No More Dr. Buttfeel

I officially fired Dr. Buttfeel this week. It was a mercy firing. I was having mercy on myself. I replaced him with a female doctor from St. Johns. She listened to my heart. She looked up my nose and in my ears and mouth. She hit my knee. She asked me how I'm feeling and I told her my Dr. Buttfeel saga. That's when she did it.

She prescribed Prednisone. She thinks I have messed up tubes behind my ears that can become unmessed up with steroids. I don't know anything about that but I can hardly wait to get to the gym on Monday. By then with the help of steroids I should be able to throw the "bicep machine" through the wall. This will bring me joy.

But there are problems with Prednisone.

I'm going to eat my arm. I'm not even slightly sleepy. My insides are trying to crawl out through my pores.

In the meantime, of course, Debbie is sleeping like she just took a nearly lethal dose of Tylenol PM. And we are sleeping in the same room for the first night in four nights because she was wrestling with a nasty bout of food poisoning. And though I love her I didn't want to wake up to find myself fraught with vomit. (I hereby trademark that phrase. If you use it you have to send me $20.)

As I said, my new doctor is a woman. She probably hates men. She didn't like my lab numbers. That's because they are all nearly perfect. I think she wanted me to be dying of something so that she can heal me and I'll be forever in her debt. Literal debt. Maybe she'll be satisfied when I owe her for stitching my new arm back on.

Should have stuck with good old Buttfeel.

The World's Upside Down

I spent the evening quietly, my bride by my side, cruising the channels and watching the world go by. And as the night comes to a close I have to wonder which crises is bigger. The Haitian earthquake or Conan O'brien leaving "The Tonight Show."

Yes, I know. I'm not really serious. We are all very aware of what the major headline is. Albert Pujols is not sure he'll retire a Cardinal. He as much as said so on the evening news tonight. He could easily wind up in Yankee Pinstripes. Or ... Cubbie blue. Oh yeah. Oh yeah.

Again, I jest. There is no getting away from the main issue of the day. Hours upon hours have been devoted to it. It's obvious. Ted Kennedy's senate seat went to a Republican last night. Oops. That's not it either.

How can I keep forgetting? The Holiday-Inn just announced the availability of "Human Bed Warmers." No, I'm not kidding. Nothing can eclipse a story of that magnitude.

Did I mention that they had a tornado in L.A. this week?

I can't help but wonder if any broken and desperate survivor still buried under the rubble that use to be Port Au Prince is aware of the magnitude of events that they missed this week....

Stupid Picture Chronicles #44

Am I the only one who sees a problem with their corporate slogan?

Stupid Picture Chronicles #43

The couch was coughing. The table had a temperature. The lamp had a lump. So we didn't buy any living furniture. We prefer sitting on inanimate objects. Silly us.