So about the thing

OMS had a dream last night that he told his Doc to f*ck off. It went something like this: "F*ck you, Doc. I ate Honey Nut Cheerios. WHAT."

And then OMS woke up.

Props to his best gal person for taking him to the ol' hospital. He got there this morning and promptly and went straight to the Doc's office, which was straight where he wasn't aspposed to be.

Once checked in, he dealt with an onslaught of nice nurses. "Aren't you too young for this kind of thing?" one asked. "You're like 25, right?"

They told him to strip everything off and put on the gown. They told him to relax. He was not able to relax, what with the junk a-flappin' in the breeze. Thank goodness they gave him a blanket. Granted, there appeared to be a stain on the blanket but, well, whatevs, as the kids say.

While sitting behind the curtain, OMS was lucky enough to hear the following exchange:

"Sir, you have to take everything off," said the nice Phillipino nurse. "Even that guinea tee."

"My what?" said the middle-aged black man. "My wife beater?"

"Your what?" the nurse replied. "Your guinea tee. Why do they call them that anyways?"

"We call them wife beaters. Ever seen The Godfather? When Sonny beats his wife, he's wearing one of them tees. I think they say guinea because Sonny was Italian and when Italians beat their wives, they wear this tee."

"Hey Journalism (that's be OMS), do you know anything about this?"

"Nope," OMS replied.

"Come on," she said. "I expect more from you."

A few minutes later, the same nurse quizzed OMS on movie trivia and couldn't find a vein. A few minutes after that, OMS was in.

He signed some paperwork and stretched out on the table (on his back). They told him to lay on his side, then they proceeded to knock him the f*ck out until he woke up what seemed like an hour later, stoned to the bejesus and wishing he had his geetar.

And like that, well, nothing. Clean bill of health for your strapping old man.

Still, f*ck lemonade. Just sayin'.