Sunday, November 30, 2008

The 1st Annual Stacy Dialysis Patient Awards

Ladies and gentleman of the Blogosphere, I have endured Dialysis now for 4 years, 6 months and 14 days.

Thus, I deem myself complete authority over creating, writing and producing my own Dialysis awards show.

A quick disclaimer first.

All of these people who will be winning awards actually exist, and, in most cases, annoy the living fuck out of me. But their names have been changed to protect their stupidity.

Now you know exactly where the remainder of this post is coming from.


"The Redneck Twins"

It's as though these two stepped out of a Rasslin' Match.

(I pro-nownce it dat way cuz dat's how he be sayin' it. Rasslin'. Rhymes with hasslin')

The wife (or his sister, it's really hard to tell) has stringy, greasy hair that hasn't been washed since the Nixon Administration. And the feller? He loves to wear wife beater shirts and...

Let me interrupt myself for a second. Who was the clothing designer who thought the public should be well informed of the stench of the person next to them? Every time I watch "Cops" the guy in question doesn't have any sleeves. Ever. Never. And the wife's bleeding from the jaw. Never fails.

But back to my horrendous redneck neighbor.

His wife beater shirt exposes massive amounts of armpit hair. The kind Bigfoot we be embarrassed by. If his wife had any sense in that licey noggin of hers, she'd tell hubby before he left the house, "Tuck in your armpit hair."

Long enough to braid. Greasy enough to leave clothing stains.

And the final reason for their win?

Every other patient on the floor on Monday, Wednesday and Friday is wearing headphones and showing consideration for their fellow neighbor.

Not these two Emmy award winners.

The Rasslin' Show! At full volume! For everyone to hear! Well hoo-doggy!

On to our next winner...


We have a tie.

"Racist Tailored Guy & Racist Sloppy Mess"

I know. In this country? What a surprise.

Our first winner was a tailored man in his mid-60's who said to an African American tech as he was being taken off the machine, "You know, if the Confederacy had won the Civil War, you'd be my slave right now."

I'm sure she was flattered.

The other waste of medical insurance was an absolutely bugged out woman who isn't regularly on my shift. She was observing the third McCain/Obama debate and offering nuggest of wisdom like:

"That skinny n!@#$% is pretty smart, but he'll probably break into my home and steal my tax money. I hate n!@#$%^."

"That !@#$% McCain is so corrupt. !@#$%& Republicans. Look at that grin. He reminds me of that weasal I shot with the BB Gun."

She also wanted to know if our Filipino nurse was a good !@#$ or a bad !@#$%.

On secong thought, Racist Sloppy Mess wins hands down.


"Snoring Farting Dude"

This dates back to our rickety old clinic we used to attend (yes, there's a post coming about my memories of that sitcom waiting to happen) From time to time they'd sit me in the back room.

Six chairs all arranged in a square with one of those isolation rooms along the back wall.

When I was just three days a week, they would sit me next to this extremely large gentleman who was always asleep when I arrived.

It's about ten minutes into treatment and his snoring is extremly deafening. A couple of his louder ones kept making the nurse at the station jump.

All of a sudden, he lets out a rip-roaring, vomit inducing fart.

Old swiss cheese and feet suddenly fill the room.

He suddenly wakes up. "Huh, whuh?" He glances around to see where the sound was coming from.

He plops his head back on the pillow, his head falls to the side and he goes right back to sleep.

I still get laughs telling that story.


"Angelic Blonde Babe"

Imagine if Loni Anderson had a daughter, but she had contemporary bobbish hair.

Since her first day I haven't been able to take my eyes off of her.

And this pisses her off to no end.

But I think I've finally figured her out.

My treatment starts after hers, so I would walk past every treatment and try to say hello.

At first, I received a concillatory small wave.

Now she acts like she doesn't hear me.

That's right. I have that affect on women.

But one night, I was getting my stuff together in the lobby to leave and she passes by.

"Have a good night Stacy."

Wow. That's weird.

But again, it makes perfect sense.

Dialysis makes her feel vulnerable. She wants to be seen as Angelic Blonde Babe, not Angelic Dialysis Babe.

No, she hasn't spoken to me since. So I admire her from afar.

And give her dopey awards.


"Egotistical Lawyer Douche"

I sat down next to this mass of rectal matter one night and he decided that everyone in the general vicinity of the clinic should listen to whatever intellectual piece of French crap he was shoving down his gullet that night.

"Excuse me? Yeah, hi. Could you please turn that down? I can't hear what I'm watching."

He paused what he was watching, glanced me up and down and said, "Hmph," then proceeded to turn up his material even louder.

I attempted to have the nurse make the request and once she left the region and attended to other patients he cranked it right back up again.

I glanced over to observe that he was now flipping me off.

I'm sure his clients love him.

This concludes the First Annual Stacy Dialysis Patients Awards.

I wish to thank all of this year's winners for at least providing me some material for my impending book. None of this would have been possible without your annoying, idiotic, egotistical and boorish behavior.

May you all burn in hell.

Thank you and good night.

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