial people.

I go to the financial people. Now, this is the second time I've been there in the last few months. Last time I was there they told me they couldn't do anything till I paid a bill for $81 dating back to 2001 that my insurance wouldn't pay. Well three years ago I got a bill for it, that was the first I'd heard of it. So I went in to pay it (money in hand) and was told that it had been paid.

Well today they say I don't have to pay it again. Kind of a good thing too since I don't have it.

Yes, I know I talked about all the money the government owed me. Well they've decided to keep owing me. I think I've mentioned it already, but they're splitting up my big checks. I don't have a problem with that, but they're sending them SIX MONTHS apart. So Medicaid owes me over $4,000 dollars yet and I STILL have to borrow money to pay my goddamn bills.

But anyways, I had to go to the bank and get proof of the Medicaid payments for the hospital financial application which is getting sent to Medicaid. That's right. I had to get proof that Medicaid was sending me money for paperwork that was going TO Medicaid.

So I get the papers and have them faxed to the hospital. I had to wait a little while for them to find and hook up a fax machine since the fucking hospital is the only place on fucking earth that still requires people to fax them things. Everyone else on the FUCKING planet has moved on to email and such and abandoned that archaic, devil machinery.

After all this I was feeling a teensy bit accomplished so I went to my doctor's office to get my speed prescription refilled. See, since it's an amphetamine I have to go in for an appointment once a month so they can check and make sure my heart hasn't exploded.

Like I wouldn't call them if that happened or anything...

Well recently my doctor's office decided they weren't going to make appointments at all. You just walk in and wait your turn. All I needed was a prescription refill. That's it. Simple task.

Those of you that frequent this blog know my record with simple tasks. My misery, or at least my reaction to it, is why you love me.

Now my first sign of impending doom was when I walked in and saw my old neighbor Crazy Karen in the waiting room. Some of you may remember her. She's the short, fat, retarded, black, alcoholic prostitute that used to live across the street from me. I haven't talked about Karen in a while because a short time ago she moved over to 13th street, but we can still hear her because she's one of the loudest people I've ever heard. This probably has something to do with the fact that she's drunk and/or fighting with her boyfriend/pimp 90% of the time.

Well today, in that office, she was the most pleasant person to be around.

The place was pretty full, but I only have one pill left and my gas tank is on empty and I may or may not have enough money in my bank account to buy a gallon of gas to go back over there tomorrow when they might be less busy.

So I was stuck.

Fortunately I had some good aggression and anger built up from the car ride over. See, once again, I pulled up in traffic next to someone on a cellphone who got annoyed that they couldn't hear their conversation over my stereo. This is a rather common thing since I select my music and volume level specifically so that the people around me can't hear their goddamn phones in the hopes that they might pay attention to something else while behind the wheel. Something like the goddamn TRAFFIC around them.

Sadly this only works on about 75% of the cell users in my vicinity as all the other drivers are fucking text messaging one another and till I get my stereo loud enough to knock the phones out of their goddamn hands then nothing is going to get their motherfucking attention.

But I'm sitting at the light and the guy in the car on my right is being very theatrical about yelling into his phone and plugging his left ear so he can hear the other person on the phone. I don't feel too bad about making his conversation difficult because I know that most of the people endangering my life by talking on their phones while driving aren't talking about anything even approaching important. Matter of fact, I'm proud of the fact that I'm ruining part of this asshole's day.

So I'm sitting there, minding my own business, listening to my music, waiting on the light, getting an erection from the perverse joy of pissing this self important asshole off, when I notice he's waving at me.

Oh goody. I fucking LOVE it when they want to communicate.

I look at him. He doesn't ask me to have a little human sympathy and allow him to talk to go on with his worthless conversation about his worthless bullshit. No, he shakes the phone and points sharply down to indicate, no, DEMAND that I turn my stereo down.

It's at this point that I'd like you to listen to the song that I was playing at the time. If you're at work or school you may want to wait till you get home for this one as it's definitely not safe for those environments. The rest of you should turn your speakers up full blast to get the total effect.

By the way, the video, while kinda neat, is just some anime someone spliced together, so unless you're into that you can continue reading and ignore it.

I've mentioned this song before. It's one of my personal favorites, Die, Motherfucker, Die by the band Dope. I like to listen to Dope in the car because they're loud and abusive and I need that to be able to tolerate humanity outside my home for more than ten minutes at a time. You should all go out and buy a Dope album (any of them will do) and try it. I guarantee you will feel better after listening to it. Sure, you might put your fist through the wall, but as long as you don't hit a stud beam you'll be fine. If you do hit a stud beam then at least you'll have a cool story to tell to attract women. Chicks dig stupid, violent guys. This is largely due to the fact that stupid, violent guys can be easily persuaded to to stupid and/or violent things fairly easily.

And if you are a chick I guess you could use this story to attract women too, which, as we've already established, would be pretty awesome.

Send the pictures to Ford_Maverick@hotmail.com

So the guy DEMANDS that I turn down my violent, offensive goodness with which I drown out annoyances like, well, him. So I wave at him politely, smile, and crank the volume the last four notches to full.

He seemed a bit angry at that. So much so that he throws the phone down on the seat (I can only pray that he broke it) and he opens his car door and starts to get out.

Now I especially love this reaction because when I'm sitting in my car you can't really tell just how fucking huge I am. Before he can turn around to face me I'm already out of my car, casually leaning against it.

I'm six foot three, more than a foot taller than this jerkoff, and EASILY twice (maybe three times) his weight. This is usually the case in these situations which is why I wasn't worried about getting my ass kicked.

So I'm standing there and he turns around to walk around the car and set me straight... till he actually looks at me. It takes him a few seconds to get all the way up to my eyes, partially because of the height difference, partially because I'm smiling at him. And not just smiling, but the kind of smiling you'd get from a combination of dealing with doctor's and bankers all morning combined with my music and hatred of cellphone drivers. It was a maniacal, evil smile. And I'm not a violent person by nature, but all the goddamn buttons were pushed this morning. It was go time. All it would have taken was him walking over to me and I would have gleefully broken him in half.

Unfortunately, when he saw me he fucking dove back into his car and barely had his door shut before running what was left of the red light.

So anyhow, by this point I'm in my regular doctor's office which is full of kids and people on cellphones. Why the FUCK can people not go anywhere without talking on a fucking cellphone every fucking second? I know a lot of people have them and most of you aren't quite this bad, but people in this fucking town don't turn them off EVER. Seriously, I bet they don't even put them down to recharge them. They just plug them in and keep fucking yammering away.

And they're not talking about anything. It's the most inane goddamn bullshit you can imagine. I'm just sitting there trying to read my book (I never go to a doctor's office without a book anymore) but it's hard to do with some bitch sitting three seats away from me talking into their phone in a louder voice in which they'd talk to someone that was in the fucking room with us.

I think that's the perfect way to display the dichotomy of our society. On the one hand you have me, quietly trying to read a book and not bother anyone, and on the other hand you have a stupid cunt yelling into a fucking phone to someone that they're alternately threatening to take out a restraining order against AND inviting to go to the tattoo parlor with.

I'm not making that up either. Really. I'm not talented enough to make that up.

So I sit there for THREE FUCKING HOURS waiting on a goddamn signature on a piece of fucking paper which I only have to show up for so they can take my blood pressure to show that I'm not fucking dead. You'd think that all I'd have to do would be to fucking show up wouldn't you? Walk in the door, “Hey guys, I'm alive!”, walk out the door with my fucking prescription. But NO, I have to wait and wait and NOBODY is going back to see anyone.

So I ask at the counter if maybe I should come back later when they're not as busy and they tell me that I'll be called soon, they just had some complicated emergency thing they had to do and now things will be moving. Well that's certainly good news for the twelve assholes in line BEFORE ME...

But I go back to reading my book, “The Alphabet Of Manliness” By Maddox, the author and webmaster of “The Best Page In The Universe”. Here's a brief excerpt from chapter one of the book “A is for Ass Kicking”:

“Sometimes a woman will manipulate a man with her striking good looks and flirtatious demeanor. This type of woman can live her entire life without lifting a finger to earn a penny; instead, she opts to lead men on with a life that can best be described as one long cock tease of an existence. Since it's unbecoming of a man to hit a woman (Unless she's a feminist, in which case aggression toward her would be a sign of respect, since feminists want to be treated with equality.), sometimes a guy needs to find another method to keep her in line. Sometimes a man needs to head-butt a woman in the ovaries.

The head-butt is tricky to maneuver since there are very few reasons a guy should ever find himself kneeling in front of a woman. One potential reason a woman might expect to find a guy on his knees is for a proposal – which is cliched and stupid, but play along. Just get on one knee and reach into your pocket like you're going to pull out a ring. Then, when she least expects it, grab her thighs, buck your head back, and thrust your forehead into her baby maker.”

Excellent book, you should all read it, but it's perhaps not the best book to be reading on a day when you've already almost got into a fight and are now being driven over the edge by cellphone users and their children.

Yes, the parent at the doctor's office with a cellphone AND a child. They're the best. For some reason, the louder and more vapid the fucking conversation the more they feel justified in completely ignoring their bastard child, especially when that kid has on a pair of sneakers with fucking wheels in them.

Ohhhhh, the sneakers with the wheels in them. How I wanna find the person than invented those and stuff his ass in a fucking wood-chipper...

It's gotten to the point where I have to avoid any place that has a smooth tile or concrete floor because one of these days I'm no longer going to be able to hold back the urge to clothesline one of those little motherfuckers. And don't give me that shit! You wanna do it too. Admit it, you fucking laughed when you read it because you have to fight the same urge, the only difference is that you don't have to squeeze your keys till your palm bleeds to win the internal struggle.

My local 24-hour grocery store (I do all my shopping at 3AM because I hate people) actually has a sign on the front door now explaining that they don't allow skating in the store. I'd like to expand on how wrong it is that they have to put up that sign, but I fear that if I think about it any more than I just have blood will start gushing out of my ears.

I spend another hour trying to read amongst the loud phone people with their bastard spawn spinning in high speed circles around me when an older man on crutches comes in and explains to the people at the desk that he needs a copy of the copy they made of his medical card because someone broke into his house, beat the shit out of him, breaking his foot in the process and stole everything they could get their hands on including his wallet with the original card in it and the hospital (same one I'm currently having to deal with) wouldn't treat him without the card.

FINALLY, someone I could actually feel a little empathy for. Well they took him back right away, which I had no problem with. Did I mention that he said something about chest pains? More on that in a second...

The old man is in the back, I'm still reading, and something is going on out front with the smokers. Lot of yelling and screaming and then someone in a green bronco tears ass out of the parking lot with a pickup truck hot on his ass.

The two women, the ones left behind, come back in to explain that it was an argument with some psychopath they're trying to get a restraining order against and he just threatened to go get an Ak-47 and come back and “Kill us all”. Now the question was asked “Did he mean just the people he was arguing with, or everyone in the building?” and there seemed to be some confusion on that front. I simply went back to reading my book because, quite frankly, at this point I wanted to see these people die, and if going with them was the price I had to pay then so be it.

About then I notice the flashing lights in the parking lot. Oh great, I think, the cops. Nope. It's an ambulance there to pick up the guy that the hospital never should have sent away in the first fucking place for the lack of a fucking piece of paper that he could have produced later. Unless he had a fucking FAX MACHINE...

By two o'clock I'd finished my book and was halfway through reading it again because (A: It's that good, and (B: I don't want to make conversation and /or eye contact with anyone in the room.

Finally they called Crazy Karen back and as far as I could tell I was next in line after her. Now it was a game of either getting out way before or way after her, because the last fucking thing I wanted was to be leaving at the same time she was because she would probably ask for a ride and there's no fucking way that's happening. Back when we first moved into this shithole Nate took a cab home from work and he was explaining where we lived and he said “Just across the street from Crazy Karen.” To which the cab driver replied “Oh yeah? I know right where that is. You know, if she doesn't have enough money for the cab ride she'll suck your dick?” Why no, we didn't know that.

I got called back about 15 minutes later, they took my blood pressure and then made me wait another fucking 45 minutes so the doctor could come back, glance at my fucking chart and hand me my prescription.

That's right. Half a day of dealing with people I despise just for a fucking signature.

Fortunately I didn't bump into Karen in the waiting room on the way out, because the day was already weird enough without having to turn down a blowjob from a retarded crack-whore.

Oh, interesting addendum to the story. I get home to find a message blinking on my answering machine. It's Mike D, a friend of the Graveyard, informing me that Jerry Falwell was dead.

You know, just when I'm losing all hope the universe sends me a sign and all is well...

Just too bad it took 73 years for it to happen. Burn in hell motherfucker.

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