Category: Rants

Hey, Carla, would you be good enough to take this young gentleman back to his room in Pediatrics? Apparently as a form of social protest, he chewed on and subsequently swallowed part of a Rolling Stones CD. I’ll tell you what, there, Ralphie: They sold out for good once they started doing Ford commercials, you know what I’m saying?

Well done, there, Bobbo. When my patients ask me where I was all afternoon, I’ll just tell them I was too busy attending this ridiculous chat-fest with you and Dr. What’s-He-Over-Compensating-For? here.

Oh my God, it is a completely useless organ. Oh, wait a minute, that’s not completely true. Here, it turns out, we could remove it and then jam it in your mouth to keep you from asking the same question we’ve been going over for three straight days. Now, come on, we’re both in a position to get some good news here: You’re gonna feel better, and I’m gonna get the world’s most annoying patient the hell out of my hair. Plus, you’re in a bonus situation – I hand-picked the surgeon that you’re going to be torturing.

Don’t sweat it. All right, gather around. Here we go. Now, I’m sure we all recognize just how rare it is to get a win like this. But as we are surrounded by patients who are clinging to life, I’m going to give kudos in whisper form. Since I’m an egomaniac, first props come to me. Let me hear it, people. (…) This was not a complete and total solo effort. It was an extraordinary job done by each and every one of you. (…) And why are you not giddy with praise like those people? Don’t you know I dole out compliments, at most, once a year? And like a squirrel, you must gather up these acorns of kind words to sustain you for the upcoming cold, sarcastic months.

Well gosh, I guess I became a doctor because, ever since I was a little boy, I just wanted to help people. I don’t…tell this story very often, but, I remember when I was seven years old, one time I found a bird that had fallen out of its nest. And so, I picked him up, and I brought him home, and I made him a house out of an empty shoebox, and — Oh my God! —- I became a doctor for the same four reasons everybody does: Chicks, money, power, and chicks. But, since HMOs have made it virtually impossible to make any real money, which directly affects the number of chicks who come sniffing around — and don’t ask me what tree they’re barkin’ up, ’cause they’re sure as hell not pissin’ on mine. And as far as power goes, well, here I am during my free time letting some thirteen-year-old psychology fellow who couldn’t cut it in real medicine ask me questions about my personal life. So, here’s the inside scoop, there, pumpkin: Why don’t you go ahead and tell me all about power.

Work! I hate you! You suck!

who in God’s name wants to hear that every day?! Good morning.” In the immortal words of Daffy Duck: I demand that you shoot me now.”

Lookit, I know what you’re doing in there. You think that if you act like Dr. Sad Sack that the patient’s gonna opt out of surgery and I’ll have to spend yet another week with a man who has such an unnatural attachment to his gallbladder that, left to his own devices, he would rent a motel room and have sex with it. Now come on, I need you to sling that I’m gonna get freaky-deeky with my chizzle and–and slizzle up the dizzle for my…bee-aye…yitch” stuff that, you know, you do so well.”

Gather round, doomed new interns who just paged me! Quick question: What does this outfit tell you? (…) It means that I was just working out — which, incidentally, is the last remaining activity I have in my adult life that qualifies as me time.” Other activities recently crossed off of that list include my morning dump and all showers. You see, my dear son Jack has decided that those are team sports. However, I’m here, and I’m totally psyched to hear whatever the super-de-duper reason is that you paged me.”

And bam! The shine’s off the apple. And that’s when you find out that that pretty little girl you married isn’t a pretty little girl at all. No, she’s a man-eater. And I’m not talking about the whoa-whoa, here she comes” kind of man-eater. I’m talking about the kind that uses your dignity as a dishtowel to wipe up any shreds of manhood that might be stuck inside the sink. Of course, I may have tormented her from time to time; but, honest to God, that’s what I thought marriage was all about. So much so that, by the end of that relationship, I honestly don’t know who I hated more — her or me? I used to sit around and wonder…why our friends weren’t trying to destroy each other, like we were. And here, it turns out, the answer’s pretty simple: They weren’t unhappy. We were. “