Here’s a little tale of how I gave my ear doctor what-for when he tried to put on some romance music during my exam.
You know why they keep the lights low in a place like that? ...I’ll tell ya. Gay sex. Grandma says I should take my dark glasses off when I go in them offices but she hasn’t been quite right in the head since LBJ got killed. She keeps yappin and I just keep on smiling, you know, and look away like I see somethin’ pretty.

Then that male nurse calls me into the back and I start sweatin. Makes me sit by mahself for awhile, just thinkin’ about all that gay sex. And by the time the doctor comes in and starts stickin’ tools in my most sensitive canals, asking questions like “does this hurt?”, I’m fightin’ mad.

“There is no cause for panic” he says while I’m trying to belt him one with the kleenex box. I finally got one solid hit to the neck and took him down, but he was up again in a flash. He was quick, I’ll give him that. He don’t fight fair though, and I aint afraid to say it. He yelled out like a woman and that nurse came in and got me in some kinda’ gay headlock. I could hear gramma screamin’ “No, no, don’t hurt him!”
...Lotta’ good that did. Always yappin, that gal.

To be continued...

So, them doctors had me spend some time with that building security fella, because I didn’t like to follow “the rules." Foreigner. Takin’ jobs away from real Americans. He didn’t even so much as thank me the whole time I was in that dank little room, for lettin’ him prance around on the soil my daddy died for. Just kept givin me some kinda eye, like an evil eye. And he smelled like armpits. EVIL armpits.

Then he tried to give me some kind of foreign cupcake. Well I swatted it to the ground, and said “Keep it to yourself, you damned illegal!” He didn’t understand a word of it, I’m sure. I could of been speakin Queen’s english, just waistin’ mah breath. Almost had to feel sorry for the boy. He doesn’t know he’s stupid.

He wanted me to sign some kinda papers or what-not. But I just pretended I couldn’t understand what he was saying, and I never sign my name for those people anyhow. They have ways. One minute you’re signing a contract, the next thing you know, some foreigner owns your favorite lawnmower.
They’ll do it, mind you. They’ve got a big thing for gardening tools. Ya gotta watch your tool sheds 24 hours a damn day with these folk.


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