Category: Rants

Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. You’re wrong, you’re wrong, you’re wrong.

Come on, come on, come on, Jordan. I am so sorry everything fell apart today, honest-to-God, I am. But I guarantee that when you get here tomorrow, Dr. Gerson will, in fact, be in the super-deluxe birthing suite so that you can go ahead and have that story-book, drug-addled, Pitocin-induced pregnancy that you’ve always dreamed of ever since you were a little girl. But, in the meantime, you’ve gotta cut me a little slack. I mean, come on, it’s not like I see the real father running around here, busting his hump.

Yes, Newbie, I’m having a tough day. And of course I’d love to head home, but Jordan’s satanic brood has taken over my apartment and no man in his right mind would dare enter that place.

Honestly, it was like Death and I had a staring match, and, well, Death blinked. Now, all of you know I’m not one to toot my own horn, but, uh…beep, beep.

You can count on me, Bobbo! Here’s the lowdown. In three hours, my shift ends, at which point I will be leaving and meeting with my ex-wife for a celebratory best doctor in the city” date which is guaranteed to end in crazy hotel sex. I’m thinking six-inch heels, a leather mask, fishnet stockings. Who knows? She may even get dressed up. The good news for you, though, is that you have a case of hypercalcemia. Any trained monkey can treat it. Let’s see who that monkey’s gonna be. (…) Rex it is. Have a great night. You’re in very capable nine-fingered hands.”

Well, now, Gandhi, since you don’t grasp the fact that I think you’re incompetent, ladies and gentlemen, pay attention please: presenting the world’s longest Shoosh”. Mmh…Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I’m goin’ to go ahead and…stop. I’m not committing the way I normally do. When you go away I’ll regroup, maybe see you later.”

All right, bring it in here, you knuckle-heads. Come on, take a knee if you need to, you confound-its. I have been on since midnight — so I stand here with my usual level of contempt for all of you, but with the added wrinkle of having thirteen cups of Nurse Roberts’ piss-poor excuse for coffee passing pretty much straight through me. The not-so-hidden message being, of course, that if you screw up today, I’m gonna hit ya hard! I’m gonna hit ya fast! Now then, I think some of you may have noticed that all twenty-seven of the patients that were here in the I.C.U. when I started last night are still alive; and I damn-sure intend for them to still be breathing when I get the hell out of here at midnight. I think you understand what kind of opportunity we have in front of us.

I need you to extubate the young fellow in 304 and start an insulin drip on Mrs. Adler for the third time this month — God bless diabetics who continue to drink — oh, and Lassie! In response to the bestiality rumors circulating about you, I’ve decided to forgo calling you by the usual girl’s name and instead I’m gonna be referring to you by whatever famous dog I can think of. I’ve gone with Lassie” because, of course, that satisfies the criteria of being both a girl and a dog’s name, thus helping you ease into the transition.”

May I ask you something, there, Judy? Do you have any idea what it’s like to have three angry, under-fed women tear you several new ones for a full hour?

Wouldn’t have mattered, Jordan. You know why? Because I am always right. It’s something my…my old pal, Gandhi here, knows a little something about, because, you see, we are both egotistical peas in a giant narcissistic pod. And, to prove my point, I’m gonna go ahead and make a unnecessarily showy but undeniably impressive exit. Rope time, Gandhi.