CELL PHONE NOISE
Yello?
“Hello, Mr. on the Dead? This is Medicine calling!”
Hi.
“Are you dead yet?”
Not yet.
“Huzzah for us! We did that. Your body is trying to kill you so darn hard, Mr. on the Dead!”
Yes. I have cancer. Thank you for reminding me.
“You are Shelley Duvall, and your body is Jack Nicholson, stomping up the stairs with an axe and enraptured by the evil spirits of Colorado or winter or whatever the hell Stanley Kubrick was on about. I do not understand that man’s films!”
He sometimes chose the emotional truth over narrative cohesion.
“He did! How is your bump-nugget?”
My what?
“Your bee-stinger!”
Still not following.
“Your Satan’s playground. Your cave of wonders. Your knick-knack-paddywhack.”
…
Are you talking about my asshole?
“I am!”
Fine, I guess. Why?
“The doctor may or not be fiddling with it!”
I’m just coming in for a meeting. No treatment today.
“Who is the doctor: You or the doctor?”
The doctor is the doctor.
“Then I suppose it will be up to him whether or not to go knuckle-deep! Do not interfere with a man of science, Mr. on the Dead! He has the right to jimmy around in your inground pool at any moment! It is sort of like prima nocte.”
Is it?
“Yes! You may also call it Droit du seigneur if you prefer the vulgate.”
That didn’t exist. It was a medieval myth
“The doctor will not myth your butthole! He gets a bullseye every time!”
It’s clean. I’m freshly showered.
“Some do not wash as well as they might! When you rub your thumb against your egress, does it make a squeaky sound? That is how you know it’s clean!”
It’s clean!
“We will move on. What form of dessert will you be bringing the staff?”
I didn’t know it was required.
“The next time you are scheduled to be poisoned: Do you want poison in the IV bags or water?”
Poison, poison!
“Then I suggest you stop and purchase some snickerdoodles.”
Okay.
“Do you have questions for the doctor?”
Many.
“He will not be answering them! The doctor will be signing copies of his book and posing for pictures. Do not be asking for wacky poses!”
That sounds like a meet-and-greet.
“He will not be greeting you!”
God, I need better insurance.
“Oh, thank you for reminding me! Your insurance will not cover this visit. Please bring $478 in singles.”
Singles?
“The doctor likes it when his patients make it rain.”
Oh, c’mon.
“Dollar dollar bill, y’all!”
Is there anything else?
“Yes! Here comes the hot-stepper.”
…
“Ahem. Here comes the hot-stepper.”
…
“Poison or saline, Mr. on the Dead?”
Fine.
“Here comes the hot-stepper.”
Wooooord ’em up.
“I’m the lyrical gangster.”
Wooooord ’em up.
“Still love ’em like that! Oh, wasn’t that fun?”
Not really.
“I enjoyed it!”
Great.
“Just a few more things and I will let you go. When you come in the office, please pep yourself up a bit. Sometimes people come in here and they are just depressing-looking.”
I’ll try.
“You want to avert your eyes! All pale and either bloated or deflated. Do some jumping jacks! Get some color in your cheeks!”
Again: I’ll try.
“Do not be coming up in here dressed in a white coat and try to trick the doctor into thinking that you are the doctor. He is very susceptible to that trick!”
Won’t do that.
“He falls for it often! Sometimes, he even begins courses of antibiotics that have been prescribed to him illicitly!”
Not gonna do that, I promise.
“Are your gums bleeding?”
No.
“They will be! Moving on. Will you–”
Wait, what about my gums?
“–be poaching…I said we were moving on, Mr. on the Dead.”
Fine.
“Will you be poaching eggs this morning?”
No.
“What about elephants?”
I will poach nothing.
“Neither is acceptable for our patients!”
Gotcha.
“All right. We will see you at 2. Would you like do another chorus of Hot-stepper?”
I would not.
“2 it is!”
DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT
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