Let Me Fix Healthcare

With both “E.R.” and “Scrubs” airing their final episodes this year it’s about time that President Obama and Congress finally do something about healthcare. Here is my step by step proposal for fixing healthcare.

First, all medical students should be trained as crime fighters. This worked really well in “Diagnosis Murder,” and arresting bad guys just seems so much more fulfilling than telling a patient he or she has a terminal illness.

Second, all taxi cab operators should be trained in the art of giving an epidural before being granted a taxi medallion. How many times have you seen a baby born in a taxi cab? There are fewer taxi cab births than there are grooms being left at the altar, but still.

Third, hospital rooms should have a mini-bar and access to pay per view television. It’s the least they can do.

Fourth, doctors should work with a team of writers to have fresh, witty dialog daily. The writers wouldn’t be allowed to interact with the patients, however.

Fifth, stop guessing. If you don’t know the answer, doctor, just apply the leeches. I hear that really worked.

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Join My Cult

I’m starting a cult. It’s not one of those crazy cults where everyone cuts off their hair, or refuses to cut their hair. In fact my cult will insist on sensible, yet stylish haircuts. The truly blessed in my cult will cut into their hair a bald spot like mine. That’s why it’s good to be the cult leader: everyone follows your lead.

The Great God Voowon has left cereal and milk in my kitchen every morning to perform the morning ritual. My wife says it was her that leaves the cereal and milk, and if I don’t humor her it disappears the next morning. I’ve already figured that she is Voowon in disguise. If Voowon were to submit to a mortal, it would have to be me, the cult leader. Voowon is so clever.

Voowon has enabled my morning ritual: taking a consecrated bowl and mixing the cereal and milk. I offer up a prayer to Voowon (already copyrighted, so don’t try to take it.) then eat from the bowl of cereal. The toasting of the bread comes next – a mystery that never fails to disappoint, especially when the Holy Butter is used to anoint it. Then I cleanse myself before Voowon in a special shower that can only be used in service of Voowon.

Being the prophet that I am, I attempt to blend in with the normal people, but they are afraid of my charisma as a cult leader. I attempt to steer them to Voowon with my thoughts. The true believers in my cult will find me, I reason. Normally, I sit in my cubicle and perform “work” while attempting to reach out to others with my thoughts. With heads full of budgets and marketing plans, it’s no wonder that the mystery of Voowon has not been revealed.

In the evening I return home where “my wife” tells me I’m lucky to have this “work.” I thank her and sigh. Voowon is always looking out for me. I can’t wait for others to join this cult. Before you do, just go to the barber for a trim.

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Not Just Gristlin' Dixie

Satire

In these trying economic times, consumers are going downscale across the board: prom dresses bought at Wal-Mart, coffee over latte, and, most recently one idea from local entrepreneur David Bronson that has caught the meat world by storm.

Bronson has opened a chain of food kiosks that serve only gristle. Starting with only a single cart last fall, in downtown Boston, Gristlin’ Dixie has recently opened 5 kiosks in New York city, in addition to kiosks in Chicago, San Francisco, Seattle and McPherson, KS (“There was a market,” said Bronson).

The newly unemployed find the food unpretentious and full of value. “I’ve actually come to prefer the gristle over fresh sushi,” said Tom Montgomery, a former investment banker. “I just pretend it’s protein flavored gum.”

“It’s the real deal – it tastes like survival,” said Jared Morgan, a college sophomore. “I mean, my parents cut me off after my dad got laid off, but ‘Gristlin’ Dixies [sic], man this place rocks!”

“The gristle industry had nowhere to go but up,” said meat industry analyst Damon Magliape. “Gristle is the ultimate untapped commodity with a bad reputation.”

Even Madonna has to be pleased that gristle is now a delicacy.

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My Stimulus Proposal

To Whom It May Concern:

I am a financial institution on the brink of insolvency.

How, you may ask, can one man be a financial institution?

It all started when I loaned my cousin Henry, only those who don’t know him very well call him Hank, $150 to buy a guitar back in high school. Henry wanted to get chicks, and he thought starting a rock band and playing guitar like Eddie Van Halen would be the way to go. Henry only bothered to learn a half a Zeppelin riff (“Whole Lotta Love”), then borrowed another $300 to buy a used Camaro that was supposed to be in great shape, with the promise that I would get some chicks, too. Chicks wouldn’t get into a Camaro with a guy named Henry.

Word of my financial solvency soon reached other members of the family. I loaned money to bankroll cemetery plots for my grandparents, a start-up internet company run by my Uncle Ray – a web page that said “You Suck” and was destined to generate millions of dollars in ad revenue - beachfront property in the Yukon, and a few thousand for my Uncle Ned’s very promising investment opportunity with a Nigerian prince and financier.

Needless to say, I have not seen the returns on any of these investments. Henry’s cheap guitar sits in my basement. I’m holding onto it to get the full value. The Camaro sits on cinder blocks in my backyard. The beach has failed to materialize in the Yukon. Uncle Ray refused to pay the loan and I no have owned the “You Suck” website for 9 years, and haven’t seen a dime of ad revenue. I’ve been thinking of expanding the site. Uncle Ned still needs another $2,000 to get a piece of that $15 million in Nigeria.

I’ve been charging my family members $10 to go visit my grandparents gravesite. So far I’ve made $15 off this venture. (Cousin Henry gave me $5 and kept his hand over his right eye during his visit).

So there you have it: a 30 year old Camaro, an out of tune guitar that’s never had new strings, beachfront property in the Yukon, a website that says “You Suck,” cemetery plots and a share of a Nigerian fortune. All of these assets have serious upside, but I simply don’t have the capital to keep funding my family’s entrepreneurial spirit. A stimulus check in the amount of $2 billion would keep me solvent until that ad revenue picks up.

Yours,

Charles F. Blumenthal

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A look at the new stimulus bill

There's a rider in the stimulus package suggesting that the economy call a doctor for any erections lasting four hours.

The economy also has to make public pleas to the media that it made a mistake in using performance enhancing drugs.

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