TraumaCity

Monday, February 02, 2004

Ben sent this to me yesterday. I have permission to post. Excerpts from the travelogue of Ben into the deepest darkest jungles of childhood:

"...I buried my dad today. I knew I would have to do it eventually, I just didn't think it would be so soon. I guess that's pretty fucking stupid considering who I am. The woman's husband came and was very nice. He wanted to apologize for his wife's behavior. She was considering rehab. I wanted to smack him at the end of every sentence. Just as punctuation. I didn't. I was the good son. I'm sitting up here in my room that my mother has apparently been scrapping in. There's pictures everywhere and little beads and papers and crap all over. She hasn't stopped crying. My aunt keeps asking me if I can't get her anything, which I would be more than happy to, but I won't because my mother doesn't want anything. She wants to completely grieve for her husband and grandson and that's up to her. She won't even take the Vicodin they gave her for her shoulder. I might have to slip my lovely aunt a lot of something. A little rat poison with ground up glass for starters. If she introduces me to one more "nice" girl I'm calling in a whore to tramp up the place. Maybe you could send Pleasure over in a box with airholes and he/she could jump out and really get this funeral started. Maybe that would shut her the fuck up.

My sister is a wreck. Michael's coffin was so little it didn't look like he could fit in there. It was light blue and it had sailboats on it. It was surreal. Everything is surreal. There's so much paperwork. The insurance guy came to the house after Temple. I don't if it's that's nice, or good customer service, or just sheisty. This whole time I've been wearing my new Boss suit and my Magli shoes. The shoes squeeze my feet. For some reason I feel like I deserve it and I'm still wearing them. I have them on right now. Tell Katrin that. I'm sure she'll have some insight.

Please feed my dog. Please, please, please do not be mean to Enoch because he shit in the house. I don't know why that happened. Please walk him or call someone to walk him. Dogs need routine. Please don't let cockroaches take over the house. They're not good roommates. They won't pay half the cable bill. I'll call you.

Ben"

Th-th-th-at's all folks!
Mr Steve
Free The WM3
The Crew

brought to you by The Shadow * 1:40 PM

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Wednesday, January 21, 2004

Good Afternoon, Ladies and Gentleman. Thank you for flying trauma air. We are currently cruising at a low altitude over the burning devastation formerly known as Long Beach. To your right you'll notice Boeing Land, the bedroom community named after the military sponsored aircraft manufacturing facility that employs a good number of our fine citizens. To your left you'll notice the infamous LB ghetto from which sprung the likes of Snoop Dogg, Sublime, TSOL, and other nefarious characters of culture. Behind us is the East Village Arts District which his now enjoying a lovely urban renewal period after the hard work and hardship suffered by the truly brave and artistic since the early '70's. Our lovely Mayor, Bev, has sold this section of the city to tourism. You'll notice the Aquarium of the Pacific, the Queen Mary wasteland, Rainbow Harbor, the Convention Center, and Shoreline Village. Please pretend to not notice the cruise ship that's stranded in the harbor since the cruise line went bankrupt. Please also pretend that our Bush islands have been concealed by the decorative masks we put on them in the '60's to hide the massive oil wells. Thank you for flying trauma air, dedicated to getting you there, one way or another. Please fasten your seat belts, hug your loved ones, and say your prayers as we crash this mofo right into our municipal airport that has been leveraged by JetBlue. Long Beach, the city that kicks your ass, then puts a nice bandage on it.

Mr Steve
Free The WM3
The Crew

brought to you by The Shadow * 3:50 PM

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Monday, January 05, 2004

Britney Spears got married. Was it to one of her back-up dancers? Who gives a black shit? That's all anyone was talking about today. Even though Spirit is sending back supposed first ever pics of Mars, all anyone can talk about is what some slutpop singer is doing with her so-called life. What was that? Mean-spirited, cranky old man? Thank you. I wear that label as a badge of honor. A friend of ours just called from Chicago. He said his balls had frozen to his leg because he went outside with baggy jeans on and wasn't wearing any thermal underwear. True story. He had to go to an urgent care where they treated him for frostbite of his balls and told him to check in with his doctor in about a month for a sperm count. He was fondled, I mean treated, by a beautiful, flirtatious nurse. When he gets back, his girlfriend's probably gonna feel all sorry for him, and give him a massage or two, and that'll be great until we tell about the hottie nurse he tried to hook up with. Why would we tell? Because he'd tell on us. It's coming on a full moon. We've had two people in today with MPD. Personally, I don't subscribe to the Multiple Personality Theory. Katrin has some very interesting theories about "walk-ins" which have something to do with MPD and alien abductions and a plethora of other X-files crap we will not talk about here. Our blogmeister made a webpage for Damien's letter. What else happened? Oh, yeah. One of us got fired. Then our supervisor had a change of mind, no heart involved. Apparently you can't fire someone for doing their job, no matter who gets offended. Even if it's a VIP.

Stay true, whatever that means.
Ben
Free The WM3
The Crew

brought to you by The Shadow * 7:42 PM

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Tuesday, December 23, 2003

My apologies. I accidently logged on Carey's blog. Please forgive my misdoings for I am heartily sorry and the remembrance of them is greivous unto my soul. I'd like to say, however, that my lack of blogging skills has no bearing whatsofuckingever on my ability as a cardiothoracic surgeon. Should Carey be suffereing a profusely bleeding traumatic head injury or skull fracture from being struck with a blunt object, a scenario that is becoming increasingly likely to happen, I would of course do everything in my power to save her life without regard to the mean things she has said to me on occasion like when I very accidently spilled beer into her purse and also accidently locked her keys in her car and mistakenly logged a post on her blog instead of this one where it belongs. Please understand that I will be more careful in the future and that we can all learn from every situation.

And now, the entry I thought I had posted:

So we cracked open the lameass workplace newsletter to find out that Darryl Hannah had just been to visit the children's hospital. She looks really spacey in the photos of her bedside with the kids. Some of our kids, understandably, look really pale and wasted, kind of like Iggy on a bad day. A lot of them are bald because of the chemo and all. Anyway, Miss Hannah is shown sitting next to the kids with this really dopey smile on her face. Maybe she's been kidnapped by Cecil B Demented and doesn't even know where she is. If she really wanted to make a difference she could go up to the third floor and cheer up the men who've just had coronary bypass surgery since they'd be way more likely to know who the hell she is than the kids. Has she been in troulbe recently? We usually only see celebrities when they're trying to get their careers out of the toilet, or they've been ordered to do community service. That's not true. We see a buttload of celebrities during the Grand Prix in April.

We also saw that Lenny Bruce finally got pardoned for using, gasp, obscene language in NYC. What the fuck? Why the fuck does it take those cunts a goddamn 40 fucking years to pull their collective heads out of asses, lick the shit from their dicks, and catch a fucking clue? Poor bastard Lenny. He went through hell, most of it self-induced, but now at least we can all say shit damn and fuck, you bastardly cunts.

Free The WM3
The Crew

brought to you by The Shadow * 1:41 PM

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Monday, December 22, 2003

It's been a little crazy here in the trauma center over the weekend. It's been absolutely traumatic. The knife and gun club was apparently having a social event, oh since Thursday afternoon. Have you ever seen a person stabbed in the eye with a nail file? Since early early this morning there's been a bunch of kids here hanging out waiting for social work to find a family member who wasn't in the car that went over the side. The older two are upstairs now, the younger three are fine and just got done watching The Courtship of Eddie's Father. Was it wrong to let them each pick a gift from the charity barrel? Would it be a bad thing to take them upstairs to see that fatass in the red the suit? We think not. Social work is a little unthrilled that we drew fake tats on the boy. Hey, he was admiring some of ours, so what the hell?

We heard a rumor that Old St Henry may be appearing on a CD with Adrian Belew, Joe Jackson, Ben Folds, and William Shatner. Hey, we're not making this up! One of our secret agents is gathering intel as we speak, uh type. We'll keep ya posted.

The Crew
Free The WM3

brought to you by The Shadow * 12:35 PM

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Friday, December 19, 2003

The icecream man got shot in the chest because he was selling drugs on someone else's route. His lungs came out of his mouth and there was really nothing more we could do. So we called the harvest team because the icecream man's wife said we could have whatever we wanted of him. They're here now and they're gonna strip his carcass of everything we can use. He was relatively young and in pretty decent shape. There will be very little left to cremate. When his wife was signing all the forms she was telling us about what a fucking prick he was to her and their little girl. She said she's glad he's gone, but that she wished he would have died peacefully in his sleep. He was a vet so she and the kid should be all set now. She said we could have whatever we wanted except for his penis. We don't usually use penile tissue for transplants, but the veins inside can be stripped and put to good use elsewhere. I asked what she could possible want his penis for. She said she didn't want it, but that she wanted to make sure it was cremated so it couldn't hurt anyone else ever again. Frankly, I'm glad the icecream man is dead.

The Crew
Free The WM3

brought to you by The Shadow * 1:03 PM

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Wednesday, December 17, 2003

A man walked into a liquor store to buy a bottled water and a lotto ticket. He was shot in the head by the store clerk who was aiming for the two men who had just robbed the cash register. The two robbers ran, but the wife of the man who was shot called 911 and then drove away because "it was dangerous there". The store clerk, believing the man was dead and that he would be going to jail for murder, tried to shoot himself in the head, but this time only shot part of his jaw off. As all this was happening a prostitue walked into the store wearing 5 inch platforms and crotchless panties, slipped on all the blood and threw her back out. Guess where they all ended up? And how was your lunch hour?

brought to you by The Shadow * 3:53 PM

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