Friday, June 02, 2017
Rumsey Applethorpe
The ambulance lurched
and the tubing over
the patient swayed
in orange smears.
The attendant seized it
and all was well.
"He's stable. And now I
need your info. Name?”
Thrust his iPhone at her.
“Rumsey Applethorpe.”
“Same as the patient?
Are you a Share?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“Then I'll have to have you
lie down. You'll have to
undergo the same tests
and procedures.”
“Is that necessary? I’m quite well.”
“The new protocol. Uh...with
obvious differences as to sex.”
“I don't think there are any.
Or if there are, trivial.”
“Well, he's male and you're...
you can't talk that away,
even today.”
“I wish to, and don’t.”
“Excuse me...but I don’t get Shares.”
“Fine! We just get ourselves!”
The other Rumsey sat up through
the tubes: “Must we always explain
everything?”
“Don’t worry, Honey, it’s all routine,”
she tried reassuring.
The attendant became too rough in
forcing him down.
Then, she finally acted. Shares have
double strength.
She disassembled the tubing after,
extracting the other Rums.
Attendant out cold.
Both yelled for the driver to stop, and
soon were running the night streets,
laughing.
Labels: ambulance, emergency, future medicine, sex, share
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Risks of Modern Life
“Usually get sold in pairs. Up to you. Fine then! The deuce
will do it! Your profile shows Mazda SUV. Better yet! Calders
will carry them out, and get them in that locked compartment
back there. Overcautious? Why look for trouble?”
But Flip forgot to tell Glad when they exchanged cars, and
he took the Altima for state inspection to Hoppy's Garage.
Back from the appointment only to find squad cars and a Hazmat
Team, plus five officers carrying automatic rifles. And Glad inside
the house shrieking “Green Ooze! I can’t get the stink off!”
The Captain pulls up, siren and multitudinous blinking lights,
white, blue, red. Siren spinning down to a ticking. Lights dim.
His red face seems to pulse then.
"Isn't all of this overkill?" Flip shouts, waving both arms.
"Not in our experience."
Labels: emergency, Hazmat, police, strange purchase
Monday, June 03, 2013
Various Names
“St-r-o-”
“You're correct there, old chap.”
“k-k-k.”
“Yes, a stroke. Don't say anymore. I know what
to do,” Nigel reassured. He was on a kind of
sabbatical from Queens College Hospital, London.
Jiffy Cripps, the driver, yelled after a half hour,
"I'm almost stuck here. Creeping! They think our
siren and lights are for the Little League kids--
they won the State and are going to Williamsport.”
“I imagine that's good then?”
“Where you been?”
“England.”
“Why in hell did you come here?”
“For a woman. What else?”
“I'll get the fire guys on the radio. They'll
clear a path for us.”
“Don't bother now. He's gone.”
“That’s above your pay grade to say that.”
“Perhaps, but I am actually a physician.”
“So you went a notch or two down to come
here, right?”
“Of course! Transatlantic Idiot! you glimpse
before you.”
“Just who is this wom...?"
“Celeste Broadworth.”
“Oh yeah? That's some family! The old man shot
dead a Chinese guy in bed with wifey.”
“Really must inquire of Celeste, if ever again we...!
This traffic!”
“Well, never was a bigger story around here.”
Unknown, of course, to both, Ripper Broadworth
was also threading his way through the celebration.
In a Mercedes, having been pardoned that morning.
Jif started absently singing some old thing from
The Stones. His mother had wrestled under the name
Darlyne Dire.
“St-r-o-”
“You're correct there, old chap.”
“k-k-k.”
“Yes, a stroke. Don't say anymore. I know what
to do,” Nigel reassured. He was on a kind of
sabbatical from Queens College Hospital, London.
Jiffy Cripps, the driver, yelled after a half hour,
"I'm almost stuck here. Creeping! They think our
siren and lights are for the Little League kids--
they won the State and are going to Williamsport.”
“I imagine that's good then?”
“Where you been?”
“England.”
“Why in hell did you come here?”
“For a woman. What else?”
“I'll get the fire guys on the radio. They'll
clear a path for us.”
“Don't bother now. He's gone.”
“That’s above your pay grade to say that.”
“Perhaps, but I am actually a physician.”
“So you went a notch or two down to come
here, right?”
“Of course! Transatlantic Idiot! you glimpse
before you.”
“Just who is this wom...?"
“Celeste Broadworth.”
“Oh yeah? That's some family! The old man shot
dead a Chinese guy in bed with wifey.”
“Really must inquire of Celeste, if ever again we...!
This traffic!”
“Well, never was a bigger story around here.”
Unknown, of course, to both, Ripper Broadworth
was also threading his way through the celebration.
In a Mercedes, having been pardoned that morning.
Jif started absently singing some old thing from
The Stones. His mother had wrestled under the name
Darlyne Dire.
Labels: death, emergency, English, infidelity, Little League, murder, Stones, traffic
