Sunday, March 18, 2012

Can't Decide

Man goes to the doctor. Complains of problem with ankle
Doctor proceeds to beat the patient within an inch of his life.
Everyone laughs. Except the patient because he has fucking bruised ribs.

Typing this waiting in the ER. Hopefully they don't give a fuck.
That last little dust-up didn't go so well for me, you might have guessed. I'm not exactly a medical expert, but I severely doubt that my ankle should feel like this. Or my shoulder.
Now, I have two options:
  1. Go to a hospital and say I got fucking mugged (which has the potential bring up the whole nine yards about murder, arson, and jaywalking)
  2. Seek the help of a certain unlicensed professional.

Not really much of a choice is it?
So I called up a certain "Doctor". Maybe you're familiar? She didn't get back to me, so I wrote it off and kept driving.

I pulled in to a rest stop last night to catch a bit of rest, needed to stretch. Fucking cold night. And my jacket is still filled with holes. Need to replace it.

So this... woman shows up. White coat, scarf, what looked like chocolate but I'm assuming was blood on both.
Creepy fucking mask. Points for that, the thing was made out of bits of bone.
Not sure what it was painted with, don't want to know. Horn sort of thing, on the one side. Deer maybe?
What happened next? Ow. Really fucking ow.

She came at me with a fucking bone. Like a fucking shinbone.

Get on the ground. Pain, really bad idea. Face is still in one piece but she got your shoulder, more than a little raw. That's alright, you can shake it off. 

Roll over, you need to get up. Nope, foot planted in my ribs. Just about knocked the breath out of me.
Swing, try to hit something dumbass. The wrench in my pocket gets her in the leg.

Bad idea. She goes for my head. Try to pull my arm up. Wait, wrong fucking arm.
Pain. Everything goes white for a second, and then red. Blood in my eyes. More pain, boot in the ribs again.
Drives the breath out of me.
That's alright, you've been here before, plenty of times. Try to roll with it. If she wanted to kill you she'd have done it by now, right?

Lost track a little, more hits with that fucking bone. . I remember trying to pull my legs up, cover the squishy bits, that didn't sit too well with the crazy lady.
Not sure when she left or how long the beating lasted. I'm a fucking mess now. Bruises all over my arms legs back. Plenty of them on my ribs, nasty cut on the side of my head.
When I could move again, I had a bit of paper tucked in my pocket, and a fucking lollipop. Believe it. A fucking lollipop

It's a prescription, little hard to read, physicians apparently can't write worth shit, but this was worse.
"Anger management zalafl?" Trying to prescribe food maybe?
And then:  "Hello Robin, we haven't met before in person but I hope you feel better soon please take this gift as a sign of everyone's fucking appreciation for you."

That's just fucking cheery isn't it? I'm guessing the good Doctor caught up with me after all.
Fuck you too Doc. Fuck you too.


  1. Fuck, that's... that's one mystery we really didn't need solved. Especially like that.

    Best of luck, man. Hope your luck turns around soon.

    1. What fucking mystery, pray tell, was that?
      What the fuck happens when someone goes fucking crazy?
      I think we already knew the fucking answer to that one.

      No such fucking thing as luck.

  2. Hahaha, that's great. Why would you contact her when you knew full well she went nuts?

    1. Tell you what Benny-boy, you have a chat face-to-face with the good doctor and I'll give you a fucking honest answer to your admittedly pointless fucking question.

      Assuming you can still type.