My favorite drinking game in college was called Fucking Bunnies. Now, everyday, like a modern day Elmer Fudd, I curse the endless infestation of fucking bunnies in our neighborhood. Two weeks ago, after the rain, I walked this two-headed monster, when they saw an aforementioned fucking bunny. They sprinted after it, as I ran on the wet lawns trying to stop them from eating Peter Rabbit. After a few lawns, I fell and dislocated my left shoulder. As I awaited the dreaded MRI prior approval, I gave my disapproval for animals that fuck like bunnies (most of which are bunnies), as I walk the white menaces.
Today, I finally got the MRI; which I repeatedly said needed to be stand-up MRI, only to show up to be placed in open MRI. Perhaps I don’t understand the medical definition of open, which is akin to sharing a coffin with a family of 4. As predicted, I freaked and would’ve preferred rotator cuff surgery without anesthesia than to spend another minute in stuck in the crisper draw. I ended up going to a stand-up place: which had no stand-up, but rather wedged me into magnetic jaws of life with walls that struggled to accommodate the Double Ds. After 40 minutes of being tilted in the worst tilt-a-whirl ever, I was finished, as I’m sure is my left shoulder. On my way home to hunt wabbits!!!
Rubber Chicken 