Category: Season 2

And for the hundredth time: You’re right, you had absolutely nothing to do with me getting involved in this Mrs. Bumbry case. But, for God’s sake, Carla, the much bigger problem facing us right now is just exactly how do we get you to stop annoying me?

Oh, and, Barbie? Let’s say word were to get out that Uncle Cox was doling out the feel goods? I’ll make ya pay — ya have no idea. Huge!

This whole I don’t care what people think about me” act? It’s pretty convincing. But methinks there’s a sad little cartoon boy living inside the hairy beast. And he’s sad because, at the end of the day, he realizes that the only thing people think about is what an evil son-of-a-bitch he really is. See you later, Bobbigator.”

Here you’ve put me in a tough situation: I can’t honestly decide whether to say, Duh,” uh, “Doy,” or a very sarcastic, “Oh, really?” My God, Fiona, I know it wasn’t your fault; hell, the patient probably knows! But he seemed a little distraught, like maybe being able to blame somebody for a second or two just might make him feel a little better? And, I know, maybe it’s me, but doesn’t that seem like something that goes right along with wearing that fancy white coat? It…does, doesn’t it.”

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!