TraumaCity

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.

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The Crew

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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
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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
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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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Tuesday, December 16, 2003

Somone claiming to be a friend wants to set me up with a guy who saw me at her Halloween party. Here's her reccommendations of him:He's tall! He works in the film industry! He drives a BMW! He doesn't have any children that he knows of! He sort of owns his own home! He's not horrible in bed! Here's what my limited sleuthing discovered: He's six feet four inches tall. I ask you, what the hell is a five foot two girl going to do with someone that much taller than she? The advantage would all be his. I also discovered that he's a reader for a production company and is "working on his screenplay" like every other person who's ever seen a film. He does drive a BMW, but big deal. He doesn't have any children that he knows of? What does that mean? Why did she say it like that? Is there a paternity suit looming on the horizon? Is there a DNA test with no results yet? He doesn't own his own home. He and his brother and his cousin bought into a foreclosure and owe the lender each of their first born children, all so they could say they live in West Hollywood. He's not horrible in bed? You know how she feels qualified to say? Yes, that's right she took him for a test drive and with my detective skills I found out it was the very same night he saw me and AFTER THEY HAD SEX IN HER KITCHEN HE ASKED ABOUT ME. EEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWW! But wait, there's more: She said he wanted to get to know me a little better before asking me out and had two question for me. 1) Have I ever dated outside of my race? 2) Am I proud to be an American? I told her this spoke volumes about him seeing as I've never met anyone outside of my race, which is human being despite all the things I've said about ex-boyfriends, and that it was obvious his bigoted-ass meant to ask if I've dated other ethnicities. I"m sure he already assumes he and I are going to have sex and he wants to make sure only white men have walked that trail before him. Am I proud to be an American? Of course I am! Mike Tyson and OJ Simpson are Americans! Ken Ley and Martha Stewart are Amercans! Anway, in absolute disgust I emailed her back that I had two questions of my own for him. 1) How does he feel about people born with ambiguous genitalia? 2) Has he ever been fisted up the ass on a first date? That was yesterday. I still haven't heard back. Oh, well. Back to match.com

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The Crew

brought to you by The Shadow * 12:50 PM

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Monday, December 15, 2003

Secret Santa time is here again, folks. Let's hang our rubber gloves over the dictation desk and hope someone brings us something nice. Like world peace. So Saddam Hussein was found hiding in a dugout. How fitting. Let's get the chick from Alias on his ass and see what she comes up with, 'cuz that chick's just amazing. Oh, I wish she was my girlfriend. NOT. We all fantasize that she was our girlfriend, but we're really fantasizing that we were amazing enough to be her boyfriend. No domestic violence in that relationship, I'll bet. What if the chick from Alias was your girlfriend? What would that say about you? Would it mean that you were more real than Henry Rollins? Would it mean that you were the ultimate man? I don't know. I still wish Janeane Garofalo would be my girlfriend, despite all those lesbo rumors. They're probably as bogus as the Hank gay rumors. Who will stand with us beneath the mistletoe? Stay tuned to find out...

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The Crew

brought to you by The Shadow * 12:43 PM

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Saturday, December 13, 2003

Well, here we are at work again. One of us just got talked to about his hair. They get all excited if it's too long and shaggy, but if he cuts it short enough for the tat on the back of his neck to show they get really excited. Look everyone, it's a brand new hassle! Free of charge! Your very own annoying hassle! So anyway, highlights of the day so far include a little boy who smacked his grandpa in the head with a golf club and gave gramps an MI, or myocardial infarction. A heart attack, you civilians. What's on the CD player today:We have some Gershwin, vintage Sonic Youth, a little Pergolesi, The Strokes, The Hives, The Sugarcubes, James, and the new Christina Aguilera. No, we're not serious. We never listen to the Hives. Ha ha ha. Of course we do. Actually we're not listening Christina Aguilera, we're listening to Wicked Tinkers. They play bagpipes and dijeridoo (sp?)

We'll keep you posted on our scintillating adventures here in trauma city.

The Crew
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Friday, December 12, 2003

Today is the holiday party for the department. It's so dismal it seems staged. In the dingy conference room they had some El Pollo Loco set up in the disposable aluminum catering trays. A jug of fake lemonade next to a stack of plastic cups. A tiny boombox in the back playing a 99cent Christmas CD. No decorations, no games, no festivities at all. Our manager was sitting there working on her laptop. She didn't look up when we walked in but she said "help yourselves". After the bosses leave we're going to kick it up a couple notches. There'll be some Henry Rollins playing. There'll some confetti flying. There'll be toasts and loser boozer awards. Stop on by and help us make it festive. No, really. We need you.

brought to you by The Shadow * 12:37 PM

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Tuesday, December 09, 2003

Just had to log on and post this. We're seeing a disabled woman who was knocked down in a crush for chicken tortilla soup right here in our own cafeteria, the iceworm cafe. It's nothing to compare with the WalMart dvd stampede, but we're liking it. Two humourous aspects:the woman speaks zero english except to say in broken something Slavic "No immigration, please. I have a paper." Could be she's a faker, but we also like that she pounded the rent-a-cop who got her off the floor. She smacked him with her cane and called him something we're sure means ignorant devil in her native language. It's all part of the breads and circus management campaign. Every time something goes on they offer everyone a free meal. Is Soylent Green on dvd, yet?

brought to you by The Shadow * 3:38 PM

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We all just finished reading HR's Broken Summers. What a dull read. Could hardly get through it. NOT. Thanks, Hank. Please kick more ass on this next tour. Please kick ass in my backyard here in Long Beach. Has he ever played LBin the history of ever? Is there some invisible line that Hank doesn't cross into Long Beach and Greg Ginn doesn't cross out of Southern California? Did they draw a circle in the sand and say "Okay, there's only room for one of us in this town, get the fuck outta here". Maybe. And then Henry said "Fine, you want this stinking coal dustbin all to yourself? Be my guest, stupid. I'll just take the rest of the planet since you don't like to tour anymore anyway." And there you have it, folks. The world's greatest fight that never happened. No, but really. Why won't Hank play Long Beach? Too close to home? Is it our crappy parking?

brought to you by The Shadow * 12:03 PM

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Monday, December 08, 2003

Hello from The Crew -

Henry Rollins shut down his guestbook. It may have had something to do with all that crap about Harold and Big Wes, which we thought was mighty suspicious. Since then several people have written to us at fuchsiapoodle@yahoo to complain. You miss us? What the f*ck? Anyway, if you want to know what's going on right now in the ED (emergency department), the answer is not much. We just took medical custody of a cool little chick because we found broken glass where nothing should be until she's of legal age to consent. And even then! Plenty o' folks here with the flu. It's a kicker, but go ahead and get that flu shot. It'll be slightly worth it. Carey was kind enough to set this up, so it's going to look like all the posts are hers. Are you clever enough to figure out which one of us is talking? Let us know. Feel free to write us, but don't get offended if we slam you back or ignore you. fuchsiapoodle@yahoo.com

The Crew
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