Wednesday afternoon whatever

Mr. Webster: "My mother died of coronary trombones."

Dr. Grumpy: "You mean thrombosis?"

Mr. Webster: "Whatever."

A-Z

GOALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Mary: "Dr. Grumpy's office, this is Mary."

Ms. Fifa: "I need to make an appointment with Dr. Grumpy right away! When I exercise I get these horrible headaches! They just started last week, and I can't do anything!"

Mary: "Okay, we can see you Thursday afternoon..."

Ms. Fifa: "Oh, I can't come in then. That's when I play soccer."

I have a bad feeling about this

Dr. Grumpy: "What medications are you on?"

Mr. Scattered: "I don't know. Whatever my girlfriend puts in my pill cup."

Dr. Grumpy (to girlfriend): "What pills does he get?"

Ms. Girlfriend: "I don't know the names. Whatever his mother tells me to give him."

Dr. Grumpy: "Where can I reach your mom?"

Mr. Scattered: "She's in jail."

My dog tries for the Darwin Award

Due to the weather warming up, I decided to shut down the hot tub for the summer. It's a big round thing, so I drained it and stood it on its side to dry.

Mello saw it standing there, and, to my astonishment, decided it was a giant hamster wheel. So she immediately jumped in it and began running.

This was a disaster in the making.

She actually got it about 20 feet across the yard before the whole thing fell over upside down, trapping her under it.

It was pretty hard not to laugh at the muffled "woof" of astonishment as I went over to free her.

Moron dog.

Hmmm. Christopher Lee just turned 90...

While doing an online survey about Parkinson's Disease treatments yesterday, I encountered this question about 2/3 of the way through. I can only assume it's to see if I was paying attention:

Rimshot

Dr. Grumpy: "Where is the pain?"

Mr. Youngman: "In my left buttock."

Dr. Grumpy: "When did it start?"

Mr. Youngman: "When I married Mrs. Youngman."

Annie's desk

Annie: "Dr. Grumpy's office, this is Annie."

Mr. Ivac: "Yeah, I need the phone number for the infusion center."

Annie: "We don't have an infusion center at our office."

Mr. Ivac: "I KNOW THAT! I'm talking about the infusion center by Farfaraway Hospital. I need to check on my appointment."

Annie: "Did we refer you there?"

Mr. Ivac: "Hell no! I'm not even your patient! I see Dr. Darth."

Annie: "So why are you calling our office?"

Mr. Ivac: "Because I need the phone number for the infusion suite! Can't you look it up for me?"

Annie: "Okay, but..."

Mr. Ivac: "You people are wasting my time. I'm glad you're not my neurologist." (click)

Negotiations

Dr. Grumpy: "This is Dr. Grumpy, returning a page."

Mr. Shakes: "Yeah, you saw me in the hospital last week, and said I had a seizure. So now I can't drive for a month."

Dr. Grumpy: "Yes..."

Mr. Shakes "Well, I want to drive. You didn't see me have a seizure. So how do you know I had one?"

Dr. Grumpy: "Your wife and friends saw the episode, and described it as a seizure. You even had a second one in front of the paramedics. The description they all gave me was pretty consistent with one."

Mr. Shakes: "Look. I'm saying that I didn't have one. You need to go back and change the chart to say I had something else."

Dr. Grumpy: "I can't do that, sir."

Mr. Shakes: "Okay, what do you want? $100? $500? Name your price and I'll pay it. Just change the chart."

Dear Groupon,

1. You need to retake biology. Either that or you've been watching too much daytime TV.

2. Generally emails selling a "meat package" get filtered out as spam. At least on my computer.

(click to enlarge)


 


Thank you, Brittany, for sending this in!

Lions and peacocks and needles OH MY!

My reader Jaime sent me some amazing pictures last week. She says they were in a brochure mailed to her pharmacy, from a vaccine company.

First we have this happy-looking lion, with hypodermic needles poking from his mane:
 

 




















Next we have this equally chipper peacock, with more syringes sticking out:

I personally find these kind of strange. I mean, they look like something from a children's book written by heroin junkies. Or ads for a REALLY off-Broadway "Lion King" production:


Scar: "Hey Simba, you want to share needles?"

Simba: "No, Uncle! The future king of Pride Rock knows better! Kids, remember to never share needles!"


I have NO CLUE what the artist was trying to say:

"Order our vaccines: They'll be delivered by friendly animals with uncapped needles pointing in random directions!"

"Our vaccines are super-hygienic. At least, as hygienic as they can be after being glued to wild animals."

"We take your health seriously. Our advertising, not-so-much."

"This was failed 1969 album cover artwork, and we bought the rights."

"Our ads make more sense after you've self-injected the syringe."

"Cute animals! Sharp objects! Bring the whole family!"

Thank you, Jamie!

FORE!

This weekend was the annual Wirfliss Pharmaceutical Company golf tournament. And it resulted in me making an ER run.

The event consists of drug reps and sundry other marketing people from all over the area in a 1-day golf challenge. This usually involves (as do many golf activities) large amounts of alcohol.

So I got called to ER to see 2 guys who'd suffered head injuries.

They were reps from competing territories, who were assigned to the same foursome.

After several drinks and holes, they began arguing about who had the better sales figures. Which led to a confrontation. Between 2 inebriated, hypercompetitive guys. Both armed with golf clubs.

I'll warn Mary to stock up on Wirfliss samples. May be a while before our rep is back.

Memorial Day reruns

The lawyer from South Dakota

On memorial day, veterans graves across the country are honored with wreaths and flags. But some veterans have no graves to honor, and can only be remembered.

Lieutenant Commander John C. Waldron, U.S.N.

He & his men changed the course of World War II in the Pacific, and didn't live to know it.

He was a lawyer, born in Fort Pierre, South Dakota. His father was descended from English settlers, his mother was a Sioux Indian.

He was married, with 2 daughters.

He was admitted to the state bar in South Dakota, but rather then going into practice decided to join the U.S. Navy. He was chosen to be a pilot, in the new field of naval aviation.

He trained to fly torpedo planes (no longer in use). Their goal was to fly close enough to an enemy ship to drop a torpedo into the water, then get away as fast as possible. This was a difficult job. It required the planes to fly in a low, straight line as they approached the enemy, making them easy targets for enemy fighters and anti-aircraft.

Waldron was a good pilot. He was chosen to teach at Annapolis, and later Pensacola. He flew planes off 1 battleship and 3 carriers.

He and his wife held parties for other pilots at their Norfolk home. He was very proud of his little girls. Some pilots remembered being taken to his daughters' darkened bedroom and asked "Did you guys ever see such pretty little girls?"

With war looming in the Summer of 1941, Waldron and his men were assigned to the aircraft carrier U.S.S. Hornet, in the Pacific theater.

He was determined. He once told his pilots that "if we run out of gas, we'll piss in the tanks." He wasn't looking for glory, or to become a martyr, or a hero. He was just doing his job.

On the morning of June 4, the Hornet was somewhere off Midway island, placed there to defend against the massive Japanese force sent to capture the Pacific base.

Waldron likely had few illusions about his chances. Although his men were well-trained, their "Devastator" torpedo bombers were already obsolete. The new "Avenger" planes were much better, but only beginning to roll out of the factories. And with the enemy coming, they had to make do with what they had. Before the battle he called his men together and said "If there is only one plane left to make a final run in, I want that man to go in and get a hit."

The Japanese "Zero" fighter was a lethal weapon. Though poorly protected, it was quicker and more maneuverable than its American counterparts. And it was flown by some of the best pilots in the world.

On the morning of June 4, 1942, Waldron led Torpedo Squadron 8 off the Hornet. He had orders to search for the Japanese in a specific area, but had a hunch (he called it his "Sioux intuition") that the heading he'd been told to follow was wrong. He disobeyed orders, and it turned out his intuition was correct.

Waldron led his 15 planes straight to the enemy fleet. Forced to fly straight & low to aim their torpedoes, they were sitting ducks as the Zeros swooped down and destroyed them one by one. Out of 30 men, there was only one survivor, Lt. George Gay. He saw Waldron stand up in his plane as it burst into flames, just before his own plane was shot out from under him. They didn't get a single hit.

The 15 pilots of Torpedo Squadron 8, photographed in May, 1942. Waldron is standing, 3rd from left. Lt. George Gay, (circled, 1st row) is the only man in the picture who survived.

In a few minutes all the planes of Torpedo Squadron 8 had vanished beneath the Pacific, leaving only Lieutenant Gay hiding from the Zeros under his flotation device. It was a disaster for the Americans.

But unbeknownst to all but Lt. Gay, they changed the course of the Pacific war.

The deadly Zeros were now at sea level, on the prowl for more torpedo planes. But the next American wave, this time of dive bombers, was high above. They might have been easy targets, too. But as they came down the Zeros were no longer in a position to defend their fleet, and couldn't gain altitude in time to stop the bombers. Between 10:20 and 10:25 a.m that morning the Japanese lost 3 of their 4 aircraft carriers to the bombers. The last carrier followed them a few hours later.

The loss of the four carriers, with their planes, pilots, and crews, was a blow the Japanese navy never recovered from. The war went on for 3 more years, but the tide was turned by the sacrifice of a group of men, led by a 41-year old lawyer from South Dakota.

All my readers, no matter what country they're in, owe their freedom to soldiers in all military branches. So remember them today.


The fallen from Torpedo Squadron 8. Their only grave marker is the blue Pacific water.

Lt. Commander John C. Waldron
Lt. Raymond A. Moore
Lt. James C. Owens, Jr.
Lt.(jg) George M. Campbell
Lt.(jg) John P. Gray
Lt.(jg) Jeff D. Woodson
Ens.William W. Abercrombie
Ens. William W. Creamer
Ens. Harold J. Ellison
Ens. William R. Evans
Ens. Henry R. Kenyun
Ens. Ulvert M. Moore
Ens. Grant W. Teats
Robert B. Miles, Aviation Pilot 1c
Horace F. Dobbs, Chief Radioman
Amelio Maffei, Radioman 1
Tom H. Pettry, Radioman 1
Otway D. Creasy, Jr. Radioman 2
Ross H. Bibb, Jr., Radioman 2
Darwin L. Clark, Radioman 2
Ronald J. Fisher, Radioman 2
Hollis Martin, Radioman 2
Bernerd P. Phelps Radioman 2
Aswell L. Picou, Seaman 2
Francis S. Polston, Seaman 2
Max A. Calkins, Radioman 3
George A. Field, Radioman 3
Robert K. Huntington Radioman 3
William F. Sawhill, Radioman 3

Random Sunday pictures

I'm used to people trying to get a better parking space by pretending to be a doctor, but it must be a lot trickier to impersonate a museum.






Next we have this lawyer, who has an interesting moonlighting job (sort of like Hannah Montana, I guess):

And then this fortune, which could mean, uh, a lot of things...

And, lastly, a reader from Sydney, Australia took this picture in a local grocery store to show how widespread the artisanal bullshit is. I'm unclear as to whether it's the bag, or the bread, or both that are artisanal. For that matter, the idea of "armored bread" is pretty strange.