Sunday, April 27, 2014
Seasoned Medical Complaints
-(shouts) Don't say hello again! Put the phone to your good ear!
-Hello? Oh, I don't mean that. I'm hearing you loud and clear.
-Which practitioner are you complaining about today? Obviously
not an ear person.
-Never mind! I'm seeing the Cancer Impresario at four. I'll let
you know what he slices off with his laser.
-Can't wait. You know...even at your age people develop
-I should fly little airplanes down Lincoln Road?
-Anything! Spare me the medical bore. On and freakin on!
-Hey! What can I say? It's my whole life!
-Why don't you have a party for the Big-C Billionaire, the Dermo,
the Dentist, the...
-I get the idea. But I'm not treating them, they're treating me!
-Humor! Lame, but valiant try from one nearly dead.
-All from Miami Beach, and I'm not even Jewish.
-Too bad. Then there'd be a tradition behind your abject misery.
A tremendous folklore from Russia and Poland. Artists who
translate tragedy to fiddles. And, add the thumping comedic
record coming down from the Yiddish theater.
-Okay! Okay! So there's nothing behind me except a succession
of sour and icy Puritans.
-Broke THAT tradition at least! You'll die doing it.
-As long as I can find it. I...tied a string!
-By God you’re laughing! Laughing!
-That's why I call you!
-I should go on the medical and psychiatric payroll.
-I’ll serve for a dollar a year.
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