Double Flee A

The "what would L. Ron do?" label I stuck to my chest at work yesterday was met with a predictable reception. About three people put it together who L. Ron was.

I ran into some secret service guys on the elevator. The president of Rwanda was in the hospital on a tour. I'd have liked to see his face if he found out that a lot of our surgeries are for stomach banding, not to mention sex changes, which isn't to say that most of them aren't transplants and actual medical necessities, which they are. I wonder if the president of Rwanda asked what we're doing with all those old wheelchairs we're phasing out because the average patient is too fat to fit into them. The secret service guys don't carry glocks like the cops do. They said they carry something else, but wouldn't tell me what. Those guys sure are secretive.

Slept for eleven hours. Ahh.

Brother John has an idea for a story but doesn't have time to write it, being slammed with the premed curriculum. I'll try to write it but it will suck. I wrote a lot of those, that were based around great ideas, and the shorter they were the better. When I tried to make them longer they came out like the serials hacks banged out for Alfred Hitchcock's pperback series in the fifties. The short version almost always went like this: "Laura loved puppies, but sometimes they made her very angry." Believe me, that turned into garbage.

posted by dale @ 10:36 AM