November 19, 2004

Ode on a Thursday Morning

I have a question for the women who work the front desk at the doctor's office - no specific doctor's office - all of them, from what I can tell; the question seems to be applicable all 'round. What crawled up your collective too-wide ass and died, and why does it smell so bad?

I shit you not, my friend, I came this close to forcing a bad case of camel-toe on the pediatrician's receptionist this morning, a gaping slash of a camel-toe, created by and impaled firmly upon the forward point of my Prada slingbacks. The attitude! The sneer! The importunate demands that I hand over my driver's license and insurance card, impatient, fat little hand out - waiting! - as I stand there juggling a three-hundred pound pocketbook, the nineteen-hundred page medical history I was "required" to print out and bring with me to the appointment, and a feverish child.

I suspect this woman of making her husband's life a living hell. I accuse her of eating bon-bons until her ass hit a full two meters in breadth, then unleashing her rage at the unsuspecting by letting her shit-mummy self-image dictate her Little Hitler act at her job. I sentence her to ridicule by my own hands, and upon her I now execute judgement, the smegma of the medical community.

I am reminded of an Eminem lyric, apropos to the occasion:

It's harder than me, trying to park a Dodge,
when I'm drunk as fuck, right next to a humongous truck, in a two-car garage.
Hoppin' out with two broken legs, trying to walk it off -
Fuck you too, bitch, call the cops!
I'm'a kill you and them loud ass motherfucking barking dogs!

Poetry for our time. Evocative of the human frustration in dealing with modern life in the western world. Positively redolent with emotion, one might even say, empathetic.

Posted by Queenie at November 19, 2004 10:24 AM
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