Garbage in, garbage out.
"Keep your eyes open!" hollered the George Washington U. Hospital nurse, and a groggy Bridezilla tried hard to comply. "You should be awake by now!" The orderlies wheeling her from surgery to recovery completed their task and deposited Bridezilla on a recovery bed. "Stage 1 is over! You're in Stage 2 now! Keep those eyes open!" The screaming nurse tossed a packet of crackers and two juice cups on Bridezilla's lap, mere inches from the hernia incision scar. "You have to eat, drink, and pee before we can discharge you!" With that, she was gone, and Bridezilla tried hard to remember how she had ended up here.
A few miles to the east, Becky Hartley--pharmaceutical saleswoman and animal acupuncturist--was patiently explaining to Giuliana Sunstream why her dog "Vegas" should not be given any juice. "Your dog was diagnosed with canine diabetes: no sugar!"
"But it's a juice fast," replied Sunstream, who had abandoned her dream of being a Hollywood actress and was now attempting a career as a "NOMA" (H Street Corridor) lifestyle guru. (She had tried to establish herself in Georgetown, Cleveland Park, Chinatown, and Southwest first--NOMA was really her final shot.)
"Juice fasts are dumb for everybody--especially dogs!" retorted Hartley
"Vegas only needs to lose two pounds--the juice fast should have worked already!" protested Sunstream.
"Look," said Hartley, "just because it's only two pounds doesn't mean it's easy. Her little toy body could have seams of fat throughout her organs."
"That's disgusting!"
"Why were you sharing your Kashi breakfast cereal with her?"
"You read my blog!" cried Sunstream, jubilantly.
"We Google our clients before we make our first visit." (She exchanged a glance with Sebastian L'Arche.) "You can't feed your dog breakfast cereal!"
"But Kashi has no high-fructose corn syrup!" protested Sunstream.
"It has two other kinds of sugar!" scolded Hartley.
The women stopped arguing when they realized L'Arche was doing his animal whisper. After a few minutes, L'Arche put the toy down. "She's overeating because you eat ten times a day and feed her every time."
"But I'm just eating micro meals! Actually, they're called--"
"She's a Maltese!" interjected Hartley. "You can't feed her ten times a day! You need to start counting calories!"
"When you have your micro meal, give her a bone to gnaw on, or a squeaky to play with," said L'Arche. "And Becky will do a little acupuncture to kickstart her metabolism." (This was mostly bunk, but they found they got more referrals when she did it. Still, sometimes L'Arche was disappointed not to find a real demon to contend with.)
Back at GWU Hospital, Bridezilla had recovered her wits enough to call her boyfriend, Professor Buddy Lee Trickham, with her estimated departure time. (When did abdominal surgery become an outpatient procedure!?) However, in her confusion, she dialed the number for her other suitor, Luciano Talaverdi, instead. The Italian economist--who was at a special luncheon in which Janet Yellen was thanking all the Federal Reserve Board staff who had helped her prepare for the U.S. Senate hearing--was horrified to discover his intended had just been operated on. "I'm on my way!" he assured her.
Meanwhile, Trickham was out in a hospital waiting area trying to read The Southern Review, while a phony reporter asked visitors questions about how much Obamacare was destroying their loved ones' care. (The "reporter" actually worked for Congressman John Boehner, Speaker of the House.) "Excuse me," interjected the exasperated professor (who had brought his girlfriend here after she had herniated herself carrying too many witness binders at Prince and Prowling), "Obamacare is not in effect yet. Nobody has Obamacare insurance right now. Why don't you leave us alone, young man?"
"Wake up and smell the rosacea!" cried the fake reporter.
"You are making sound and fury signifying nothing," retorted Trickham. (He found it was a reply that worked in almost every Washington social confrontation he had ever endured.)
The "reporter" muttered under his breath and moved to the far end of the room.
A mile to the east, the Dog Whisperer arrived for his scheduled visit to the White House. "Welcome back, Dr. L'Arche." (Sebastian L'Arche wasn't a doctor, but Becky Hartley squeezed his arm to silence him.) "Sunny is having fits every time she hears the word 'Obamacare.'" The group descended to the basement for the secret session, and Bo ran up to greet his old friends.
"How you doin', Bo?" Bo told L'Arche he was hanging in there, then introduced Sunny. "Now let's see what we can do about this."
Back at GWU, the screaming nurse had returned to check on Bridezilla, who told her she was nauseous. "Well, that's because you had two juice cups!" hollered the nurse.
"Don't you holler at her!" exclaimed Professor Trickham, elbowing his way past Talaverdi into the room.
"You can't be in here!" yelled the nurse.
"She called me to come get her, you @#$%^&*!" exclaimed Talaverdi, calling the nurse a bad word in Italian, and rushing around to the other side of Bridezilla's bed.
"That's a lie!" said Trickham.
"Then why am I here?" retorted Talaverdi.
"I'm nauseous," said Bridezilla.
"What you need is a long vacation in Italy, just like we planned," said Talaverdi.
"Is that true?" asked Trickham.
"I'm not sure," said Bridezilla.
"Well, you need to decide!" said Talaverdi.
"Take the Italian!" shouted the nurse. "Go to Italy!"
"What's so great about Italy?" countered another nurse, who had stopped by to see what the commotion was about.
"What do you mean, what's so great about Italy?"
"This one's a professor," said another nurse. "I saw it on her form."
"I want to marry you!" exclaimed Professor Trickham. "Don't go to Italy with him!"
"But I want to marry you more!" countered Talaverdi.
"Too late!" exclaimed the pro-professor nurse. "The professor asked first!"
"That doesn't matter!" shouted the screaming nurse.
With that, Bridezilla vomited to the left. Now, she had always been a person who vomited to the left, but since Talaverdi happened to be standing to her left, he took this as a "no", and gracefully bowed out. (Although the "gracefully" part evaporated out in the hallway as he raced to the men's room to clean up his Italian leather jacket.)
Out in the river, Ardua of the Potomac celebrated the political demise of William P. White, D.C. Insurance Commissioner, for choosing Obamacare over Obama, and sent more river rats to the GWU Hospital to make sure patients there simply got sicker and sicker.
******************************************************
COMING UP: The ghost of Thanksgiving Past....
A few miles to the east, Becky Hartley--pharmaceutical saleswoman and animal acupuncturist--was patiently explaining to Giuliana Sunstream why her dog "Vegas" should not be given any juice. "Your dog was diagnosed with canine diabetes: no sugar!"
"But it's a juice fast," replied Sunstream, who had abandoned her dream of being a Hollywood actress and was now attempting a career as a "NOMA" (H Street Corridor) lifestyle guru. (She had tried to establish herself in Georgetown, Cleveland Park, Chinatown, and Southwest first--NOMA was really her final shot.)
"Juice fasts are dumb for everybody--especially dogs!" retorted Hartley
"Vegas only needs to lose two pounds--the juice fast should have worked already!" protested Sunstream.
"Look," said Hartley, "just because it's only two pounds doesn't mean it's easy. Her little toy body could have seams of fat throughout her organs."
"That's disgusting!"
"Why were you sharing your Kashi breakfast cereal with her?"
"You read my blog!" cried Sunstream, jubilantly.
"We Google our clients before we make our first visit." (She exchanged a glance with Sebastian L'Arche.) "You can't feed your dog breakfast cereal!"
"But Kashi has no high-fructose corn syrup!" protested Sunstream.
"It has two other kinds of sugar!" scolded Hartley.
The women stopped arguing when they realized L'Arche was doing his animal whisper. After a few minutes, L'Arche put the toy down. "She's overeating because you eat ten times a day and feed her every time."
"But I'm just eating micro meals! Actually, they're called--"
"She's a Maltese!" interjected Hartley. "You can't feed her ten times a day! You need to start counting calories!"
"When you have your micro meal, give her a bone to gnaw on, or a squeaky to play with," said L'Arche. "And Becky will do a little acupuncture to kickstart her metabolism." (This was mostly bunk, but they found they got more referrals when she did it. Still, sometimes L'Arche was disappointed not to find a real demon to contend with.)
Back at GWU Hospital, Bridezilla had recovered her wits enough to call her boyfriend, Professor Buddy Lee Trickham, with her estimated departure time. (When did abdominal surgery become an outpatient procedure!?) However, in her confusion, she dialed the number for her other suitor, Luciano Talaverdi, instead. The Italian economist--who was at a special luncheon in which Janet Yellen was thanking all the Federal Reserve Board staff who had helped her prepare for the U.S. Senate hearing--was horrified to discover his intended had just been operated on. "I'm on my way!" he assured her.
Meanwhile, Trickham was out in a hospital waiting area trying to read The Southern Review, while a phony reporter asked visitors questions about how much Obamacare was destroying their loved ones' care. (The "reporter" actually worked for Congressman John Boehner, Speaker of the House.) "Excuse me," interjected the exasperated professor (who had brought his girlfriend here after she had herniated herself carrying too many witness binders at Prince and Prowling), "Obamacare is not in effect yet. Nobody has Obamacare insurance right now. Why don't you leave us alone, young man?"
"Wake up and smell the rosacea!" cried the fake reporter.
"You are making sound and fury signifying nothing," retorted Trickham. (He found it was a reply that worked in almost every Washington social confrontation he had ever endured.)
The "reporter" muttered under his breath and moved to the far end of the room.
A mile to the east, the Dog Whisperer arrived for his scheduled visit to the White House. "Welcome back, Dr. L'Arche." (Sebastian L'Arche wasn't a doctor, but Becky Hartley squeezed his arm to silence him.) "Sunny is having fits every time she hears the word 'Obamacare.'" The group descended to the basement for the secret session, and Bo ran up to greet his old friends.
"How you doin', Bo?" Bo told L'Arche he was hanging in there, then introduced Sunny. "Now let's see what we can do about this."
Back at GWU, the screaming nurse had returned to check on Bridezilla, who told her she was nauseous. "Well, that's because you had two juice cups!" hollered the nurse.
"Don't you holler at her!" exclaimed Professor Trickham, elbowing his way past Talaverdi into the room.
"You can't be in here!" yelled the nurse.
"She called me to come get her, you @#$%^&*!" exclaimed Talaverdi, calling the nurse a bad word in Italian, and rushing around to the other side of Bridezilla's bed.
"That's a lie!" said Trickham.
"Then why am I here?" retorted Talaverdi.
"I'm nauseous," said Bridezilla.
"What you need is a long vacation in Italy, just like we planned," said Talaverdi.
"Is that true?" asked Trickham.
"I'm not sure," said Bridezilla.
"Well, you need to decide!" said Talaverdi.
"Take the Italian!" shouted the nurse. "Go to Italy!"
"What's so great about Italy?" countered another nurse, who had stopped by to see what the commotion was about.
"What do you mean, what's so great about Italy?"
"This one's a professor," said another nurse. "I saw it on her form."
"I want to marry you!" exclaimed Professor Trickham. "Don't go to Italy with him!"
"But I want to marry you more!" countered Talaverdi.
"Too late!" exclaimed the pro-professor nurse. "The professor asked first!"
"That doesn't matter!" shouted the screaming nurse.
With that, Bridezilla vomited to the left. Now, she had always been a person who vomited to the left, but since Talaverdi happened to be standing to her left, he took this as a "no", and gracefully bowed out. (Although the "gracefully" part evaporated out in the hallway as he raced to the men's room to clean up his Italian leather jacket.)
Out in the river, Ardua of the Potomac celebrated the political demise of William P. White, D.C. Insurance Commissioner, for choosing Obamacare over Obama, and sent more river rats to the GWU Hospital to make sure patients there simply got sicker and sicker.
******************************************************
COMING UP: The ghost of Thanksgiving Past....
posted by washingtonwaterwoman | 2:07 PM
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