“Can you get on the scale or do you need help?” she asked. “Oh, I can get up there.” But as soon as I was able to stand upright I was met with a detailed crucifix at eye level, complete with lifelike blood, just as a description would read from the long gone Johnson-Smith novelties catalog. “Whoa,” I said. “Now that’s happy!” But there were no snickers, smirks or other such acknowledgments to my offhand remark. Fine.
Determined not to let Nurse Ratched’s stoney disposition ruin my good mood, I directed my humor inward where it would be appreciated. Then I heard her say, “Page 42, bottom right corner, next to the Weighted Ping-Pong Balls.” That’s more like it, I thought, and I knew I was in the right place – The Order of Saint Johnson-Smith Rectory For Heal-Ups and Affordable Gags.
When I plopped back down in my wheelchair I landed on a whoopee cushion, the oldest and still funniest trick in the book. “Ha! Gotcha!” she said, but at least I knew the proper response, “Oh, uh, excuse my Bronx cheer!” “Today we’ll be in exam room Trick Black Soap.” And after passing rooms Joy Buzzer, Onion Gum, and Midget Camera, we arrived at mine. Then, she excused herself and said the doctor would be in shortly.
When the doctor finally entered the room he was all business and never smiled. He dumped questions on me like I was being interrogated for a murder. I wasn’t disappointed, though, by his overly serious nature, after spotting a Spy “Pen” Radio in his pocket and a Spud Gun pistol hanging from his belt.
3 Mulligans 