Medical and dental

Shart happens — the fart that's more than a fart. It comes with old age, and I've done it about a dozen times. It was a big surprise the first time, but that was years ago. Now I carry a few paper towels when I'm on the bus, because you never know.

At home on Sunday afternoon, at about 3:30 if you're keeping track, I suddenly sharted the largest shart of my life. Usually there are pre-shart rumbles, and I sorta know something's coming soon, but not this time, man. This was brown out of the blue.

It felt like the mildest, tiniest fart — pppt — but it left about three applesaucey ounces spread all over the inside of my pants.

Further old age updates:

After months of assorted discomfort and worries, Dick, the older of my two remaining older brothers, has had a flurry of tests and procedures and a second surgery, and they've decided he never had cancer after all. It's something much less scary, or so they say.

Clay, the younger of my two remaining older brothers, kicked cancer's ass several years ago, by undergoing a long and vomitous series of radiation treatments. Now he hasn't been feeling well lately, so it's tests, probes, and appointments again.

Sis-in-law has pneumonia, her sister has bunions, but me, I keep rolling lucky dice. I'm in remarkably good health for an fat old man — occasional sharts, pills for gout, and that's about it.

My beloved mom, meanwhile, lost her dentures again. A couple of years ago, she accidentally flushed 'em down the toilet, and they had to be remade. This time, she spent a week looking but never found her chompers, and she thinks she left them in a restaurant, or possibly they fell from her purse on one of her walks.

When she called to have the dentures replaced again, she was told to have her remaining ten teeth yanked first, and all the roots removed. The cost: $5,000. Sounds like a scam to me — why would a 90-something woman need dental surgery to get replacements for her dentures?

The dentist has to make a living, that's why, so Mom had all her teeth pulled and the roots uprooted, and texted me the next morning:

"I wanted you to know that God worked a MIRACLE for me. I had ten teeth pulled and I have no pain the next day."

Being a smartass and an atheist, I replied: "Wait, Jesus pulled your teeth?"

"No, the dentist pulled my teeth, ten of them. The MIRACLE is that I have no pain the following day. No pain, zero. PRAISE GOD! Do you remember the song 'God can do anything, anything, anything, God can do anything but fail'?"

God can do anything, but He couldn't save Mom's real teeth, or find her fake teeth when she'd looked and looked. And she still has to wait 4-6 months before being measured and fitted for the new dentures, which God can't make or deliver. But God can do anything, and this is a MIRACLE.

"Sure glad you're not in pain," is all I texted back. Later that afternoon, Mom texted me that her mouth had started hurting.

Riding a bus to nowhere in particular, I was oddly transfixed by an ad behind the driver. It's a picture of (a model pretending to be) a doctor. You can tell he's a doctor, from the white coat and stethoscope, and he's bent over to high-five a little kid. The kid's smiling. The doctor's smiling. Everyone's happy and healthy and fake.

The text over the picture says only, "140 years of putting local communities first. MultiCare."

All health plan slogans are vapid, but this seems especially dumbass. Putting local communities first? What a strange thing for a medical company to brag about.

When I see a doctor, I expect five minutes of questions and answers and hmmms, and then to be told to lose weight. That the doctor puts local communities first is not high on my agenda, but it must've tested well at some dipshit ad agency.

I was also curious how, despite growing up here, I'd never heard of MultiCare, an allegedly 140-year-old company.

Googled it and found the expected answer: They're a big but local company, formed in 1980, which later renamed itself MutiCare "to reflect a multifaceted yet unified health care delivery model," which is near-maximum corporate-speak.

And this brand of rat bastards owns Tacoma General Hospital, which was founded in 1882 — that's why they can lie and claim 140 years of putting local communities first. 



  1. I'm reading a book about Les Paul and Leo Fender, and I've been watching episodes of the 1950s Les Paul & Mary Ford Show which was occasionally called "At Home". Here is an episode in its entirety. It's five minutes long.


    1. That gentleman could certainly play an electric guitar.

      I do remember 15-minute shows in prime time TV, but when would a 5-minute show air?

    2. Around noon I think. My Dad was a huge Les Paul fan. He was at work then, of course, so I only occasionally watched, and it wasn't exactly my kind of music but I was pretty young to have a favorite kind of music. I remember Dad explaining to me how Mr Paul and his wife used "bounce" to multitrack songs. It's still not my kind of music, but I had a terrific relationship with Dad, so when Les and Mary are playing I hear them, but I also hear my Dad.


    3. That's the best music, the music that comes with good memories.

  2. Your mother sounds like the kind of person who puts her money where her mouth is...even if it's not necessary.

    1. Dad's life insurance took very good care of my mum, and her dentist.

  3. You and your atheism again.

    Exodus 21:20, man. God's wisdom. God has a plan for all of us, even the slaves.

    “Anyone who beats their male or female slave with a rod must be punished if the slave dies as a direct result, but they are not to be punished if the slave recovers after a day or two, since the slave is their property."

    1. A lord and savior that comes with instructions for the care and handling of slaves is not ever gonna be my lord and savior.


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