I need a 10-blade. I had never seen it before, but I just finished 13 seasons of “Grey’s Anatomy.” So now, if I have a headache, I’m sure I need a craniotomy. If I get heartburn, for sure it is cardiomyopathy and a central line is in order. CODE BLUE! My question is … don’t you think Torres is hot!? Sweet Jesus. Out.
I had to Google most of that. You’re sexy.
I’m a hypochondriac like the next valetudinarian. (Define that, bitch.) I try to talk myself out maladies, but anxiety shoves me into death’s tailspin.
Tingling forehead? I have testicular cancer. Really, I slammed glasses-less into the wall in the middle of the night. (Nuts are for boys.)
Trapped gas in the gut? My appendix is exploding inside of me. Really, I’m frijoles pregnant and need a burrito intervention.
Constipated? My intestines shriveled up, so Taco Bell fire sauce is going straight to the spleen. Really, I shotgunned a block of sharp cheddar while shitfaced.
The difference between you and I, Mr. Hashtag Hydrocephalus, is that instead of bingeing on network television, I drown my organs in booze and tobacco in hopes of sterilizing and/or choking fantasy ailments.
But I also binge on network television, so, twinsies.
Please allow me, a certified amateur health forum browser and ass surgery survivor, to address and remedy your afflictions.
Substitute your need for a surgical scalpel with a butter knife (less blood, more pain). Your 12,470 minutes on the ABC drama (about 290 episodes at 43 minutes a pop) has pitted health anxiety against you. For this, I recommend one “Lifetime” original movie, four times a day for 10 days. Use butter knife freely.
For headaches, smoke a juicy joint, drink plenty of water and house a sack of burritos. For heartburn, take handfuls of Tums for temporary pain, swallow one omeprazole a day with a pint of hot whiskey. (Omeprazole = over-the-counter esophagus hug in a capsule.)
For your case of popping a rager when a hot doc walks, I suggest intensive care lotion and an old gym sock. I regret (?) to say I’ve never seen “Grey’s Anatomy,” but after Googling this Torres broad, I’d hit that.
Finally, hydrocephalus is “water on the brain,” layhomies. My main concern as your trusted doctor and confidant: Does your head look enlarged?
Up here, buddy. Pull your pants up. The one with the brain in it.
If that head looks fine, then turn on Pantera and bang your head. (Repeat headache treatment.)
Good luck. Tell the pigs to rule me out if you’re found face-down in alley vomit. I am simply a life coach, not a doctor.
The literal pigs. They’re how I squeal on alley trash.
Literal trash. Swine will eat anything.