Yes my brethren and sistern it's true, our saviour J.R. "Bob" Dobbs is
a mighty mysterious fellow. Most of the time, I have more Slack than I
know what to do with, but occasionally "Bob" sees fit to remind me,
albeit gently (he knows better than to fuck with one of "Connie's"
girls too much) by means of contrast.
Last week I was run ragged. I had two deadlines a day apart, and I
somehow got scheduled at the Mont five days and had a bunch of silly
little shit that I couldn't delay...to top it off, my sister had
threatened to visit with her six month old baby. Fortunately my sister
blew me off, once more, and I actually got all my shit written in
time...but not without a price.
Saturday morning at 3am I was awakened from a sound sleep by this
rather strange stirring in my gut....for the next half hour I exploded
from both ends, both puking up everything I'd eaten for the last three
weeks, and shitting out anything else...and I still had to work Game
Day.
It didn't stop. Every time I ate, ten minutes later, I'd get a sharp
pain in my stomache and twenty minutes after that, I was blowing mud
and abrading hemorrhoids. It got so that I was afraid to eat.
I knew what was happening...balance. I needed to feel like shit
(literally) for a while to appreciate how good I feel most of the
time.
Monday morning, "Bob" started to turn things around, and here's why:
I called the doctor's office and wouldn't you know it...they had a
cancellation at 9:45. I took a shower and was trying to decide what to
wear. I chose my Dobbshead boxers and a sleeveless t-shirt (always
make it easy for the nurses to get to you, and they'll be nicer).
Now, I don't know about you, but after I've been peeing from my ass
for three days, I'm not in the best of moods. I'm especially not in
the mood for dumbass questions from a nurse who should be able to read
a chart.
She called my name and I went in. Now, she's looking right at the
chart where it says in black and white, why I'm there and she asks me,
"How are you, today?" I wondered if she was dumb enough to ask that
question of everyone. "I feel like hell or I wouldn't be at the
doctor's office, thanks." She shot me an ugly look.
I'm finally in the examining room, and she asks what're my symptoms. I
tell her (in detail). She leaves, the doctor arrives. Now this is the
way that you know you're an adult. Sometimes you can be an adult and
never grow up (like myself) but there comes a time when you know for
sure, that at least physically, you're an adult. That's when your
doctor is younger than you. My doctor is slightly younger than I, and
he's got a sense of humor. He's a little uptight, but he wants to be
looser. I can tell. So, old Steve walks in and says, "What's wrong
with YOU?" I replied, "Well, other than the fact that I'm shitting
through the eye of a needle, nothing much." He started laughing,
"That's a biblical reference isn't it?" I nodded, "It is easier for a
rich man to shit through the eye of a needle than for a lawyer to get
to heaven, or something like that. I think it's from 1st Epileptics,
chapter 12." Now he's grinning at me, finally a little fun in the
office, even if it IS accompanied by a gastrointestinal disaster area.
He asked me to lay down, and he palpitated around my abdomen a bit.
He's still smiling when he asks "Is that Dick Van Dyke on your boxers,
or just some guy with a pipe?" Praise Dobbs...I suddenly knew why I
had been given the bug...Dobbs needs doctors..real doctors. "Nope,
that's J.R. "Bob" Dobbs, the savior of the Church of the SubGenius. We
think so highly of him that we sit on his face every day." "Church of
the SubGenius, eh?" he mumbles, still poking my belly. "Hey, we're the
only church out there that promises eternal salvation or triple your
money back." Now he laughs out loud. "So, I guess you're not too big
on Jesus?" he asks. "Not that wimpy Jesus with holey hands, however we
certainly respect the hell out of the fighting Jesus, who kicks ass
and takes names." "You're my most entertaining patient," he grinned.
"Yeah, and you'll be my favorite doctor, if you can plug up my
bunghole in less than 24 hours. I'm about to excrete my liver." "I can
do that," he assured me, filling out the prescription form. "Now don't
take more than eight of these a day or you'll be back here for just
the opposite problem." I nodded. "So, is this a real religion?" he
asked, standing in the doorway before leaving. "Oh it's real enough.
I'll bring you a pamphlet." So, I guess "Bob" wants a doctor, and he
went through my asshole to get one.
Today, things are back to Slack for me. I hit all the lights going
into town. The lady at Braums gave me my change in the proper order,
and there was tons of banana in my breakfast yogurt. I swung by Metro
to drop off a floppy, and Melissa said, "There's a check for you in
the basket." I said, "Are you sure? I thought I got my invoice in
late." She nodded, "But I was late this month too, so it worked out."
Slack! I got to the Mont, and there was a check waiting there too!
Slack! After work, I went by the Greek House to get my son a gyro for
dinner, and the cute Greek guy that works there flirted with
me...Slack! Caught all the lights on the way home and there were no
slow dumbfucks in front of me all the way. SLACK Most importantly, I
haven't shit in 24 hours...SLACK!
--
Reverend Mutha Tarla, Little Sisters of the Perpetually Juicy,
A Proud Jism Schism of the Church of the SubGenius, Worshipping
"Connie" Dobbs and Juicy Retardo since 1986
http://www.ionet.net/~bmyers/homepage.html
Original file name: "Bob" works in mysterious wÉ
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