Category: Season 3

Stop addressing me as Dr. Cox” in front of your patients. When they find out my actual name, they tend to page me with questions when they realize just exactly how inept you really are. Oh, and as an added safety measure, from now on, I’ll only be responding to “Doc,” “Doctor,” “Ceasar,” or “The Big Cheese;” and noooo, I’m not joking. Not now – not ever.”

Did I just walk in on you mocking an innocent patient!?

Newbie! Let me – let me tell you a little story. It starts every day at 5 in the morning — which is just about the time that you’re setting your hair for work – when I am awakened by a sound: Is that a cat being gutted by a fishing knife? Nooo! That’s my son. He’s hungry and he’s got a load in his pants so big that I’m actually considering hiring a stable boy. But, I go ahead and dig in; because I do love the lad and, well gosh, you know me, I’m a giver. And I’m off to the hospital, where my cup runneth over with both quality colleagues, such as yourself, and a proverbial clown-car full of sick people. But, what the hey, my pay is about the same as guys who break rocks with other rocks and I only have to work three or four hundred hours a week, so, so far I’m a pretty happy camper! And then I head back home where I’m greeted by the faint musk of baby vomit in a house that used to smell like, well…nothing! Nothing! Nothing! I-i-in fact it used to smell like nothing at all. And all I want to do before I restart this whole glorious cycle is, you know, maybe lay on the couch and have a beer and watch some SportsCenter and, if I’m not too sweaty from the day’s labors, stick my hand right down my pants, buuut apparently that’s not in Jordan’s definition of pulling your weight”.

Ah Newbie. Perfect timing. I have to run a hundred fifty dollars down to the police station cause Mr. Jinkies the Juggler, who Jordon just has to have to for Jack’s birthday party, just got a DUI.

Well, now, you are looking slim. Are those new scrubs? Or is it the fact you no longer have a soul?

Listen to me! I am not losing a bet to Bob Kelso!

Come on, marriage is overrated. Jordan and I aren’t married, and we’re getting along great.

Look, Gwyneth, you’re old enough now to hear this from me: Every time I go out of my way to help you children, I get nothing but trouble. Now this is the first five-minute window I’ve had in the last week to be with my son. And I’m just not gonna have you pirouetting around in here while my heart is breaking inside.

You know what a boss is: For you, that would be the seventeen-year-old that tells you to clean out the grease-trap after you’ve filled all the ketchups.

Relax, Newbie, the gimp is chained up.