Category: Season 2

Ahhh, damn. I missed the annual sleep-over, didn’t I? That _wonderful_ time of year when you two crazy kids throw caution to the wind and make sweet, elbowy love to each other. Don’t you be shy! You can tell Uncle Coxie about the naught-aye!

What’s the matter? Are you getting all sore around that hump above your butt where your tail used to be?

For your information, I attended that poor vegetable’s funeral every single time I set foot in his room over the last six weeks. Thank God the family finally moved him over to Surgery, where you guys were good enough to help him kick that nasty oxygen habit he had once and for all.

So, you went over to your friend’s” house, and cried on his shoulder — boo-hoo, wah — and you, of course, comforted her because she was weak and vulnerable, and blah…blah…blah…nerdy sex. The end. Dear Lord, Laverne, how in God’s name do you listen to this crap all day long?”

So, you caught sight of the Janitor’s window crank, and think you may have seen a little melanoma on there? Hmm! Well, then, it’s your obligation as a doctor and your privilege as a woman to go back and ask him if you can’t see it one more time. Now, ‘course I’d love to help, but I’m off to baby-sit the only other being on God’s green earth who’s needier than you. And, in the meantime, I need you to go in and tell Mr. Mueller that his liver has lesions on it and it doesn’t look good.

Let me guess, you’re off to another funeral. I’ll make you a deal — you come with me right now, and if you’re still late for the graveyard, I will personally scour the obituaries with you this weekend and you can just go nuts!

What’s the deal, there, Gandhi? Are you gonna be a bride?

You know, you are being very immature! And, oh, my God! Is that guy on fire!?

Oh, gosh, Martha, I’d love to attend your safety camp this summer — I would — but here my parents are making me go to Maine with them. So whatta you say you make sure and take a lot of pictures, that way, when you get back, we can both sit down and put together a Friends Forever” collage. Come on, now, the kid’s sixteen years old — he’s a little busted up, it’s not that big a deal. I mean, hell, when…when you were a kid, you must’ve cut your hand on your doll house?”

This is one of those very small windows when I’m borderline interested in your life. So, what’s the deal?