Showing posts with label this post was GOD AWFUL because i'm so tired. Show all posts
Showing posts with label this post was GOD AWFUL because i'm so tired. Show all posts

1.27.2010

Dr. Reuben on VD

You asked for it...(for some ungodly reason, you asked for it.) So once again, it's time for the great Dr. Reuben's Q&A of the Day! Today I give you: The Best of Dr. Reuben on VD.

If these diseases are so terrible, why aren't they better known?
Unfortunately these conditions affect primarily two segments of society, neither of which carries much weight. Most victims are Negroes or homosexuals.

Ohhhhhhhhhhh, Dr. Reuben. Good morning to you.

(RE: the fact that VD will become widespread.) That sounds impossible. How could something like that happen?
The recipe goes something like this: Take a sexually vigorous young lady of twenty-two, add birth control pills and maybe a little marijuana. Stir in some false confidence, a dash of hippie philosophy, and a lot of immaturity.
Put all ingredients into a snappy new car that goes into some swinging neighborhoods, and mix thoroughly. Incubate for ten days and the infection that results will be astounding.

...According to that recipe I'm two years, ten days and a snappy car away from having a scorching case of gonorrhea. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't appreciate the fair warning.

What about the mayor's daughter or the black call girl?
A variation of the same recipe. Let's say the call girl has a white customer, maybe a shoe store manager whose wife doesn't understand him. (About twenty percent of the customers of black prostitutes are white anyway.) He gets one of the underground diseases from her. A month later he spends the night in a motel with one of his customers, the young wife of a law student whose husband doesn't understand her. Now she comes down with it. Obviously her quest from understanding doesn't stop with the gent from the shoe store. Six weeks later at a party she pairs off with one of her husband's friends from school, a nice boy who's just had too much to drink. Guess whom he is engaged to?
Two months after the party the mayor's nineteen-year-old daughter notices a vaginal discharge and a lump in her groin. With a few detours, it only took six months for the infection to get from the vagina of a call girl to the vagina of a debutante. Where else it has gone in the meantime is anybody's guess.

I swear to god, I sat down at my desk this morning, opened my book, pointed to this question and then, out loud, said, "You had me at black call girl." Here's my first question about this answer: how emo was everyone in 1969 that they ran around town being unfaithful because their spouses "didn't understand them"? What was going on there? I imagine husbands running up to their Robert Pattinson poster covered bedrooms, slamming the door in their wives faces and shouting, "You just don't understand me! NOBODY UNDERSTANDS ME!!!!!1" as they angrily shove a bunch of Greenday t-shirts into a Jansport backpack, climb out the window and promptly go fuck a black call girl. 1969. The year of love. Perhaps people would understand their spouses a little better if they weren't getting married at 19-fucking-years-old (mayor's daughterI'm lookin' at you.) The thought of getting married at 24 is enough to give me a panic attack, nevertheless 19. What was I doing at 19? Wearing velour track pants and Von Dutch t-shirts. Of course nobody understood me. I looked like I got my clothes at Goodwill directly after Ashton Kutcher and the costume department at Desperate Housewives made donations. That's not marriage material. That's drive into a swingin' neighborhood all hopped up on marijuana and false confidence material. (And I was and I did.)

Isn't it possible to get syphilis without having sex, like say from a toilet seat?
Certainly, if you're an acrobat.

BEST. MEDICAL. ANSWER. EVER.

[The sores start at the] site of infection? What does that mean?
Depending on who you are, it may mean a lot. Just as Sherlock Holmes could tell a man's occupation by the calluses on his hands, the doctor can tell the patient's sexual inclinations by the location of his syphilitic sore.
In the average man a syphilitic ulcer occurs on the penis. In the average woman, it can be found on the labia minora. In those with an inquiring mind, the sore can appear on the fingertip. The female breast is also a common location. Lips come in for their share of infection. In homosexuals, the sore can be found on the mucous membranes of the anus. Once in a while an adventurous gentleman turns up with syphilis of the tonsils.

"In those with an inquiring mind, the sore can appear on the fingertip."
That has to be my favorite sentence in the history of the English language. I'm not 100% sure I know what it means, I'm just 100% sure I like it.

Also, Dr. Reuben, in regards to the "adventurous gentleman," Webster's dictionary defines as a "gentleman" as the following:
1.) A man of noble, or gentle birth
2.) A man belonging to the landed gentry
3.) A man who combines gentle birth or rank with chivalrous qualities
4.) A man whose conduct conforms to a high standard of propriety or correct behavior

Nowhere on that list do I see ball gargling as a very "gentlemanly" activity.

Does that still happen?
Fortunately about the time that men's hats went out of fashion, so did catheters.

Best out-out-context question and answer ever?

How can sterility not be bad?
If you're talking about a prostitute, it's not bad. Gonorrhea is sometimes known among professionals as "the hooker's friend." To a lady of the evening pregnancy is embarrassing, inconvenient, and expensive. Before birth control pills, the risk was much higher. Gonorrhea helped bring down the odds.

Ok, ok, ok, so let me get this straight: adventurous ball garglers are "gentleman" and hookers are "ladies of the evening," whereas black people are "Negroes" and homosexuals are "fags?" Sir, do you play croquet with flamingos? Have you swum in a river of tears? Because this is some ass-backwards Alice in Wonderland shit and I don't recall ingesting any mercury this morning.

Why are these infections common among homosexuals?
Homosexuals are capable of prodigious promiscuity. Simply by the laws of probability, sooner or later a wide-ranging white homosexual will come in contact with a similarly inclined black homosexual. The infection then passes to both their partners and their partner's partners and their partner's partner's partners and so on.

Dr. David Reuben: crazy old coot...or soothsayer?

5.14.2009

Evie McBlogger: best advertisment for birth control ever.

I currently have three schemes in rotation to get out of this whole "working" thing:

1.) Rehab. Every week there's a commercial during Intervention for a rehab facility that makes me want to dive into a giant swimming pool of cocaine and snort my way out. An all-expenses paid trip to Malibu where I talk about my feelings; learn to cook; enjoy some pilates and yoga; meditate and do all the arts and crafts I want doesn't sound that horrible to me. It's like summer camp for adults! Yes and please. There's only one problem: I'm not addicted to anything. (Unless you're of the Robert Palmer school of thought, in which case sign me up!)

2.) Jail. Do you know how many times I walk to work and litter, jay-walk, steal from street vendors, kill an anonymous hobo or grifter; praying to god a cop will arrest me so I can go jail and take a nap? Every single morning. Because taking a nap in jail would be preferable to coming here, where my only task is to figure out where the "dead critter" smell is coming from. That's not a joke. That really is my one and only task today. Figure out the dead critter smell. At least in jail we all know where the dead critter smell is coming from (crackhead, I'm looking at you.)

3.) Get pregnant. Did you know that in the Netherlands, both mother and father get one year paid maternity and paternity leave? How amazing is that?! Ergo, new life plan: unprotected sex -> move to Amsterdam -> eat falaffel ->Heinekin factor tour -> have baby -> 1 year paid Amsterdam vacation. Plus, I'd get a baby shower and tons of free shit. It's a recession! Can't argue with free shit!

So far option #3 had been my front-runner, but as of last night I've changed my mind. Jail is back on top. And it's all "thanks" to my parents cat, Evie.

Evie arrived at my apartment Tuesday night and I'll be cat sitting her for the next seven days while my parents are away on vacation. Originally, I was pretty psyched about this. When I moved into my parent's house after leaving New York, Evie and I pretty much became BFF4lyfe. We share a mutual love of napping and spent our days curled up on the couch in our pajamas watching MTV Hits, eating free Kashi GoLean Crunch cereal and whining at my mom to give us attention. It was awesome.
Photobucket

However, cat sitting her is less than awesome. She's driving me crazy. I feel like I've been given a small glimpse into the life of a new mother
and I want to claw out my eyes, close my legs and pretend like I never saw anything.

The meowing you guys, the meowing. It's got to go. All night long, she just meows. And I'm not talking gentle, adorable kitty meowing, I'm talking "Timmy fell down the well; you need to get your fuckin' ass up now," screaming/meowing. Scr-owing, if you will. She has this one kind of meow that starts with a "meo-" but ends in this deep, throat gurgle that distinctly sounds like she's telling me to eat shit.

The only way to shut her up is if I get out of bed and gently rock her in my arms like a baby. I do this and she's suddenly happy as a clam. Shuts right up and purrs her face off. HOWEVER, the second I put her down on my bed and try to go back to sleep, she freaks out, flies off my bed, jumps on top of her carrying case and scr-ows at me. So I have to physically get out of bed again, pick her up and hold her for a little while. But god forbid I get tired and want to lay down in my own bed at 2:30 in the morning! If I do that she just
flicks me off, heads for her carrying case and yells derogatory things at me until I get up and hold her again. It's a vicious cycle.

I've tried everything. I tried reasoning with her. I tried begging and pleading. I tried shutting her in the bathroom (but felt bad and let her out after 30 seconds.) I put her favorite toy, Fillipe the frog, in my bed thinking that might coax her off her little soap box, but nope! There she was, atop her crate telling me to go eff myself. Then I got the genius idea to put her crate in my bed, thinking maybe that would solve something. Instead, she just stood where the crate once was, shouting at me from there. Even better, I forgot the crate was in my bed at one point and rolled over and slammed my face into the door.

I think at around 4:15ish, she finally ran out of steam and fell asleep. Two hours later my alarm clock buzzed and she woke back up. From 7-8 (aka my precious snoozing time,) she meowed. And meowed. And meowed. At that moment, I sort of understood why someone might be tempted to shake their baby like an Etch A Sketch.

I look like shit today. I didn't shower. There are circles under my eyes. I was 15 minutes late to work. This post isn't even well-written or funny. Somebody out there has to know
—how do I get her to stop meowing? I can't hold her forever (L0LZ! That sounds like it should be a Maroon 5 song or something). If I ignore her, she meows louder. What do I do?!
 
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