In the engrossing video below, Dr. Leonard Bryant, a doctor here at Doctors Etcetera, reviews the fiction classic Gray's Anatomy , by Henry Gray.
By George Zimmerman
It’s been a strange couple of weeks, hasn’t it? First, I was acquitted of all charges regarding that whole Trayvon Martin thing. Then, just the other day, I helped rescue a family from an overturned vehicle on the side of the road. And as if that weren’t enough, there I was yesterday—while visiting a cousin of mine at the hospital—inadvertently conducting open-heart surgery on a man I've never even met before. Phew!
It all started when I left the hospital bed of my cousin—who was in for knee surgery—to go to the bathroom. Well, you know how confusing the halls of a hospital can be! There I am looking for a men’s room and where do I suddenly find myself? In an operating room! An operating room in which a man was being prepped for open-heart surgery! Hello!
What was I to do in this situation? I broke down my options:
1) Leave this man-in-need and continue, quite selfishly, to look for a place to take a leak
2) Call the hospital administrator and relay to him or her the names of the doctors present in this OR to make sure they’re legit doctors
3) Insert my involvement in this open-heart-surgery situation, noting the fact that I've always wanted to be a doctor as well as a police officer
Obviously, Option 1 was out of the question. After a mere split-second of weighing the remaining options, I chose 3. It, in fact, seemed like the only obvious option—the option any normal human being would take. So I jumped into the procedure. The doctors tried to restrain me, but I elbowed them out of the way, leaving every last one unconscious. I didn’t want to use force, but I had no choice. After all, what would you have done?
That was a rhetorical question. You would’ve done the same thing.
So in I went. There was no time to sterilize, and besides: when this man lying on the operating table was finished, he would not only have a ship-shape heart, but also a stronger immune system, thanks to my unsterilized hands. That is, he would have had a ship-shape heart and stronger immune system if he had made it out of the procedure alive. Unfortunately, he died within roughly two minutes of the operation.
It was heartbreaking, no pun intended. The poor guy never had a chance. And the worst part was, his heart was in my hands. Literally. His now-useless life-giving organ was sitting in my sweaty palms.
So that was that. I yanked out the pair of scissor-looking operating things from the dead man’s heart—I had jabbed them into the organ in my panicky state—and threw them onto the ground. I then placed the useless heart back into the man’s chest, in the general area where it belonged.
“I’m sorry,” I told the man who lay dead before me. Then, as the knocked-out doctors lying on the floor around me started to regain consciousness, I walked out of the operating room. There had to be a bathroom somewhere nearby, and I had to piss like a racehorse.
Uh-oh, a social conservative, right-wing doctor mixed up his stacks of x-rays, which had been divided into two piles: Gay People X-rays and Straight People X-rays! Can you help him sort out the x-rays below?!
Which foot x-ray below belongs to the gay man?
Which hand x-ray below belongs to the straight woman?
Which chest x-ray belongs to the gay man? Which belongs to the straight man?
What about these neck x-rays?
Being a parent is hard on so many levels. In the beginning,
there are the sleepless nights, the incessant feedings, and the intense weight
of this new responsibility. And then the years go by and, the next thing you
know, you’re sitting down with your five-year old daughter, giving her the
talk—the one where you tell her you’re pregnant again, and you’re having an
abortion, followed by the step-by-step details of the process.
How time flies!
If you’ve done this before, you know that nothing can prepare you for this talk. Indeed, my daughter didn’t even know what an abortion was until I told her all about it—how I was going to vacuum out what would’ve been her brother or sister.
Do you think it was easy telling my five-year-old daughter how the doctor suctioned out the embryo, placenta and membranes of what would have been Johnny Jr. or a sister we probably would’ve named Mary Beth or something? No, it was not easy. The look of sheer terror on my daughter’s face was enough to make me regret telling her. But only for a second. I knew it was important for her to hear this. That way, when it’s her turn to have an abortion (many years from now, please!), she’ll know all about it.
She’ll know that the clinician will use a local anesthetic to numb the cervix. She’ll know about the instruments called "dilators,” which open the cervix. And she won’t flinch an inch when she hears about the ol’ sterile cannula, which is inserted into the uterus and attached via tubing to a pump—a pump that creates a vacuum which empties uterine contents.
Sure, she may be terrified now. And yes, she may wake up in the middle of the night, screaming from a reoccuring night-terror in which a doctor with a clown-face chases her with an instrument that looks like a Krazy Straw. But she’ll thank me later. No doubt about it: she’ll thank me later.
If I can give other moms out there one word of advice, it would be this: when you have this talk with your child, follow it up with a big bowl of ice-cream. After all, this is one serious talk, and ice-cream can put a smile on anyone’s face—even the face of a stricken five-year-old with whom you just spent an hour-and-a-half going over the more painful details of what it means to be an adult.
Here it is: the definitive list of what women want. These are the qualities every woman looks for in a man. I’ve done all the work, and now I want to share what I’ve learned. So if you’re a man, start reading and start learning. You’ll be glad you did.
1. A sensitive side: Women love a man with a sensitive side, so be compassionate. Be gentle. For instance, if you and your woman are out for a walk and you find a stray cat, don’t threaten to put it to sleep. At least not right away. Some guys like to tell their woman that cats have nine lives so putting it to sleep just this once isn’t really all that bad. Resist this urge. Let the cat live for a little while. Trust me, your insincere compassion will pay off!
2. A sense of humor: Why did the chicken cross the road? To get some pussy! Ha ha, that’s an oldie but goodie. Seriously, though, there’s no better way to seduce a woman than by making her laugh. Like Nicholas Sparks wrote in the classic novel The Notebook: “Make her smile and get into her vertical smile.”
A good way to make a woman laugh is to tell a good joke, or let her catch you masturbating. For the latter example, when she walks in on you, say something like, “Just working out the bi’s!” Believe me, she’ll love it.
3. Chivalry is alive: The ladies still seek those masculine moments, like when a man opens the door for her or when a husband lets his wife vacuum the house. While it’s always good to be Mr. Sensitive, make sure you balance it all out by reminding her who wears the pants in the family.
4. Listen, listen, listen: Look, we’ve all been there: the woman in your life is yapping away about something. Blah blah blah blah blah, right? Well, as it turns out, women love men who listen to them. Not just hear them, but actually listen to what their saying. This can indeed be very difficult, especially since women are known to go on and on and on like that goddamn Energizer bunny. And despite the indisputable fact that what they’re talking about is trivial, it’s obviously very important to them. So remember to nod and say “Yes” in between the tiny gaps of her run-on sentences. And when she finally does stop talking, say something like, “Hm. What does your mother think?” That should do the trick.
5. Don’t help: Okay, so get this: while experts say you should be an active listener with your woman, they also say that you shouldn’t try to provide advice or solutions to her problems. You’re just supposed to sit there and let her know you care. I know what you’re thinking: “But wouldn’t my attempt to help her show that I love her even more?” Apparently not. It’s bullshit, I know.
6. Know the signs: Recognize her signs of frustration. Her tell-tale signs of being frustrated with you can range from something nonverbal, like tapping her fingernails on the table, to something verbal, like telling you to fuck off. The key is to try to apologize, give up trying to apologize, scream back at her that you were just trying to help, and dodge dishes. Then get the hell out of there.
7. Call her and tell her you made a mistake: If she doesn’t answer, keep calling. She has to answer at some point, right? RING RING RING! Answer the phone! Ha ha ha, I'm getting a little carried away here. All in good fun, though, right? All right. So. Disregard death threats from her friends if they happen to pick up the phone because they don't understand what you're going through. They don't understand much, really, because they're all dumb bitches. Ha ha.
8. Nobody understands you: Remember this. Nobody understands you. It's sad, isn't it? Thirty-something years old, and not a goddamn soul gets you. Not your friends, your parents, your psychologist. And, most depressing, not even your ex, who is apparently dating some finance douchebag who works on Wall Street. Fuck him. Fuck everybody.
9. Give up: Fuck it, I’m out of here. Figure out the tenth one yourself.
By Acting IRS Commissioner Steven T. Miller
Look, I admit that my involvement with this whole targeting conservative groups for tax exemption thing is nothing to be proud of. In fact, it’s downright shameful and it shows a poor lack of judgment on my part. And now that Treasury Secretary Jack Lew has accepted my official resignation, I’d like to admit to one more thing: while Tea Party members were sleeping—probably dreaming of a United States that fits their own, prejudice worldview—I snuck into their homes and stuck my finger up each one's anus.
This is hardly a confession, because I feel I’ve done nothing wrong. Indeed, I wasn’t doing this for pleasure, or to make a political statement. I was doing it to make sure these members of the Tea Party didn’t have prostate cancer. This was a completely selfless act—one that could have saved a life if I had felt signs of cancer. Granted, I didn’t feel any signs of cancer, but, to be fair, I wouldn’t know what cancer felt like anyway. I’m not medically inclined at all.
Nevertheless, I went in there figuring I’d know it when I felt it.
Obviously I didn’t perform prostate checks on approximately 724 sleeping Tea Party members all by myself. (Although that would be quite an accomplishment!) No, other IRS employees helped me out. I won’t mention their names since tensions are high right now, but I assure you that their intentions were as well-founded as my own.
Again, I’m not ashamed of this in the least bit, nor is former IRS commissioner Douglas Shulman (forgot to mention, he was also in on this). And I would’ve brought this up sooner, but I was afraid it would keep Tea Party members up at night, preventing us from checking their prostate to make sure they were in good health. In other words, keeping this quiet was a win-win.
In closing: the whole tax thing is an embarrassing story, one I decidedly would never tell my grandchildren. But sneaking into Tea Party members’ homes to check each one's prostate? Gather around the fire, kids, and get ready for a heartwarming tale.
How did Trump come to be? We go behind the science to give
you the answer.
1. After being ejaculated during copulation, multiple sperm lives in a communal penthouse and build relationships. However, all but one will eventually be eliminated.
There are two stages of elimination rounds. In the first stage, the entire team of sperm is confronted with their loss in a boardroom meeting. The “project manager” sperm is then asked to select up to either one, two, or three of their sperm “team members” who are believed to belong in the final boardroom meeting. In the second stage, the rest of the sperm are dismissed, while the “project manager” and the selected members face a final boardroom showdown where at least one of the sperm is fired and subsequently leaves the Fallopian tube.
2. After an intense 4 1/2-hour negotiation on a “golf course,” the winning sperm successfully merges with an egg, thus creating the zygote that would eventually become Donald Trump.
3. A human zygote exists as a single cell before undergoing cleavage. This is also true for the non-human zygote that formed Donald Trump.
4. The mass of cells, now known as an embryo, begins the embryonic stage. By the end of the embryonic stage, the beginnings of features such as fingers, eyes, forked tongue, and ears become visible.
5. Once cell differentiation is mostly complete, the embryo enters the final stage and becomes known as a fetus Ba‘al Zebûb.
6. Nine months later Donald Trump is born and, about 30 days after birth, he will begin moulting, casting off his scaley skin to better fit in within his new environment.
Donald Trump is alive and kicking. Here are some ways to
cope with this fact:
1. Acknowledge the fact that Donald Trump does, in fact, exist. While this may seem difficult and counterintuitive, coming to terms with reality is part of the healing process. Maybe this acknowledgment will make you want to cry, scream, or gently rake your fingernails down the sides of your face. But it’s important to face reality, no matter how ugly it is. And it’s pretty fucking ugly.
2. Talk to somebody about it. Granted, nobody wants to hear about how this bag of shit still walks the earth, but it’s important to get your feelings out, and it’s important to be heard.
3. Consider seeing a counselor or psychologist. There are even professionals in these fields who specialize in helping others forget that Donald Trump is a thing.
4. Don’t watch The Apprentice. If you’re at the house of a friend who likes watching the show, dismantle his TV while he isn’t looking. You'll be doing yourself and him a favor.
It’s a cute little concept you either learned from your mother after you failed a math test or from hearing Olympia Dukakis say it in the uplifting film Steel Magnolias right before the Julia Roberts character (spoiler alert) dropped dead. But we in the medical industry know better. We’re smart enough not to listen to our mothers and, more importantly, smart enough to avoid Steel Magnolias.
All we need is 30 seconds with someone who’s been through any of the following experiences to know that there are plenty of things that will neither kill you nor improve your muscle tone or constitution.
Dislocating your shoulder
This probably won’t kill you. But it certainly won’t make you stronger. You’ll suffer from arthritis in the affected arm for the rest of your life, calcification will form on the bone, and participating in an auction is unnervingly frustrating.
Getting run over by a bike messenger
No one ever died or developed muscle or perspective after getting knocked on their ass by a takeout-bag wielding bicyclist. It’s likely you’ll suffer a concussion and require stitches. Stitches to repair your reputation of being an uncoordinated idiot, that is.
For information on this disease and its lack of character or strength-building attributes, we recommend Google. Better yet, Google Image.
Losing your arms in a tractor accident
If you don’t have arms, you likely don’t have biceps or triceps. So how could you be stronger without arm muscles? I suppose you could overcompensate by aggressively toning your back and legs. But this will merely create a disproportionate frame, making it even more obvious that hugs are in your past. In the end, you will wish the tractor had, in fact, killed you.
I mean, really, you’re just never the same after this procedure.
I will stop here in the interest of time (I’ve got a patient waiting). But to summarize, just because something doesn’t actually kill you does not in any way guarantee that it will yield strength. It much more frequently yields despair, self-doubt, depression, or habitual binge-drinking*.
Other things that don’t kill you and don’t make you stronger
Microsoft Outlook read receipts
The self checkout line at BJs
Police Academy 3