Dizzy Tongues….

The doctor didn’t look like a doctor. He was kind of short, kind of thin, and he had the complexion of a 16-year-old. He must’ve been fresh out of med school. Though he had certainly seen more than you or I, as far as all the myriad crazy-ass things a typical doctor sees, he probably hadn’t seen much yet.

And so he gazed upon Manny Furious’s shoulder as it dangled disinterestedly from it’s home socket. And he frowned.

“What did you tell the nurse happened here?”

“Well,” Furious began. “I got out of the shower this morning. And I was going to wear this blue button-up with a blue and gold tie, because I wanted to walk into Starbucks before work–“


“And there’s this barista there, Gabrielle, she’s so cute, Doc. Like my tongue gets dizzy and my words can’t keep their balance–“


“And so I like to walk in there before work with a tie on, so I look really important and stuff.”


“And, but, when I wear a button-up like that, they’re really uncomfortable. So I wear an undershirt. Well, as I got out of the shower this morning, I didn’t really dry off so good and I put undershirt on when I was still wet–“


“But I realized I put it on backwards. So I had to take it off to put it on right, but it was all stuck to my back. Like it was just sucking at my back like a goddamned octupus or something. So I had to wrestle the fucker off. So I’m twisting and grasping, and this damned shirt just won’t budge. It’s suctioned to my back. So at this point I’m just manic. I’m frustrated beyond all get out–“

“Of course.”

“So I don’t even care if I rip it. I want to rip it off. I just want it off of me. But it won’t come off. Meanwhile, in the course of trying to get it off, I’m twisted up in some indescribable position, my arms looking like a gnarled lump of spaghetti, and I hear this sound like a shotgun blast. It echoed and everything, doc, I swear.”

“Makes sense.”

“And it took a moment. I had to take a moment to figure out what was going on. And I look in the mirror, and I’m blowing air like I just survived a street fight, and there’s my arm, looking like it was drawn on by a drowsy kindergartner.”


“And here I am.”

“You went to Starbucks before coming here, I see,” said the Doc.

Furious took a sip of his very masculine “Pink Drink” from Starbucks.

“Indeed. It was too romantic, doc. Van Gogh had his ear. I had my shoulder.”

“And what did Giselle think of all of this? Did she find it romantic?”

“I don’t know. She wasn’t working today.”

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