10 November 2010
Nothing Wrong With Me
I was back at the doctor's again today even though there is nothing wrong with me a half bottle of absinthe would not fix. He has a new girl working the front for him. Does not look like she plays roller derby or sings punk rock but it sure looks like she would be entertaining doing either one.
She led me to the room where the doctor will probably stick his finger in my ass. That is what I get for getting old and not wanting to die like Dennis Hopper and Johnny Ramone. "The doctor will be right along. You're his last patient of the day. In other words, "Make it quick, the doctor needs his scotch."
Some people dread seeing their doctor. Not me. Seeing the doctor is like seeing Santa Claus at the shopping mall. No harm in going in with a wish list.
I read a magazine about fucking England while I waited for the doctor to show up. There was a big spread about what is probably the last scenic spot left in that bloody country. The article said there was a lot of wildlife in the area. There were even pictures of the wildlife - a pheasant and cow. No wonder no one wants to visit England any more - wild motherfucking cows everywhere.
"What can I do for you today Beer?" the doctor asked when he closed the door behind him.
"You know I am seeing a naturopath, right doc?" I began to explain. "He says I should lay off the caffeine. Says it is bad for me."
"Did he suggest you lay off the booze too?" my doctor interjected.
We both had a good laugh over that one. Fucking near pissed ourselves.
"I told him I would think about it," I said after I composed myself. "I would like to try but sometimes I get tired and I do not want to fall asleep like everybody else seems to be doing as I am driving down the highway. I was wondering if you could prescribe some sort of stimulant that does not have caffeine in it. Like maybe some benzedrine or something." Black fucking beauties.
The doctor looked at me over his smudged glasses. Probably he took off his glasses after he last had a finger up some other fucker's butt and got butt lubricant all over his lenses. "Let me see if there is anything wrong with you that might be ameliorated with amphetamines." He looked through my recent medical history. A page or two into it he said, "Ah, yes. This'll do."
He filled out the script, handed it to me, and gave me a little warning before he went home to a big glass of single malt. "Don't be taking these before work. Your boss would probably think you're on crack or something."
"Oh, I won't do that. The last place I want to be wide awake is on the fucking job."
It is true. Us old bastards get the best dope of all.