February 22, 2008
Originally published April 14, 2003
I love people like this guy. He thinks he's a wit, and he is half right. He even bragged about this clever litter-box dump on some unmentionable's forum.
Al, the last "Phycologist" I visited hauled out some chicken bones, ostrich feathers and a drum made from a departed village elder's skull. When he drank something from a goatskin cup, got all wild-eyed and started his Spirit Dance, I left and went to a bar. For all I know, he's still dancing.
Does your experience in the "medical field" include studying under that guy, or did it come from emptying bedpans, cleaning toilets and mopping floors in a free clinic? Just curious.
I've got a big head, all right. It's full of brains. Your head is full of something else. The contents of bedpans come to mind.
As far as the "short dick" goes, mine is BROKEN due to prostate cancer (which you probably find HILARIOUS), but I have been taught by people in the medical profession other than tribal witch doctors to load a hypodermic needle, plunge it into a certain specific part of my tender anatomy and enjoy one of the finest blue-steel throbbers you ever saw. Wait. You've never seen one of those, have you? You don't own the proper equipment.
I may have to jump-start it nowadays, but SHORT it AIN'T.
I'll take all the morphene you've got. I liked that stuff when they gave it to me in the hospital after my surgery. It gave me a slack jaw and delicious dreams. But I'll pass on the electro-shock and the Lithium. Wine is fine for me.
I DO, however, recommend coffee enemas for YOU. I would be delighted to give you one, right out of the steaming pot. You could probably handle about two quarts through a #5 funnel.
All content © Rob Smith