Unidentified Patient (Not me): Does any of this make sense?
Dr.Pepperoncini: I could ask “Any of what?” and you could blather on and while you’re blathering I could be thinking about what ruined my chances of becoming  a sturgeon and you could say “Excuse me. Are you even listening to me?”

UP(NM): Excuse me, did you say sturgeon?
Dr. P: When?

UP(NM): Just now. You said something about ruining your chances…
Dr.P: No, I said pants.

UP(NM): Pants?
Dr.P: Yes, it sounds like chance. A lot of people make that mistake.

UP(NM): No, you said chances, which doesn’t sound at all like pants. Unless you say pantses.
Dr.P: Oh no. Pantses is plural for pants.

UP(NM): But pants has no plural. It’s just pants. You’d never say pant.
Dr.P: Did you ever see a thirsty dog with it’s tongue unrolled the full 9 feet, gasping for water? It can never say pant either. But it’s still very thirsty.

UP(NM): Look, pants is a non-count word. It’s like folk. Or audience. Or music.
Dr.P: Which is why you may see someone singing folk music, but there’s never an audience. Especially if there’s a banjo which, by law, can never come within a hectare of another banjo. Did you know that?

UP(NM): You were talking about medical school and wanting to be a sturgeon. You meant surgeon, right?
Dr.P: Actually, I wanted to be a podiatrist.

UP(NM): Sometimes known as the banjo of medical specialties.
Dr.P: But I realized I didn’t like handling other people’s feet. There’s more between the toes than meets the eye, you know.  Once, a woman came in to have her foot fetish removed. She called it Eddie and it became clear Eddie was having no part of no stinking removal. I’m not ashamed to say I ran like the upstairs toilet. Next day I signed up for brain sturgery.

UP(NM): You went from feet to brain? That’s a big jump. I don’t see the connection.
Dr.P: Because, if you think about it, there is no connection. It’s like saying you’re connecting your new DVR. Look. You can’t connect your DVR. No one above the age of reason can. The terms “Connect” and “DVR” are simply strangers in the night. Sometimes in the afternoon.

UP(NM): So, this sturgeon thing. No one ever told you it’s a type of fish?
Dr.P: When I told them in medical school I wanted to be a sturgeon, they pointed me toward the school of psychiatry. In there they had no problem with someone wanting to be a sturgeon. In fact, as I found out, there is a crying need.

UP(NM): Who was doing the crying? Surely, you don’t mean the sturgeon?
Dr.P:  They don’t like to be called Shirley. It makes them weepy.

UP(NM): Wait a minute. Are you saying that fish cry?
Dr.P: So. You’ve never been to a fish fry?

UP(NM):  Fry? I thought we were talking about crying?
Dr.P: We can talk about crying. How often do you cry?

UP(NM): Look, I don’t cry.
Dr.P: Is it because you don’t think a grown fish should cry? It sounds like you’ve never gotten in touch with your inner flounder. My guess: you’re worried your fish-hood  would be compromised if you cried.

UP(NM): I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I am not a fish.
Dr.P: And how long have you felt this way?

UP(NM): Okay. We’ve gotten off track. Let’s go back to when you were in the psychiatry ward, uh, I mean department.
Dr.P: Did I mention that self-hating flounder are more prevalent than self-hating sturgeon. Just not as self-aware.

UP(NM): Come on, Why do you insist on saying sturgeon?
Dr.P: It just sounds better, don’t you think? Like Parsippany, New Jersey. It practically rolls off the tongue compared to Secaucus or West Orange or Brick Township. Which is why I wish I was in Parsippany.

UP(NM): That sounds like a song title
Dr.P: Yes. It goes like this:

(A one and a two)

I wish I was in Parsippany, N.J.
The weather there is always okay
And when it isn’t I always remember
That always doesn’t always scan in December
If you’re shoveling up what I’m laying down, down, down
Lots of snow in Parsippany on the ground, ground, ground,
Oh yeah.
Pick that thing.

UP(NM): This whole conversation is a dream, isn’t it?
Dr.P: I could say yes and you could blather on and while you’re blathering I could be thinking about how you drank six Yoo-Hoos last night and haven’t yet visited the head and how your bladder is trying desperately to get through all the night traffic to tell your brain: Dude. Get. Up. And. Go. NOW.

UP(NM): Excuse me, are you even…Holy Moley. Make way. Clear for action. Splice the main brace. Man overboard.
Dr.P:This is why I warn psychiatry students against a career analyzing dreams in media  res.* Billing is a nightmare.

*But not in Media, Pennsylvania

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2018, all rights reserved.