These days, setting up a saltwater aquarium is an exciting endeavor, especially if you plan to keep some of the more luxurious and exotic creatures like tiger sharks, penguins, or the endangered beluga whale. But did you know that these amazing sea-creatures are actually a different species and require totally separate tanks, tubs or cages?
If this is new information to you, then you are likely what we aquarists call, “A beginner.” The next few paragraphs will be dedicated to you. If you were aware of the aforementioned scientific fact, you may choose to read the beginner’s section as a thorough refresher course. However, for the more advanced reader, feel free to skip ahead to the following section, entitled, “Advanced marine fish keeping secrets for the advanced and super-advanced (part 2).”
Now, sometimes a whiney new beginner will ask, “What if I don’t want a shark but want to keep corals, blennies and multicolored tropical fish instead?”
Shut up! Modern fish keeping is not a sport for pussies. What other hobby needs the following gear: Harpoon, hunter’s knife, nets, trip wire, at least one shotgun, bear traps, and secret booby traps?
These days you really only want to keep the big fish (technically speaking, whales are not are not fish because of their nipples, and penguins are a type of bird cursed by the devil…but we will call them fish because beginners usually make this mistake).
But if you are going to have sharks and penguins the size of small children roaming your house, you must realize this is a major responsibility. Therefore, you are going to require several weapons for defense from these predators. And unlike other circumstances, the serious marine household requires these weapons to be armed and loaded at all times, kept in most rooms of the house.
So you have probably already purchased your fish, returned home, and thought, “Now what?”
Hopefully, you already purchased your tank, own a tub or have a cage with lots of damp cloth and a hose. A simple rule of thumb is that all fish require something clear and wet, like water, but a damp towel will do in a bind. My friend and I once kept a tiger shark alive fourteen hours by chucking water-balloons at steady, hilarious intervals! Place your pet in their new chamber. Have ready a hose or bucket with plenty of wetness to douse your new pet, as this will reduce the stress from the trip home from Chinatown.
Feed them. The second scientific fact you need to be aware of is that fish love to eat. Whale fish and penguin fish will eat anything you stuff down their gullet, while the sharks are more feisty creatures that prefer live, carnivorous prey. One live rabbit or chicken per day per shark is a good rule of thumb. Feeding my sharks a live rabbit each morning is often times the highlight of my day. And what joy it brings to the faces of my children, who really seem fascinated by the bright swirls of color and fur in our pool.
Separate chambers. Has your beluga whale already eaten half of your expensive black-market penguin? Don’t worry, years of working with aquariums and their owners has taught me that many beginners make this mistake. Perhaps your dead penguin drove you to this very article in the first place. Another scientific fact is that, “big things eat small things, and blue things eat black and white things.” It’s a law of nature, and one of those mistakes you never make twice. It’s also why my remaining children are forbidden to feed the sharks or whales.
Now that we have been through the basics, you may wish to read part 2 of our series, “Advanced marine fish keeping secrets for the advanced and super-advanced.” Here we discuss relevant topics like disposing of carcasses, dealing with PETA, as well as more topical health issues of today, like Type II diabetes and your fish. Part 3 in our series looks to the future of fish keeping, in particular, genetic engineering. We have entitled this last part in our series, “Should monkeys have gills or scuba suits when kept in your tank? An ethical dilemma.”
Until then, my water loving friends, happy fish keeping.
(This author would like to acknowledge Dr. Ben Moore, Chiropractor, for his helpful insight into the keeping and feeding of sharks.)
Monday, November 22, 2010
Friday, November 19, 2010
Inventing the next big thing
Honey, I know things have been tight, financially, for quite a while now. That we have been eating pancakes for dinner each night is evidence enough. But things are going to be ok. This time I guarantee it. Why? Because of an idea. Not just any idea, but a particular idea. And this particular idea is going to make us a lot of money. It will be the next big thing.
Honey, we are going to invent something.
Before you stop me, I must say that I know what you’re thinking.
“Here’s yet one more seemingly ridiculous but amazingly brilliant idea in a litany of whacky avant guard schemes that the narrow minded world is unable to yet accept.”
After all, I think we’d both agree that standardizing the multiple shoe-sizing systems of the world into an SI unit would certainly benefit humanity at some point in the future. And, furthermore, the 100 unit Chronon, would make an excellent replacement for the Second, allowing easier conversions for mathematicians and physicists alike.
No, this invention will be different. For this invention will not be a unit of weights, measures or time.
I have the paperwork ready to go. We’ll send it off for pattenting, and once we have the ok from the patent office, we’ll send it off to a plant in China for mass production.
Now, we just need the invention.
It’s impact is going to be big, so get ready. It will be like the Ipad, or the Ipod, or an app for the pad/pod, but we’ll use different vowels.
Wait. Here’s a thought. Robots?
Yeah, fuck computers! Robots are the future. They will clean the house, or do the dishes, and/or act like pets. Apets. Or Upets. Or Opets. I think U should be our vowel. It might even rhyme with Muppets when we market it to the children of the world.
Now, we just need a robot-designing genius.
No, in hindsight, it’s too dangerous. Upet Robots might harm children. And as the creator, I could never live with myself. Forget I mentioned Upets.
What about a new type of snorkel? You always liked snorkeling, and consider yourself an avid snorkler. And when you consider the world is two thirds aqueous and there are rising water levels, who couldn’t use a snorkel?
Or a type of salve that removes bubble-bum when its been smeared in your hair? Remember the shaved-debacle that ensued when I tried to remove it from my hair without such an invention?
Hold your horses. It’s come to me. A game. We will invent a game. Like soccer. Currently, the best soccer players in the world earn hundreds of millions of dollars per year. But our players will make twice that and wield machetes. And as the inventor of the game, I will also be its top-paid player. But we won’t call our athletes players. We will call them assassins. Samurai assassins.
Or a new type of chopper? A religion? What about a religion made of choppers and robots which are samurai assassins in the game? That’s it! We will combine the religion with the game. It shall be called, “The Religame.”
We will work out the details along the way. The idea itself is not so important. It will be what’s inside the idea that counts (money???). Now, when we get to the therapists tonight you let me do all the talking and I’m pretty sure we will work this out.
Honey? Honey, where are you going?
Honey, we are going to invent something.
Before you stop me, I must say that I know what you’re thinking.
“Here’s yet one more seemingly ridiculous but amazingly brilliant idea in a litany of whacky avant guard schemes that the narrow minded world is unable to yet accept.”
After all, I think we’d both agree that standardizing the multiple shoe-sizing systems of the world into an SI unit would certainly benefit humanity at some point in the future. And, furthermore, the 100 unit Chronon, would make an excellent replacement for the Second, allowing easier conversions for mathematicians and physicists alike.
No, this invention will be different. For this invention will not be a unit of weights, measures or time.
I have the paperwork ready to go. We’ll send it off for pattenting, and once we have the ok from the patent office, we’ll send it off to a plant in China for mass production.
Now, we just need the invention.
It’s impact is going to be big, so get ready. It will be like the Ipad, or the Ipod, or an app for the pad/pod, but we’ll use different vowels.
Wait. Here’s a thought. Robots?
Yeah, fuck computers! Robots are the future. They will clean the house, or do the dishes, and/or act like pets. Apets. Or Upets. Or Opets. I think U should be our vowel. It might even rhyme with Muppets when we market it to the children of the world.
Now, we just need a robot-designing genius.
No, in hindsight, it’s too dangerous. Upet Robots might harm children. And as the creator, I could never live with myself. Forget I mentioned Upets.
What about a new type of snorkel? You always liked snorkeling, and consider yourself an avid snorkler. And when you consider the world is two thirds aqueous and there are rising water levels, who couldn’t use a snorkel?
Or a type of salve that removes bubble-bum when its been smeared in your hair? Remember the shaved-debacle that ensued when I tried to remove it from my hair without such an invention?
Hold your horses. It’s come to me. A game. We will invent a game. Like soccer. Currently, the best soccer players in the world earn hundreds of millions of dollars per year. But our players will make twice that and wield machetes. And as the inventor of the game, I will also be its top-paid player. But we won’t call our athletes players. We will call them assassins. Samurai assassins.
Or a new type of chopper? A religion? What about a religion made of choppers and robots which are samurai assassins in the game? That’s it! We will combine the religion with the game. It shall be called, “The Religame.”
We will work out the details along the way. The idea itself is not so important. It will be what’s inside the idea that counts (money???). Now, when we get to the therapists tonight you let me do all the talking and I’m pretty sure we will work this out.
Honey? Honey, where are you going?
Monday, March 1, 2010
Blog Entry Number 1: Operation DEEPHILL
Orientation…somewhere in Asia Pacific…
Though uncertain and confused about much of the program’s structure, I was comforted to know these feelings are mutual in our program’s leaders.
Some things, however, were made abundantly clear.
1) Pants! They are necessary… we must obtain pants and wear pants at all times. This is especially important when we are in the clinic setting, where we will be known as “pant wearing doctors”. This rule has been broken in the past, but forgetting your pants will no longer be tolerated. Our leaders could not express more emphatically how badly it reflects upon the profession when pants are neglected.
2) Boxes! There are people in boxes. That is what the cursor represents. In Weeks one and two, these boxes will be broken. The people will be freed from these boxes. Some will be students from the first year. They are Bachelors. We are Master (singular). Some boxes will have a diagonal line drawn upon them. This represents one box turned into two boxes. Understood?
3) X-Rays! They, like pants, are necessary. Even though X-rays shoot through pants, the pants are still necessary. At least one… and then though initially surprised… two of our leaders became reasonably certain that we students are to take X-rays as soon as we get our hands on the first year students who are trapped in boxes. X-rays are simple, like a gun…point and shoot. Except its bullets explode over a long period of time and are called cancer.
4) Shirts! (See item 1, “Pants”)
5) Teachers! It has been put forth by several staff members that a cost saving measure may be implemented should the situation become extreme. In this scenario, deemed “harebrained” by some, “pioneering” by others…all practical classes are to be taught by many clever, carefully selected, nimble fingered monkeys.
6) Money! There is not enough of it to pay staff to teach material previously covered (see curriculum for past 30 years). However, the good news is, the students will pay more of it. So, in a way, the students will get more. More or less. Understood?
7) Sponsored! If you like, you can get other people to pay for seminars for you. Just ask. It’s pretty easy. Why didn’t you fools get someone to sponsor you for all of your education? Just ask a Gonstead Chiropractor, they will be happy to help out. Especially after having their job replaced by…no, not monkeys…by no one and nothing.
8) Seats! There are not enough of them. The carefully planned meeting promptly came to an end as time ran out and other, more important students required our seats.
Though uncertain and confused about much of the program’s structure, I was comforted to know these feelings are mutual in our program’s leaders.
Some things, however, were made abundantly clear.
1) Pants! They are necessary… we must obtain pants and wear pants at all times. This is especially important when we are in the clinic setting, where we will be known as “pant wearing doctors”. This rule has been broken in the past, but forgetting your pants will no longer be tolerated. Our leaders could not express more emphatically how badly it reflects upon the profession when pants are neglected.
2) Boxes! There are people in boxes. That is what the cursor represents. In Weeks one and two, these boxes will be broken. The people will be freed from these boxes. Some will be students from the first year. They are Bachelors. We are Master (singular). Some boxes will have a diagonal line drawn upon them. This represents one box turned into two boxes. Understood?
3) X-Rays! They, like pants, are necessary. Even though X-rays shoot through pants, the pants are still necessary. At least one… and then though initially surprised… two of our leaders became reasonably certain that we students are to take X-rays as soon as we get our hands on the first year students who are trapped in boxes. X-rays are simple, like a gun…point and shoot. Except its bullets explode over a long period of time and are called cancer.
4) Shirts! (See item 1, “Pants”)
5) Teachers! It has been put forth by several staff members that a cost saving measure may be implemented should the situation become extreme. In this scenario, deemed “harebrained” by some, “pioneering” by others…all practical classes are to be taught by many clever, carefully selected, nimble fingered monkeys.
6) Money! There is not enough of it to pay staff to teach material previously covered (see curriculum for past 30 years). However, the good news is, the students will pay more of it. So, in a way, the students will get more. More or less. Understood?
7) Sponsored! If you like, you can get other people to pay for seminars for you. Just ask. It’s pretty easy. Why didn’t you fools get someone to sponsor you for all of your education? Just ask a Gonstead Chiropractor, they will be happy to help out. Especially after having their job replaced by…no, not monkeys…by no one and nothing.
8) Seats! There are not enough of them. The carefully planned meeting promptly came to an end as time ran out and other, more important students required our seats.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Christmas Wishes, explained
Addendum: A truthy explination
Greetings (insert name):
You might be asking yourself, “ Why is this Yule Tide missive so delayed?” What a perfectly rational and astute question! Why don’t you take a reflective moment to reward yourself for such clever thinking. Go ahead; you deserve it bucko!
Now, if you are anything like me, you may have already made certain assumptions and deductions…biased no doubt by outdated facts and irrelevant historical data from the author’s life. Some lesser minds than yours might even believe the culprit to be Matthew’s habitual faux pax of procrastination. Fortunately, this conclusion is erroneous.
You see, this past year has been one of triumph for Matthew Bulman. Yes, in 2009, your (circle applicable) son, brother, nephew, grandson, uncle, father, husband, lover, ex-lover, client single handedly marched into battle against procrastination. Using a preemptive strike in the American fashion, Matt fought and slayed this nagging, gnawing, cowardly foe. While some go their whole life without addressing this rival, Matthew has taken the initiative and gone into bloodly battle, ripping entrails from its spine, slaughtering this creature (and anyone in the way) against the wall to assure its death one thousand times over. Procrastination just cried like a little girl. And Matthew stood there laughing, victorious, warrior-like.
It was classic! And very proactive.
No, the real culprit in this delayed letter is the Australian Postal Service worker, known locally as the Postie (pronounced Post-Tea). He is your typical Australian: white man with a mustache, about 6 foot 2 inches high… which, admittedly, is an awefully big mustache. But it is a different culture here, and the sun does strange things to people.
Now, if you stay on top of the news like Matthew does, then Kristen may also have informed you of the recent local postal strike that she read about in the news. And while this strike is serendipitous for Matthew, slayer of procrastination, it is also the real scapegoat in our current, untimely Christmas exchange. It is also to blame for your lack of presents this calendar year! We’ll just carry them on board our checked luggage, where they will be safe, when we fly back this June!
Sure, we might be tempted to hock a lugey on the ground and yell, “Fooey,” towards the postal workers of the world. Especially since there are children involved. But you know what I say? I say, “Never let your children accept packages from strange men with mustaches, and society will be safer in the long run.”
And I also say pray for them. Or, if you don’t feel like being a victim, pray against them. The important thing at this time of year is prayer…for these are the prayoffs and there’s a lot at stake in future contracts.
And, finally, I invite you to consider the other side of the coin in our Holiday exchange. Call me an optimist, but I just might be tempted to consider that this letter is not so late for 2009, but early, for 2010.
Huh, leave it to your proactive *Addendum: A truthy explination
Greetings (insert name):
You might be asking yourself, “ Why is this Yule Tide missive so delayed?” What a perfectly rational and astute question! Why don’t you take a reflective moment to reward yourself for such clever thinking. Go ahead; you deserve it bucko!
Now, if you are anything like me, you may have already made certain assumptions and deductions…biased no doubt by outdated facts and irrelevant historical data from the author’s life. Some lesser minds than yours might even believe the culprit to be Matthew’s habitual faux pax of procrastination. Fortunately, this conclusion is erroneous.
You see, this past year has been one of triumph for Matthew Bulman. Yes, in 2009, your son, brother, nephew, grandson, uncle, father, husband, lover, ex-lover, client single handedly marched into battle against procrastination. Using a preemptive strike in the American fashion, Matt fought and slayed this nagging, gnawing, cowardly foe. While some go their whole life without addressing this rival, Matthew has taken the initiative and gone into bloodly battle, ripping entrails from its spine, slaughtering this creature (and anyone in the way) against the wall to assure its death one thousand times over. Procrastination just cried like a little girl. And Matthew stood there laughing, victorious, warrior-like.
It was classic! And very proactive.
No, the real culprit in this delayed letter is the Australian Postal Service worker, known locally as the Postie (pronounced Post-Tea). He is your typical Australian: white man with a mustache, about 6 foot 2 inches high… which, admittedly, is an awefully big mustache. But it is a different culture here, and the sun does strange things to people.
Now, if you stay on top of the news like Matthew does, then Kristen may also have informed you of the recent local postal strike that she read about in the news. And while this strike is serendipitous for Matthew, slayer of procrastination, it is also the real scapegoat in our current, untimely Christmas exchange. It is also to blame for your lack of presents this calendar year! We’ll just carry them on board our checked luggage, where they will be safe, when we fly back this June!
Sure, we might be tempted to hock a lugey on the ground and yell, “Fooey,” towards the postal workers of the world. Especially since there are children involved. But you know what I say? I say, “Never let your children accept packages from strange men with mustaches, and society will be safer in the long run.”
And I also say pray for them. Or, if you don’t feel like being a victim, pray against them. The important thing at this time of year is prayer…for these are the prayoffs and there’s a lot at stake in future contracts.
And, finally, I invite you to consider the other side of the coin in our Holiday exchange. Call me an optimist, but I just might be tempted to consider that this letter is not so late for 2009, but early, for 2010.
Huh, leave it to your proactive (circle one) son, brother, nephew, grandson, uncle, father, husband, lover, ex-lover, client, Matt, to be sending things out so early! What a guy.
Lots of love to you and yours, and Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Greetings (insert name):
You might be asking yourself, “ Why is this Yule Tide missive so delayed?” What a perfectly rational and astute question! Why don’t you take a reflective moment to reward yourself for such clever thinking. Go ahead; you deserve it bucko!
Now, if you are anything like me, you may have already made certain assumptions and deductions…biased no doubt by outdated facts and irrelevant historical data from the author’s life. Some lesser minds than yours might even believe the culprit to be Matthew’s habitual faux pax of procrastination. Fortunately, this conclusion is erroneous.
You see, this past year has been one of triumph for Matthew Bulman. Yes, in 2009, your (circle applicable) son, brother, nephew, grandson, uncle, father, husband, lover, ex-lover, client single handedly marched into battle against procrastination. Using a preemptive strike in the American fashion, Matt fought and slayed this nagging, gnawing, cowardly foe. While some go their whole life without addressing this rival, Matthew has taken the initiative and gone into bloodly battle, ripping entrails from its spine, slaughtering this creature (and anyone in the way) against the wall to assure its death one thousand times over. Procrastination just cried like a little girl. And Matthew stood there laughing, victorious, warrior-like.
It was classic! And very proactive.
No, the real culprit in this delayed letter is the Australian Postal Service worker, known locally as the Postie (pronounced Post-Tea). He is your typical Australian: white man with a mustache, about 6 foot 2 inches high… which, admittedly, is an awefully big mustache. But it is a different culture here, and the sun does strange things to people.
Now, if you stay on top of the news like Matthew does, then Kristen may also have informed you of the recent local postal strike that she read about in the news. And while this strike is serendipitous for Matthew, slayer of procrastination, it is also the real scapegoat in our current, untimely Christmas exchange. It is also to blame for your lack of presents this calendar year! We’ll just carry them on board our checked luggage, where they will be safe, when we fly back this June!
Sure, we might be tempted to hock a lugey on the ground and yell, “Fooey,” towards the postal workers of the world. Especially since there are children involved. But you know what I say? I say, “Never let your children accept packages from strange men with mustaches, and society will be safer in the long run.”
And I also say pray for them. Or, if you don’t feel like being a victim, pray against them. The important thing at this time of year is prayer…for these are the prayoffs and there’s a lot at stake in future contracts.
And, finally, I invite you to consider the other side of the coin in our Holiday exchange. Call me an optimist, but I just might be tempted to consider that this letter is not so late for 2009, but early, for 2010.
Huh, leave it to your proactive *Addendum: A truthy explination
Greetings (insert name):
You might be asking yourself, “ Why is this Yule Tide missive so delayed?” What a perfectly rational and astute question! Why don’t you take a reflective moment to reward yourself for such clever thinking. Go ahead; you deserve it bucko!
Now, if you are anything like me, you may have already made certain assumptions and deductions…biased no doubt by outdated facts and irrelevant historical data from the author’s life. Some lesser minds than yours might even believe the culprit to be Matthew’s habitual faux pax of procrastination. Fortunately, this conclusion is erroneous.
You see, this past year has been one of triumph for Matthew Bulman. Yes, in 2009, your son, brother, nephew, grandson, uncle, father, husband, lover, ex-lover, client single handedly marched into battle against procrastination. Using a preemptive strike in the American fashion, Matt fought and slayed this nagging, gnawing, cowardly foe. While some go their whole life without addressing this rival, Matthew has taken the initiative and gone into bloodly battle, ripping entrails from its spine, slaughtering this creature (and anyone in the way) against the wall to assure its death one thousand times over. Procrastination just cried like a little girl. And Matthew stood there laughing, victorious, warrior-like.
It was classic! And very proactive.
No, the real culprit in this delayed letter is the Australian Postal Service worker, known locally as the Postie (pronounced Post-Tea). He is your typical Australian: white man with a mustache, about 6 foot 2 inches high… which, admittedly, is an awefully big mustache. But it is a different culture here, and the sun does strange things to people.
Now, if you stay on top of the news like Matthew does, then Kristen may also have informed you of the recent local postal strike that she read about in the news. And while this strike is serendipitous for Matthew, slayer of procrastination, it is also the real scapegoat in our current, untimely Christmas exchange. It is also to blame for your lack of presents this calendar year! We’ll just carry them on board our checked luggage, where they will be safe, when we fly back this June!
Sure, we might be tempted to hock a lugey on the ground and yell, “Fooey,” towards the postal workers of the world. Especially since there are children involved. But you know what I say? I say, “Never let your children accept packages from strange men with mustaches, and society will be safer in the long run.”
And I also say pray for them. Or, if you don’t feel like being a victim, pray against them. The important thing at this time of year is prayer…for these are the prayoffs and there’s a lot at stake in future contracts.
And, finally, I invite you to consider the other side of the coin in our Holiday exchange. Call me an optimist, but I just might be tempted to consider that this letter is not so late for 2009, but early, for 2010.
Huh, leave it to your proactive (circle one) son, brother, nephew, grandson, uncle, father, husband, lover, ex-lover, client, Matt, to be sending things out so early! What a guy.
Lots of love to you and yours, and Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Karate Man Dojos
Karate (karot-tay) is an ancient martial art; man is an ancient martial warrior; dojo is an ancient Japanese word. On their own, each evokes fear in the throats of one’s enemies; yet combined these elements unleash the raw power of a thousand focused monkeys.
Sensei Tang has been a Karate Man since the 1970s. As pioneers Bruce Lee, Sonny Chiba and black guys with Afros moved west to Hollywood, Tang went against convention, moving east to Okinawa. Here he learned the secret striking ways of Okinawa’s notorious Monkey-Cobra Gangs. Then, in 1980, Tang returned home fully trained, exploding onto the American scene at Karate-con.
Karate-con is the world’s premier full contact Karate Championships held each year in Colorado. Over six brutal days, Tang’s lethal strikes liquefied the internal organs of his opponents. With skill and precision, Sensei Tang killed four men in the ring and a cougar that happened to encounter him outside his motel. Tang then ate the whole cougar, entrails and all, to instill fear into his final opponent. Who was this opponent? None other than a hitherto unknown Chuck Norris.
The world title battle against Master Sensei Chuck Norris lasted eight long hours. Thunderstorms threw lightning and the earth’s plates shifted as each competitor harnessed and unfurled natures forces upon the other. So much blood was shed that each competitor required four illegal blood transfusions to continue to the end. Tang eventually won on points, though admittedly Chuck Norris was simultaneously fighting off terminal cancer. It is still known as the classic battle amongst karate men the world around.
In 1981, Sensei Tang retired from competition and set up Karate Man Dojos. Never have the warrior’s key elements been combined into such a lethal fighting force as Karate Man Dojos. Learn to karate chop. Learn to karate strike. Do you want to kill a live bear with your hands? Sensei Tang will not only teach you how, but he’ll put you to the test with regular cage-matches against animals you’ve never even heard of (black belts, only).
2010 will bring about thirty years since the Tang karate-con revolution. And he again has acquired the taste for blood. This year, he plans to mark his dominance by closing the fist of his empty hand upon government. Sensei Tang is now recruiting students for group attack missions. Power will be gained. Honor will be won! Become a Karate Man! Take your place at Karate Man Dojos before a Karate Man finds and takes his Karate stance on you.
Don’t be a pussy! Join today!
Sensei Tang has been a Karate Man since the 1970s. As pioneers Bruce Lee, Sonny Chiba and black guys with Afros moved west to Hollywood, Tang went against convention, moving east to Okinawa. Here he learned the secret striking ways of Okinawa’s notorious Monkey-Cobra Gangs. Then, in 1980, Tang returned home fully trained, exploding onto the American scene at Karate-con.
Karate-con is the world’s premier full contact Karate Championships held each year in Colorado. Over six brutal days, Tang’s lethal strikes liquefied the internal organs of his opponents. With skill and precision, Sensei Tang killed four men in the ring and a cougar that happened to encounter him outside his motel. Tang then ate the whole cougar, entrails and all, to instill fear into his final opponent. Who was this opponent? None other than a hitherto unknown Chuck Norris.
The world title battle against Master Sensei Chuck Norris lasted eight long hours. Thunderstorms threw lightning and the earth’s plates shifted as each competitor harnessed and unfurled natures forces upon the other. So much blood was shed that each competitor required four illegal blood transfusions to continue to the end. Tang eventually won on points, though admittedly Chuck Norris was simultaneously fighting off terminal cancer. It is still known as the classic battle amongst karate men the world around.
In 1981, Sensei Tang retired from competition and set up Karate Man Dojos. Never have the warrior’s key elements been combined into such a lethal fighting force as Karate Man Dojos. Learn to karate chop. Learn to karate strike. Do you want to kill a live bear with your hands? Sensei Tang will not only teach you how, but he’ll put you to the test with regular cage-matches against animals you’ve never even heard of (black belts, only).
2010 will bring about thirty years since the Tang karate-con revolution. And he again has acquired the taste for blood. This year, he plans to mark his dominance by closing the fist of his empty hand upon government. Sensei Tang is now recruiting students for group attack missions. Power will be gained. Honor will be won! Become a Karate Man! Take your place at Karate Man Dojos before a Karate Man finds and takes his Karate stance on you.
Don’t be a pussy! Join today!
Friday, November 27, 2009
Student Squeegeeist, inc.
Summer work? Why not become a Student Squeegeeist!
Do you have the courage to take back the streets from the homeless? Are you tired of seeing hard-earned, tax-free dollars go to the same methamphetamine fuelled squeegee man day after day after day? We certainly are! That’s why this summer, Melbournians everywhere will be getting a clean deal from their local squeegee man... or squeegee woman as it may be.
It’s Student Squeegee (SS), incorporated.
The SS is an honest to goodness mom and pop-style Corporation. We are currently screening candidates across Melbourne and allowing them to get in on the ground floor of this fantastic business venture. For a limited time only, you too can buy into your very own SS franchise!
Each franchisee is supplied with an original SS uniform, water pistol, cleansing solution, squeegee and bum-bag...worn in combination, this is an impressive package that brings honour and a sense of dignity back to the profession of squeegeeing. Each corner is then rented to the highest licensed bidder at an affordable, hourly rate.
Will John Q. Public choose the helpless addict who has lost everything? Or will our clean-cut, big jawed Aussie Students win the day? Once the SS is unleashed on the public, we plan to let good business sense, hard work, and the market sort out who gets this tax-free money. Yet our aggressive marketing campaign combined with help from the local police authorities will likely tip the scale in our franchisee’s favour, ensuring that we keep less qualified squeegeeists off the streets!
But wait, there’s more. Each franchisee’s cleansing solution is lye-based...and recent changes in legislation allowe licensed SS franchisees the right to fend off their territory should any thug try to move in on his or her turf. A little lye in the face will go a long way!
So, if you have what it takes to earn big dollars this summer, which you can then spend on a drug of your choice, like alcohol, then call the SS, inc. today! Operators are standing bye to send you your free franchisee brochure. Call now!
Do you have the courage to take back the streets from the homeless? Are you tired of seeing hard-earned, tax-free dollars go to the same methamphetamine fuelled squeegee man day after day after day? We certainly are! That’s why this summer, Melbournians everywhere will be getting a clean deal from their local squeegee man... or squeegee woman as it may be.
It’s Student Squeegee (SS), incorporated.
The SS is an honest to goodness mom and pop-style Corporation. We are currently screening candidates across Melbourne and allowing them to get in on the ground floor of this fantastic business venture. For a limited time only, you too can buy into your very own SS franchise!
Each franchisee is supplied with an original SS uniform, water pistol, cleansing solution, squeegee and bum-bag...worn in combination, this is an impressive package that brings honour and a sense of dignity back to the profession of squeegeeing. Each corner is then rented to the highest licensed bidder at an affordable, hourly rate.
Will John Q. Public choose the helpless addict who has lost everything? Or will our clean-cut, big jawed Aussie Students win the day? Once the SS is unleashed on the public, we plan to let good business sense, hard work, and the market sort out who gets this tax-free money. Yet our aggressive marketing campaign combined with help from the local police authorities will likely tip the scale in our franchisee’s favour, ensuring that we keep less qualified squeegeeists off the streets!
But wait, there’s more. Each franchisee’s cleansing solution is lye-based...and recent changes in legislation allowe licensed SS franchisees the right to fend off their territory should any thug try to move in on his or her turf. A little lye in the face will go a long way!
So, if you have what it takes to earn big dollars this summer, which you can then spend on a drug of your choice, like alcohol, then call the SS, inc. today! Operators are standing bye to send you your free franchisee brochure. Call now!
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Your Double Choc Chip Buttercake Destroyed my Family
Dear Mr. Woolworth,
Greetings. Though we have not yet officially made one another’s acquaintance, my loyal frequenting to your residence in Preston affords us a certain familiarity with one another’s intimate habits and idiosyncrasies, the kind usually reserved for family. And as I write to you, I still consider our relationship primarily to be one of brothers as opposed to one of business. My family enjoys daily your fresh baked products, and my eldest son, Wooly, even carries your name! (Christ, Woolworth, my kid was most likely conceived in your parking lot!)
Thus, I assure you, it is following much hesitation and great contemplation that I write to you regarding the Double Choc Chip Buttercake purchased from you on Sunday, November 22, 2009, at 2:16pm.
For $4.97, it certainly did seem to be special! At prices so low, one could be tempted to label the manager “special” (that is retarded, or at least hypo-tarded); for how could a regular gent give his bakehouse items away at these rates and still afford to pay his employees an honourable wage? I was ever so close to the purchase of two of these tasty treats, you devil! But, at 480grams, I carefully calculated, considered and decided against the purchase of a second lest gluttony get my family into further trouble.
You see, Woolworth, we were to be celebrating Lurleen’s release from the detox and rehab unit at Galliamble. Such a festive occasion happens only every few years. Lurleen’s most recent triumph over a powerful, cough syrupy agent certainly warranted the pomp and circumstance of cake. And, your establishment being the one of first choice in our family, I quickly gathered the seven of us into the Ute before shooting over to Preston’s bustling shopping-district store.
Your classic choc buttercake was selected for several reasons:
1-The aforementioned price, perhaps set by retards, or hypo-tards
2-The guarantee which labelled the cake to be” full of choc chip pieces”
3-The nostalgic and titular label of, “Classic,” which is always a selling point in our family
4-The quality assurance stamp... your store in our has been known as the Safe Way
5-Wooly, the favourite kid, chose it
Over the next few hours, while patiently awaiting Lurleen’s probation officer to finish debriefing, we salivated over your bakehouse Double Choc Chip Buttercake, which promised to be classic choc buttercake full of choc chip pieces. We gathered around and little Wooly read aloud the ingredients, savouring in each delicate, vital part of the whole. A debate sparked when mention of the ingredients Emulsifiers 322 Soy Lecithin, Raising Agents 500, 341, 450, and Whipping Agent 471 were questioned. What were they? Chinese, no doubt. Or, if not Chinese, might they have come from some other land of numbers? Did robots rule this magical land, and, if so, was their king a good king? We went on and on like this until the officer dropped Lurleen off, which promptly ended debate and started the family into a side-splitting version of “For he’s a Jolly-Good Fellow,” where we replace certain words to the tune and sing, “For She’s a Jolly Good Alco...let’s hope she doesn’t get high, hey!”
Lurleen blew out a candle and lit a cigarette, and then gave a speech where she pretended to hate us. We calmed her down and Wooly got a knife, several plates, and some forks.
I watched the favoured child, Wooly, attempt to slice the classic choc buttercake full of choc chip pieces. I instructed him to carefully follow the serving size suggestion, whereby he would cut the cake into 1/8ths. TO MY AMAZEMENT, THE CAKE CRUMBLED before my very eyes. I smacked him one and told him to be careful. But, alas, it was of no use. Crumble, crumble, crumble. Furthermore, my less liked children saw the whole debacle unfold. I don’t know where you come from, Woolworth, but I do not consider crumble to be part of anything CLASSIC!
The youngest of my progeny may not have noticed, and, sure, the elders would have had their memory wiped from the sheer shock of the experience. But the majority of us saw the whole affair.
Wooly, greatly ashamed, stormed out of the house and watched a vampire movie. Today he explained that he no longer embraces Christianity; he claims to be a vampire, and his religion is a blood thirsty one. I explained the similarities between that and Jesus’ whole “blood into wine speech”, but Wooly is deaf to reason. I now consider him dead to me.
Lurleen is on the cough syrup again. She’s quite ordinary and mean.
The pressure got to me, too. I am usually the formidable rock of the family. But, I admit, I had a mental lapse and resulted to violence against several appliances around the house. Some of the more clever devices, like the computer and the plasma T.V., have informed the authorities. I now fear that robots may attack at any moment.
There was a time, Woolworth, when your products’ were of a quality and standard unparalleled. They were the protons which we negatively charged electrons orbited around. Your bakehouse products literally held our family together; today, my family is crumbling to pieces because of them...
Sure, I ate the cake... I ate it all by myself before I pummelled the TV. But I did not enjoy it! And though my arteries are still sluggishly pulsating with your product, I plan to find alternatives to my atherosclerotic old ways. Rest assured, I will consider alternatives next time I enter your store (tonight).
Am I angry Woolworth? Hardly. I am, however, greatly disappointed. You can do better. I’ve seen it before. My family has seen it before. Our community has seen it before.
In short, I suggest you do away with the robot king's products and numbers. It is unaustralian.
Until then, Woolworth, kind regards to you and yours, sir.
Sincerely,
Mr. Customer
Greetings. Though we have not yet officially made one another’s acquaintance, my loyal frequenting to your residence in Preston affords us a certain familiarity with one another’s intimate habits and idiosyncrasies, the kind usually reserved for family. And as I write to you, I still consider our relationship primarily to be one of brothers as opposed to one of business. My family enjoys daily your fresh baked products, and my eldest son, Wooly, even carries your name! (Christ, Woolworth, my kid was most likely conceived in your parking lot!)
Thus, I assure you, it is following much hesitation and great contemplation that I write to you regarding the Double Choc Chip Buttercake purchased from you on Sunday, November 22, 2009, at 2:16pm.
For $4.97, it certainly did seem to be special! At prices so low, one could be tempted to label the manager “special” (that is retarded, or at least hypo-tarded); for how could a regular gent give his bakehouse items away at these rates and still afford to pay his employees an honourable wage? I was ever so close to the purchase of two of these tasty treats, you devil! But, at 480grams, I carefully calculated, considered and decided against the purchase of a second lest gluttony get my family into further trouble.
You see, Woolworth, we were to be celebrating Lurleen’s release from the detox and rehab unit at Galliamble. Such a festive occasion happens only every few years. Lurleen’s most recent triumph over a powerful, cough syrupy agent certainly warranted the pomp and circumstance of cake. And, your establishment being the one of first choice in our family, I quickly gathered the seven of us into the Ute before shooting over to Preston’s bustling shopping-district store.
Your classic choc buttercake was selected for several reasons:
1-The aforementioned price, perhaps set by retards, or hypo-tards
2-The guarantee which labelled the cake to be” full of choc chip pieces”
3-The nostalgic and titular label of, “Classic,” which is always a selling point in our family
4-The quality assurance stamp... your store in our has been known as the Safe Way
5-Wooly, the favourite kid, chose it
Over the next few hours, while patiently awaiting Lurleen’s probation officer to finish debriefing, we salivated over your bakehouse Double Choc Chip Buttercake, which promised to be classic choc buttercake full of choc chip pieces. We gathered around and little Wooly read aloud the ingredients, savouring in each delicate, vital part of the whole. A debate sparked when mention of the ingredients Emulsifiers 322 Soy Lecithin, Raising Agents 500, 341, 450, and Whipping Agent 471 were questioned. What were they? Chinese, no doubt. Or, if not Chinese, might they have come from some other land of numbers? Did robots rule this magical land, and, if so, was their king a good king? We went on and on like this until the officer dropped Lurleen off, which promptly ended debate and started the family into a side-splitting version of “For he’s a Jolly-Good Fellow,” where we replace certain words to the tune and sing, “For She’s a Jolly Good Alco...let’s hope she doesn’t get high, hey!”
Lurleen blew out a candle and lit a cigarette, and then gave a speech where she pretended to hate us. We calmed her down and Wooly got a knife, several plates, and some forks.
I watched the favoured child, Wooly, attempt to slice the classic choc buttercake full of choc chip pieces. I instructed him to carefully follow the serving size suggestion, whereby he would cut the cake into 1/8ths. TO MY AMAZEMENT, THE CAKE CRUMBLED before my very eyes. I smacked him one and told him to be careful. But, alas, it was of no use. Crumble, crumble, crumble. Furthermore, my less liked children saw the whole debacle unfold. I don’t know where you come from, Woolworth, but I do not consider crumble to be part of anything CLASSIC!
The youngest of my progeny may not have noticed, and, sure, the elders would have had their memory wiped from the sheer shock of the experience. But the majority of us saw the whole affair.
Wooly, greatly ashamed, stormed out of the house and watched a vampire movie. Today he explained that he no longer embraces Christianity; he claims to be a vampire, and his religion is a blood thirsty one. I explained the similarities between that and Jesus’ whole “blood into wine speech”, but Wooly is deaf to reason. I now consider him dead to me.
Lurleen is on the cough syrup again. She’s quite ordinary and mean.
The pressure got to me, too. I am usually the formidable rock of the family. But, I admit, I had a mental lapse and resulted to violence against several appliances around the house. Some of the more clever devices, like the computer and the plasma T.V., have informed the authorities. I now fear that robots may attack at any moment.
There was a time, Woolworth, when your products’ were of a quality and standard unparalleled. They were the protons which we negatively charged electrons orbited around. Your bakehouse products literally held our family together; today, my family is crumbling to pieces because of them...
Sure, I ate the cake... I ate it all by myself before I pummelled the TV. But I did not enjoy it! And though my arteries are still sluggishly pulsating with your product, I plan to find alternatives to my atherosclerotic old ways. Rest assured, I will consider alternatives next time I enter your store (tonight).
Am I angry Woolworth? Hardly. I am, however, greatly disappointed. You can do better. I’ve seen it before. My family has seen it before. Our community has seen it before.
In short, I suggest you do away with the robot king's products and numbers. It is unaustralian.
Until then, Woolworth, kind regards to you and yours, sir.
Sincerely,
Mr. Customer
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
An Awkward Exam
It was awkward, alright. There were four of us stripped of our shirts and wearing only footy shorts in the exam room with the teacher.
My partner, Richard, was noticeably nervous. After three years of chiropractic school, we’ve come to accept our exams will be strenuous, but achievable. Each of us reacts differently to high pressure situations, though there are some general signs and symptoms... Spine hunched, breathing shallow and quick, we are ruled by the “Lizard-Brain” during the sympathetic dominance of these fight or flight situations. Richard, however, had had one unique reaction to stress. He had what we chiropractic students call, in scientific terminology, “A Raging Boner.”
It was as though someone replaced his morning vitamin with Viagra. And, to his credit, Richard was blessed by the creator with quite the endowment. I kept going cross-eyed and, as we stood in the middle of the room, I almost wanted to hang a hat on the thing just to keep it under cover.
I went through the usual procedural assessment in front of the teacher. But I had to alter my position in space because of this wily beast. I increased my circumference when I circled to get around him. It was as though someone injured a limb and I didn’t want to exacerbate it.
No one acknowledged the boner. It really was the pink elephant in the room that no one dare speak of...metaphorically speaking.
I instructed Richard to lay on his stomach on our chiropractic bench, and as I palpated his back, I hoped to all hope that he would settle down. Perhaps blood flow would return to parts of his body that would have greatly needed it by now.
Alas, when he turned over to lay on his back, the creature was off to the side. Though you could no longer hang a hat on the thing, it was still a cantankerous creature noticeably protruding over top the right hip. I sighed a little bit of relief. Then, when I saw my next test question, I got nervous.
I will need to digress for a moment to explain how slap-stick it got in the last few minutes of my exam. There are certain techniques chiropractic employs for patients who require low-force treatment: the elderly, the frail, the acutely painful patients. One of these techniques is known as “Blocks” or “Wedges”. These are highly effective in realigning the often twisted hips and pelvis. These blocks look like larger versions of door stops, covered in foam and material, and they are then placed under the patient’s hips, one per side. With Richard on his back, our teacher wanted me to demonstrate how I would hypothetically place the blocks underneath a patient...but, for the safety of my classmate’s spinal alignment, I was instructed to lay the blocks on top of this patient.
The left block stuck like a magnate to Richard; the right block, however, I fumbled to the ground several times over after my vain effort to lay on a rounded, moving surface. In front of the teacher, gritting my teeth and squinting my eyes, I again slowly lay the wedge on Richard’s chubby penis. The block quickly toppled to the ground like a failed Jenga move. Again I tried, and again and then again, fumbling the block before I looked helplessly at the teacher.
Richard broke the silence and said to the teacher, “I think he’s a little nervous.”
I am not sure if he meant me or his penis.
My partner, Richard, was noticeably nervous. After three years of chiropractic school, we’ve come to accept our exams will be strenuous, but achievable. Each of us reacts differently to high pressure situations, though there are some general signs and symptoms... Spine hunched, breathing shallow and quick, we are ruled by the “Lizard-Brain” during the sympathetic dominance of these fight or flight situations. Richard, however, had had one unique reaction to stress. He had what we chiropractic students call, in scientific terminology, “A Raging Boner.”
It was as though someone replaced his morning vitamin with Viagra. And, to his credit, Richard was blessed by the creator with quite the endowment. I kept going cross-eyed and, as we stood in the middle of the room, I almost wanted to hang a hat on the thing just to keep it under cover.
I went through the usual procedural assessment in front of the teacher. But I had to alter my position in space because of this wily beast. I increased my circumference when I circled to get around him. It was as though someone injured a limb and I didn’t want to exacerbate it.
No one acknowledged the boner. It really was the pink elephant in the room that no one dare speak of...metaphorically speaking.
I instructed Richard to lay on his stomach on our chiropractic bench, and as I palpated his back, I hoped to all hope that he would settle down. Perhaps blood flow would return to parts of his body that would have greatly needed it by now.
Alas, when he turned over to lay on his back, the creature was off to the side. Though you could no longer hang a hat on the thing, it was still a cantankerous creature noticeably protruding over top the right hip. I sighed a little bit of relief. Then, when I saw my next test question, I got nervous.
I will need to digress for a moment to explain how slap-stick it got in the last few minutes of my exam. There are certain techniques chiropractic employs for patients who require low-force treatment: the elderly, the frail, the acutely painful patients. One of these techniques is known as “Blocks” or “Wedges”. These are highly effective in realigning the often twisted hips and pelvis. These blocks look like larger versions of door stops, covered in foam and material, and they are then placed under the patient’s hips, one per side. With Richard on his back, our teacher wanted me to demonstrate how I would hypothetically place the blocks underneath a patient...but, for the safety of my classmate’s spinal alignment, I was instructed to lay the blocks on top of this patient.
The left block stuck like a magnate to Richard; the right block, however, I fumbled to the ground several times over after my vain effort to lay on a rounded, moving surface. In front of the teacher, gritting my teeth and squinting my eyes, I again slowly lay the wedge on Richard’s chubby penis. The block quickly toppled to the ground like a failed Jenga move. Again I tried, and again and then again, fumbling the block before I looked helplessly at the teacher.
Richard broke the silence and said to the teacher, “I think he’s a little nervous.”
I am not sure if he meant me or his penis.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
The Oil Money Family
The Oil-Money Family: Cast of Characters
Mom Oil-Money, an overly protective mother
Dad Oil-Money, a wealthy oil baron
Jimmy Oil-Money, their 16 year old son
Dr. Griswald
Hugo, a bear puppet
.........................................................................
Scene: Dr. Griswald’s office, A Paediatric Chiropractic office, Monday Morning
Dr. Griswald: Hello, Oil-Money family. What can I do for you today?
Mom: (Hysterical) It’s our Son, Jimmy! He can’t move his neck.
Dad: (smoking cigar) He’s our adopted son.
Jimmy: My neck hurts. Can’t move it this way (towards right). And now I have a headache!
Dr. Griswald: Well, Jimmy. What happened to bring this about?
Jimmy: I…(interrupted)
Mom: (interrupts) We don’t know! He’s in terrible pain. Help us Dr. Griswald. Money is of no concern.
Dr. Griswald: (stroking beard) Yes, rich people’s children do seem to have the worst type of pain. It’s true. Now Jimmy, do you know anything that might have brought this incident on?
Mom: He just woke up with it!
Dad: He’s adopted. Could that have caused it?
Dr. Griswald: Did it wake you from your sleep Jimmy? Or did you get out of bed and notice it this morning?
Jimmy: This morning…when I got out of bed for school. I was playing football last week and I got hit from behind. But nothing else weird.
Mom: (concerned) Football, Jimmy? You know we don’t allow you to play football, Jimmy. You’re too precious for football.
Dad: Fifteen thousand Dollars…just for the paperwork!
Dr. Griswald: Did you hit your head, notice any pain, lose consciousness or vomit at the time?
Mom: Oh, vomit, gross…we don’t allow that in our house.
Dr. Griswald: Mam, I’ll need to hear the answers from your son. Sir, if you could restrain your wife so that I can hear it from your son!
Dad: (Puts a sack over mom) Our adopted son.
Dr. Griswald: What about it Jimmy? Did you hit your head?
Jimmy: No.
Dr. Griswald: Can you point to the neck pain? What about the headache? Is it on both sides of the head or just one side?
Jimmy: both sides of the head hurt. I can’t turn my head this way (towards the right). And I feel like i’m getting the flu.
Dr. Griswald: (Puts thermometer in mouth) Have you noticed any rashes on your body?
Jimmy: (Shakes head, but only to one side). Can you put your feet together and close your eyes? (Rhomberg)
Dr. Griswald: (Removes the thermometer, which indicates no temperature) Jimmy, can I get you to take your shirt off and sit on the table here? (palpates neck, scm and trapezius, which reproduces pain) Is there any pain there, (tapping neck)? Go like this (flexion, extension, lateral flexion, atlanto-occipital rotation). Is this painful at all? (Performs Jackson’s compression, maximal compression) Follow my fingers, Jimmy (six positions of gaze) Now lay down...(performs kernigs test..) Any pain with that?
Dr. Griswald: (Now addressing parents): Well, guys...I don’t know what your problem is, Jimmy.
Mom: (Mumbles from underneath sack...) But Dr. Griswald...you’re the most expensive and best Dr. there is...can’t you do anything?
Dad: do you think we’ll have to return him?
Dr. Griswald: Please, let me finish Mr. And Mrs. Oil-Money. I don’t know what it is...but I bet I know someone who does (winks at them).
Hugo, the Bear puppet: Hi there Jimmy...I’ve been overseeing Dr. Griswald’s entire assessment and it seems like you’ve got a torticollis with assosciated subluxations. This is the cause of your neck pain...Hardy-har-har...grrrr!
Dad: Jesus, man!
Dr. Griswald: He’s good, isn’t he!
Dad: You know... he’s adopted, not retarded.
Hugo, the bear puppet: What we are going to do is...PIR, which is a type of stretch; then, some massage and you might even get an adjustment!
Jimmy: I don’t want that man touching me.
Dr. Griswald: (ruffles jimmy’s hair) That’s ok, little fella. I won’t touch you. Dr. Hugo is going to do the procedure...
Hugo: (Finishes treatment)
Family: Thanks Dr. Griswald!
Dr. Griswald: Don’t thank me! Thank the bear!
Family: Thanks, Hugo!
Hugo: My pleasure...see you tomorrow! And don’t forget to settle up with the secretary out front, because we don’t take accounts here!
Mom Oil-Money, an overly protective mother
Dad Oil-Money, a wealthy oil baron
Jimmy Oil-Money, their 16 year old son
Dr. Griswald
Hugo, a bear puppet
.........................................................................
Scene: Dr. Griswald’s office, A Paediatric Chiropractic office, Monday Morning
Dr. Griswald: Hello, Oil-Money family. What can I do for you today?
Mom: (Hysterical) It’s our Son, Jimmy! He can’t move his neck.
Dad: (smoking cigar) He’s our adopted son.
Jimmy: My neck hurts. Can’t move it this way (towards right). And now I have a headache!
Dr. Griswald: Well, Jimmy. What happened to bring this about?
Jimmy: I…(interrupted)
Mom: (interrupts) We don’t know! He’s in terrible pain. Help us Dr. Griswald. Money is of no concern.
Dr. Griswald: (stroking beard) Yes, rich people’s children do seem to have the worst type of pain. It’s true. Now Jimmy, do you know anything that might have brought this incident on?
Mom: He just woke up with it!
Dad: He’s adopted. Could that have caused it?
Dr. Griswald: Did it wake you from your sleep Jimmy? Or did you get out of bed and notice it this morning?
Jimmy: This morning…when I got out of bed for school. I was playing football last week and I got hit from behind. But nothing else weird.
Mom: (concerned) Football, Jimmy? You know we don’t allow you to play football, Jimmy. You’re too precious for football.
Dad: Fifteen thousand Dollars…just for the paperwork!
Dr. Griswald: Did you hit your head, notice any pain, lose consciousness or vomit at the time?
Mom: Oh, vomit, gross…we don’t allow that in our house.
Dr. Griswald: Mam, I’ll need to hear the answers from your son. Sir, if you could restrain your wife so that I can hear it from your son!
Dad: (Puts a sack over mom) Our adopted son.
Dr. Griswald: What about it Jimmy? Did you hit your head?
Jimmy: No.
Dr. Griswald: Can you point to the neck pain? What about the headache? Is it on both sides of the head or just one side?
Jimmy: both sides of the head hurt. I can’t turn my head this way (towards the right). And I feel like i’m getting the flu.
Dr. Griswald: (Puts thermometer in mouth) Have you noticed any rashes on your body?
Jimmy: (Shakes head, but only to one side). Can you put your feet together and close your eyes? (Rhomberg)
Dr. Griswald: (Removes the thermometer, which indicates no temperature) Jimmy, can I get you to take your shirt off and sit on the table here? (palpates neck, scm and trapezius, which reproduces pain) Is there any pain there, (tapping neck)? Go like this (flexion, extension, lateral flexion, atlanto-occipital rotation). Is this painful at all? (Performs Jackson’s compression, maximal compression) Follow my fingers, Jimmy (six positions of gaze) Now lay down...(performs kernigs test..) Any pain with that?
Dr. Griswald: (Now addressing parents): Well, guys...I don’t know what your problem is, Jimmy.
Mom: (Mumbles from underneath sack...) But Dr. Griswald...you’re the most expensive and best Dr. there is...can’t you do anything?
Dad: do you think we’ll have to return him?
Dr. Griswald: Please, let me finish Mr. And Mrs. Oil-Money. I don’t know what it is...but I bet I know someone who does (winks at them).
Hugo, the Bear puppet: Hi there Jimmy...I’ve been overseeing Dr. Griswald’s entire assessment and it seems like you’ve got a torticollis with assosciated subluxations. This is the cause of your neck pain...Hardy-har-har...grrrr!
Dad: Jesus, man!
Dr. Griswald: He’s good, isn’t he!
Dad: You know... he’s adopted, not retarded.
Hugo, the bear puppet: What we are going to do is...PIR, which is a type of stretch; then, some massage and you might even get an adjustment!
Jimmy: I don’t want that man touching me.
Dr. Griswald: (ruffles jimmy’s hair) That’s ok, little fella. I won’t touch you. Dr. Hugo is going to do the procedure...
Hugo: (Finishes treatment)
Family: Thanks Dr. Griswald!
Dr. Griswald: Don’t thank me! Thank the bear!
Family: Thanks, Hugo!
Hugo: My pleasure...see you tomorrow! And don’t forget to settle up with the secretary out front, because we don’t take accounts here!
Monday, August 31, 2009
The Funny Glossary G
Gabby, gabbier, gabbiest, gabble, gadget, gaggle, galaxy, galoshes, gambit, gamer, gamma ray, gander, gangling, garbled, gargantuan, gargle, garner, garret, garrote (Spanish method of execution by strangling), gasket, gauche (socially awkward), gawp (stare stupidly), gazebo, gazette, gazillion, gazump (raise the price of house after verbally agreeing) gecko, Geiger counter, gelignite, genital, genitals, genuflect, gherkin, gibber, gibberish, giblets, giant, giggle, gimcrack (showy but cheap), gipsy, gist, gladiator, glisten, glitter, globule, globular, glockenspiel, glory, glorious, gloriously, glue-sniffing, gnarled, gnash, gnome, gobble, gobbledygook, goblin, goggle, goner, gorilla, gormless (stupid), grampus (dolphin like mammal), grandiloquent (using pompous language), graphology (study of handwriting), grapple, gremlin, griddle, griffin, grizzly, groggy, grumpy, gulp, gumboots, gumption (resourcefulness, courage), guppy, gurgle, Gurkha, guru, gusto, guzzle, gyroscope
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