“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 31, 2009

Sunday, May 31, 2009

So yes, once again I've been away for an inexcusably long time and once again I'm going to attempt to excuse it.

Truth is, I've barely been home in weeks. First I had the whole New Mexico thing, which I have yet to write about, and then I was house sitting for a friend and now I'm house sitting for another friend. Should be home tomorrow night though.

So, two things for now. First, I had an appointment with my new doctor the other day. I went in solely to get a referral to a surgeon. I have become very familiar with the referral system in the last few years. It is the process by which doctors simultaneously test the patience of both the person seeking medical aid and the patience of the planet as each doctor in the chain of referrals asks you to fill out the same stack of fucking forms as every other doctor just to keep you busy while they read the forms you've already filled out at the other fucking doctor's offices.

Personally, I think they're checking for lies.

That or they're grading us on our penmanship.

So I had something of a first at this doctor's office. See, every time I go into a new doctor (or the same doctor if they don't recognize me) they always ask if I'm a diabetic.

They do this because my hernia makes me look much larger than I really am. And this is a problem because, on top of the hernia making me look much fatter than I really am, I'm a gigantic fat-ass.

So right now, my look is fat on top of fat with a side order of hung over.

Yeah, that's right. I'm bringing sexy motherfucking back over here.

And before I get a bunch of emails from everyone giving me shit, I am NOT going to the doctor's offices hung over. I simply LOOK hung over because I show up about ten minutes late, sweaty and with hair flailing wildly because, invariably, I've overslept and just barely made it to the appointment.

This is almost excusable at 9 AM.

Somewhat less so at 3 PM.

Where was I? Oh yeah, so the forms ask me if I'm diabetic. I check no, because I am, in fact, not a diabetic.

So the intake nurse asks me if I'm a diabetic. I reply "No" because, as previously stated, I'm not a diabetic. At this point, rather than go through the list and ask me all the other questions off the form that I just wasted many valuable minutes of my life filling out for them, the intake nurse leaves the room and comes back with a blood glucose meter.

See, I have encountered this before. The scientific mind. They see a big fat fuck come in the office and he just HAS to be a diabetic. It's impossible for them to think otherwise. If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck then it must goddamn, jolly-well be a big fat motherfucking diabetic duck.

But he continues as they all do. "When is the last time you had your blood tested?" I reply "The last time I was at a doctor's office." "Well we have a new test we'd like to try." They always say that and it's always bullshit. I'm willing to bet that the fucking test hasn't changed in like 50 fucking years. "We have a new test" is doctorspeak for "We think you're lying to us for some inexplicable reason because you're a big fat fuck and we learned on the first day of doctor school that every big fat fuck is a diabetic ESPECIALLY if they say they're not".

So he sticks me with the fucking needle thing and has the nerve to look surprised when my blood-sugar level was, in his own words, PERFECT.

He went on to look further shocked when I explained that I'd been fasting before the appointment (Nothing to eat or drink after midnight the previous night) because I KNEW they were going to test my blood-sugar. This meant that my blood-sugar was ASTOUNDINGLY perfect.

I expected, as many of you might be right now, that would have been the end of things.

So the doctor comes in. Little skinny woman. I could tell by looking at her that she'd been skinny her whole life too. I hate skinny doctors. They have no sympathy at all for fat people and they don't understand how hard it is to lose weight because they've never had to. They just say "You're too fucking fat. Lose some goddamn weight".

Alright, they don't say it just like that.

Well, a couple have.

Anyways. Doctor Anorexia looks at the forms I filled out, looks at the test strip and the form filled out by the other doctor and then tests my blood-sugar A SECOND FUCKING TIME!

Now, it's not like I don't have plenty of blood or anything and I've become almost comfortable with doctors thinking I'm lying to them, but now they're not even taking the word of THEIR OWN FUCKING STAFF.

Like what? For some reason I've not only lied about my state of health, but I've managed to get their staff in on it too? Was the other test stick some elaborate forgery? Or did she think the nurse fucked up the test? CAN you even fuck up that test? It's a needle stick, the blood drop goes into the machine and the fucking microchips do all the fucking work. Have I gotten the machine in on my little scheme? I'm pretty sure that if I could talk to machines and talk them into lying for me I'd be seeing a better class of health care people and I'd already have all this fucking surgery crap out of the way and be on to a fabulous run of world-domination.

And when I do rule the world (and I will) it'll be the skinny doctors that'll be the first up against the fucking wall.

Skinny doctors and Joel Schumacher, but that's another rant entirely that we don't have fucking time for right now...

But after all that shit, Doctor Skinny tells me I'm too fat, I need to lose weight and she hooks me up with a referral to a surgeon on the 8th of next month. Whichever month next month is. It's one of the hot months, I know that much. So on whatever the 8th at 2 PM I'll be seeing a surgeon back at the doctor's office where I had my last round of really good surgery done and I see from the paperwork that one of the doctors that worked on me back then is still at those offices which I take to be a good sign.

So yeah, sometime after the 8th I should have some small inkling of when my next surgery might be.

And what else? I said at the beginning that I had a second thing...

Oh yes, the whole reason I started writing in the first place tonight. I was sitting here fucking around on the internet when I glanced at the newspaper and saw that they've brought back Jarts (or 'lawn darts'). For those of you that don't remember them, Jarts were quite possibly the most insanely stupid fucking idea to ever make it off the drawing board. They were huge, plastic darts with metal points on them. These miniature javelins were then given to CHILDREN to take outside and hurl INTO THE AIR in an attempt to hit a target several yards away.

It's no wonder that they were banned shortly after the ganja cloud that was the 1970's dissipated, but now they've brought them back, but they're all fucking Nerfed and shit! You can't bring back lawn darts and have them be fucking safe! The whole point of them is to show just how blindly stupid marketing people are and how consumers are even fucking dumber for buying these emergency room visits in a fucking box!

No wonder our industries are in the toilet and our children are getting dumber. Things like lawn darts used to serve a function. They thinned the herd! If you don't clear out some of the dumb ones then how do the smart prevail?

Stop making the world safe for the stupid people! You're not doing them or yourselves any favors. Either have lawn darts continue to be banned or bring back the old dangerous ones, but don't ruin my Darwinnian existence by making everything safe.

Stupid people NEED to die dammit!

The people that made Jarts safe will be up against the wall right behind the skinny fucking doctors...

Oh yeah, for those of you keeping track, this was post number 666 so hail Satan and all that.

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