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A lot of people like to drink wine. They savor it. They know the good stuff from the trashy stuff. I appluad them. I also wonder if they ever think about bird crap. Yea, bird crap. Birds bomb anything outdoors with caca. I know that the grapes are washed first but have you ever washed bird droppings off your car?
Think about that the next time you order a carafe.
I got my comeuppance this week. I’ve bragged about being as healthy as a horse. A thoroughbred at that. I don’t get diseases or colds. I don’t break bones. I don’t miss work. I don’t complain about the few things I do get. I’ve been really proud of that. Well, hah! I got my payback and paybacks are Hell.
For several years I’ve had a problem with my gall bladder. I could live with it so I never said much about it. My wife tried nagging me into seeing a doctor, but I didn’t want to go. What does she know about medicine? More than me, apparently.
It got to where it was becoming a real bother. Certain foods were taboo. I was uncomfortable. I was in pain. I wasn’t planning to do anything about it until the summer was over. I didn’t want surgery to interfere with my plans. Even going to the emergency room didn’t mean anything. Well, the drug they gave me was wonderful but that’s it.
Then I had a few nights in a row where I walked the floor. OK, I’ve had enough. I’ll go to the doctor and see about doing something about it eventually.
My doctor felt around and tapped me until I yelled at her. “ Hey, don’t you be yelling at me, Bub. I’m not the one who’s playing games with my health. It serves you right. This what I call ‘tough love medicine.’” Oh. I would have been offended and done something if she hadn’t been right. Also, I was afraid she’d poke me again.
She called and got me an appointment with a surgeon for the very next day! That’s a miracle in and of itself. She told me that I’d better show up for it or she’d, “find me and make you wish you had gone.” Boy, doctors.
The surgeon asked me some questions after first telling me not to try hiding anything. He’d already talked to my doctor and my wife and he was, “in no mood for nonsense.” OK, I lose. I tell him exactly what I’ve been feeling. He said that he’d do the micro surgery on me in the morning. It can’t wait. I scoffed at him and said that he hadn’t even touched me yet. How could he know- Ouch!
“Did that hurt? If it did I’m cutting you in the morning. If not, you’re right and the rest of us are wrong.”
OK. I showed up at the Day Surgery Center. They told me to strip down and put the hospital robe on. Hospital robes are designed to rob you of all your dignity and pride. It makes you real docile and easier to handle. You’ll go along with anything just to speed up the time until you can get rid of the robe.
Then they did some tests, including blood work. That involves needles. That's a reason to avoid these people. They put an IV in my wrist. First, they had to try my hand in three places. When that didn’t go, and it never does, they call a special nurse to put it in. She puts it in my wrist. She says she always does. The hand doesn’t really work out. That’s nice. I guess the hand thing is either practice or sadism.
Then they shoot some drug or drugs into the IV. OK, now they have me. I will do anything now. Of, course, they don’t want me to do anything except lie there and be quiet, very quiet.
Next thing I know. I’m in some room, with some people I sort of recognize, such as my wife. I know I’m still alive. I think I’m still alive. I don’t care if I am or not. This is real nice. Floating along on a cloud. Then to sleep. Then awake.
Then-PAIN!!. I mean real pain. Not that I got a booboo sort of pain. This that butt kicking kind. Why did I go along with this? Then the nurse puts a shot into the IV. Ahh! Yes, that’s nice. I’m all yours. Maybe I’ll take care of some of my other problems.
Yea, when cows fly.
I usually don't drink in bars. It's expensive compared to drinking at home, anyone's home. Drinking in a bar does allow you to hear fairly odd stories- like this one.
Lester and Gomer were sitting at the bar at Moonie's Grill. They were drinking beer, eating free peanuts, and passing gas. Lester and Gomer were considered to be either dumb or stupid. That was based mostly on what they would talk about- like this.
“Say, there, Lester, you heard about the dude that found a chicken head in his box of wings?” Lester lives for that sort of thing. He is easy to amuse.
“Yea, I heard that. He was fussin' something fierce. I don't get it”, Homer replied. Actually, Homer didn't get a lot of things.
“Was the head cooked?”, Lester asked. Why that mattered is something I didn't get.
“Sure. It was fried.” Oh, as compared to grilled or broiled or boiled. It's still a chicken head.
”You're right. Why was he fussin'?” Yea, it's just a chicken head. We eat the rest of him.
“Must be one of them 'gourmet' sissies. Heck, ain't much meat there but , heck, ain't that much on a neck neither.”
“Well, if I were a bettin' man, and I am, I'd bet ya he wouldn't eat no chicken neck neither.” That was something these two guys would find odd.
“No bet. Heck, I've eaten stuff in here I don't know what it was.”
“Yea, and don't rightly wanna know neither.” Could have been ground chicken heads.
“Oh! Excuse me there, Lester. Didn't mean for that beer to come back up and get on you.”
“Whatta ya mean?"
“Lester, I done throwed up on you!”
“Yea? Yea, ya did. Didn't rightly notice it.”
Funny Stories by Don Roble
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