I've been remiss in checking on World o' Crap lately, getting ready for the big retirement party I'm sure my co-workers will throw at the end of May (note to self: Do not stand near the open window). But when I saw the ad for the Wipin' Stick, I had a twinge of remorse because about the time Scott posted that I saw an old gentlemen whose back problems necessitated his wiping himself with TP on an actual stick, which caused some perianal fissuring.It's moments like this in medicine that make me say, "OK, I've seen enough! Buh-bye!"
You may retire from private practice, Doc, but you'll always be Wo'C Chief Medical Officer.
Scott, don't you say that this verbal-visual surrealism is "For no particular reason"!I took one look, made a small gargling noise, furrowed my brow, blew it up to examine the wackiness of the 19th C concepts and absorb the inserted text, and said to myself, "This has to be about Trump." I hadn't heard about the chocolate cake etc. yet, you see.Try to imagine its impact if you hadn't heard about the chocolate cake etc. Like seeing Monty Python for the first time when high on good grass, which actually happened to me in London in 1971.
Like seeing Monty Python for the first time when high on good grass, which actually happened to me in London in 1971. I don't know how, Li'l, but you manage to get cooler all the time.
Scott, you say the nicest things to a poor old Democrat trying to do her taxes without going blind over cash-register receipts. (How's that for kool??)Yep, 1971 in Maida Vale... pleasantly wuzzed with a nice Welsh schoolteacher I'd met at the local laundrette, and he turned on the telly not realizing I knew nothing from MP. The Bournemouth Gynecologists were playing the Long John Silver Impersonators, and you can imagine what my brain did.Happy PesachPaschalEasterEostreSpringFestival to you and Mary and everybody
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