Medical Microbiology Merriment

I had my Social & Behavioral Sciences test this morning, and it had such challenging questions as, "Should you talk to patients who are in wheelchairs?" Don't get me wrong, I think it's a great class and students in the new curriculum are going to suffer as doctors for not having it. But they usually make their test questions really easy. Not that I'm complaining.

Microbiology, on the other hand, is going to be quite difficult. So as soon as I finished SBS, I ran to Taco Bell to get some diarrhea, then headed back to the school to study cases on the lab computers. Most of the questions are fairly mundane, but every once in a while something sticks out...like an HPV papule. Here are my highlights:

He was a catfish farmer who lived in eastern kansas, and had been recently finned by a catfish.

Finned by a catfish? That's just cool. Based on that history, I diagnose him with a scruffy grey beard and suspenders. My prescription: catfish revenge. You fin him right back, sir!

Immediately prior to the onset of symptoms, he stated that he had been beaten with a club in the right chest.

I'm going to have to assume this guy is either a caveman or level 8 paladin. My recommendation: stop getting beaten with clubs. I wonder how his left chest is doing? Good to know he has two, one as a backup.

They had three dogs, no other children, no day care, no travel, no mexican cheese...

Well that's good to know. It's delicious, but deadly. Much like myself.

Her clinical course was complicated by ARDS, gram negative and enterococcal sepsis, acute tubular necrosis, and she required over 300 units of blood.

Wow, this lady has some really bad luck. Also, she's got enough blood to fill 50 adults, which is a huge risk factor for vampire attacks. Practicing preventitive medicine, I'd prescribe: garlic, crosses and wooden stakes. Or maybe not...overprescription can lead to resistance. And the last thing we need is a bunch of garlic-resistant vampires.

One week previously a novice dialysis technician had some difficulty canulating his fistula for dialysis. Three days ago the fistula sight became slightly red and sore.

I know enough medical jargon to understand what's going on, but doesn't "canulating his fistula" sound really dirty? Probably the "anul" and "fist" sounds so close together. And it's no wonder it became red and sore, you don't won't a rookie trying that kind of move. Trust me.

Another highlight is that every time a case has one risk factor, it has to throw in all the rest. It's not just HIV, it's HIV and smoking and alcoholism and unprotected sex and IV drug use. Rock and roll! What are they at risk for? Pretty much everything.

The best part about this program is that when you get an answer correct it says, "Correct!" The exclamation mark makes it seem all happy and proud. But if you get it incorrect it says, "Wrong!" This time, the exclamation mark makes it seem mocking and condescending. Stupid bi-curious punctuation....

Oh well, back to studying.

If they don't serve it, why is it on the menu?

Come on!

The squeaky wheel gets the green slime

Well, almost.

Montgomery here, reporting live from the University of Arizona Student Union Memorial Center. While studying heart disease in the lovely USS Arizona Lounge, I was reminded that the student union houses a McDonald's. With a mixture of hope and desperation, I ventured forth to that bastion of flavor searching for my long lost love, the Shamrock Shake.

Lo and behold, it doth appear on the menu. Huzzah! Then my curious eyes wandered south to yon shake machine only to see a sign reading, "No Shakes."

Oh cruel fate, why must thou mock me so? Suddenly I got the same feeling of dashed hopes I felt the night of November 7, 2000. Here come the tears again...

But all is not lost! I shall repeat my crusade at a later hour to see if the noble crew of that most sacred site have fixed the ambrosia dispenser.

I'll keep you updated, because I know you care.

(un)Happy (belated) St. Patrick's Day!

I'm riddled with guilt. Riddled! Earlier in the week I may have led you to believe that I'm not blogging because I'm studying for finals. But that's not true. The truth is...I've been crying.

"Crying? Montgomery, you're constantly crying. Why just this morning you were balling because there's an arrest warrant out for Richard Gere in India. It's never stopped you from blogging in the past."

First, Richard Gere is a national treasure and he shouldn't be arrested for drunkenly harassing an Indian actress. Hell, if that was a criteria for arrest, I would have been sent to prison years ago. And let me just say one more time: I'm sorry, Preity Zinta. It won't happen again.

Second, the reason my blogging has suffered is because the crying has been heavier than usual. And that's because I missed an opportunity to fulfill one of my life goals. This one lies right between "#8 - Save a life" and "#10 - Help run a charity event which raises funds to install dancing robots in a children's hospital."

Once again, I've failed to fulfill dream #9 - drink a Shamrock Shake.

As Wikipedia will tell you:

The Shamrock Shake is a seasonal dessert sold at select McDonald's fast-food franchises during March, to commemorate St. Patrick's Day. Essentially, the Shamrock Shake is a standard Vanilla shake, flavored with mint extract and dyed green.

Sounds delicious, doesn't it? So delicious in fact that they only offer it at select times, and once again I've missed it.

I realized my failure late last week during one of my favorite recurring dreams, which I've entitled "Ireland." In "Ireland," Montgomery and Legal Counsel take a vacation to...Scotland, ironically. Just kidding, it's Ireland. During our dream visit to the Emerald Isle, the zombie apocalypse happens and I'm forced to defend a rowdy band of pale-skinned redheads from the undead in a lovely little pub called, "The Cheeky Monkey."

During last week's encounter, however, I was bludgeoning a ghoul to re-death with a shillelagh (as usual) when I suddenly stopped and stared at my blood soaked cudgel. And it clicked. A realization, not the shillelagh. Why would a shillelagh click? Anyway, at that point I woke up screaming, "St. Patrick's Day was last month!!!" Fortunately, Legal Counsel makes me sleep in the backyard. So I didn't disturb her slumber.

Now I keep having the same nightmare every night: legions of Uncle O'Grimacey clones taunting me as they sip the creamy green goo. Now I cry every day. Well, cry more. And my blogging has suffered. Tear...

Oh well. Another year, another missed opportunity. But in the off chance that anybody happens to see the Shamrock shake on a menu, let me know and I'll make a pilgrimage. Mmm...minty...

Also, if you happen to see a shillelagh for sale, go ahead and buy it for me. Especially if you're in Ireland. Mmm...blackthorn...

Too funny...

In case my blogging slows during finals season, this should help keep you entertained:
The Landlord.

I wouldn't be advertising that fact

I bailed on class because I feel sick. I've probably got shigella and/or pre-eclampsia.

Anyway, I'm at home about to study and I turn on the telly for some background noise. When, what to my wondering eyes should appear but Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez in Gigli.

Holy crap! Disease and Gigli?? This must be my lucky day!

During the first commercial break, the announcer said:

Gigli is brought to you by Alavert...

Seriously, Alavert? This is what you choose to spend your money on? I gotta be honest with you, I'm probably not going to recommend your medicine in the future because of this endorsement.

Gigli? Come on!

I hope you're proud of yourselves.

Verbal Assault

If you know me, you know that my favorite things to do are:

1. Keepin' it real
2. Chillaxin'
3. Kickin' it old school

And today I'd like to address number 3.

I'm a big fan of kickin' it old school; you know how I do. Ninja Turtles, Transformers, pogs - it's all good. As a subset of kickin' it old school, I also like bringin' things back from the old school.

In the past year or so, I've managed to bring a lot of things back from said old school. Shoe wedgies made a wicked comeback, until I nixed them in frustration. The hand circle game also reared its paranoia inducing head, only to be similarly nixed. And who can forget "that's what he/she said?" Round these parts, you can expect a "that's what she said" regardless of whether your comment involves any actual inuendo.

I've spearheaded all of these movements...maybe I shouldn't be advertising that fact. Anyway, I think it's time for me to add another long lost item to our ever growing repertoire. But I have to admit this one is a little evil.

This time around it's a phrase. But not just any phrase. It's an annoying phrase. One that's obnoxious enough to slightly enrage anyone it's directed toward. A set of words that can turn against you at a moment's notice. A verbal kick-in-the-balls.

You know what? Nevermind. I'm not sure if you guys can handle. I'm not even sure if I can handle it. It's too volatile. Forget I said anything.

What? You have to know? You're willing to give me $50 each if I tell you what I was thinking? Alright, I'll tell you. I take checks, money orders and cash. And gold krugerrands.

The phrase we need to bring back is, "let's not and say we did."

In case you have never heard this one, here's how it works:
Person A: You want to go try to figure out the D.B. Cooper case?
Person B: Let's not and say we did.
Person A: Jerk.

You see what I mean?? It's so repugnant, but simultaneously slightly funny. It's aggravating and condescending, but just a little amusing. I might say it was smarmy, but I don't know what smarmy means.

If the target has a good sense of humor, they might laugh as they call you a jerk. If they don't have a sense of humor, they might stab you with a spork...possibly a knork. If they're really mad, you might get a splayd in the eye.

So be careful with it. It's like a water balloon full of hydrochloric acid: effective in the hands of somebody who knows what they're doing, but dangerous to the inexperienced user.

I'll start things off.
Montgomery: Hey gang, let's bring back the phrase "let's not and say we did."
Roadies*: Let's not and say we did.
Montgomery: You jerks! I'll cut you! I'll cut all of you!


* I'm thinking of calling my readers, "roadies." Other options: Road Warriors and Roadodendrons. But you might not be cool enough for those. Or too cool, I'm not sure.

You can't handle it

Last week in Tucson, 104.1 "The Point" aka Z104.1 (your home for modern hit music) was converted to 104.1 The "Truth." Note the discreet change in quotation mark placement.

The "Truth" is very amusing to me. First, because the name is ironic. You see, The "Truth" is a conservative talk show station now. It broadcasts such "esteemed" media personalities as Laura Ingraham (gross!), Neal Boortz (sick!), Jerry Doyle (disgusting!), and Papa Bear Bill O'Reilly (swoon). Calling conservative talk shows the "truth" is like calling fullerene "C₆₄." It's just not right!

The other reason it amuses me is because of their subject matter. Or lack thereof. For a solid week, all they've talked about is Don Imus. In case you've been living under a rock, he's the radio host who got fired for making racist/sexist comments on the air. Here's a picture to make it completely obvious why he would be making disparaging comments about other people:

As you can see, he looks like a dessicated version of Bill Nighy. Or a slightly rehydrated version of the Crypt Keeper.

Here's my quick and dirty summary of the whole controversy: a guy who gets paid to be an asshole on the radio got fired for being an asshole on the radio. Pretty simple, right? He crossed the line, offended his audience/sponsors/bosses, and he got fired. Case closed.

Ha! You wish! His actions and the subsequent fallout created a veritable thyroid storm of media frenzy. He's been dominating all of the essentially useless 24 hour news networks. When you've got 24 hours to fill, I guess you need to make the most of what little you've got. And nowhere is this more true than on 104.1 The "Truth."

Legal Counsel noticed it first. If you listened to 104.1 at any point last week, you would hear the words "Don" and "Imus" at intervals no greater than 2 minutes, sometimes down to 2 seconds. Granted, one incident was the announcement that a wonderful performance of Don Giovanni was being put on in Imus, Cavite in the Philippines. But the rest pertained to Don Imus the radio guy.

In typical conservative fashion, they tried to use this incident of racism and sexism to prove that racism and sexism do not exist anymore. In typical liberal fashion, I vomited into my CD player. They spent air time describing why we shouldn't be spending air time on this, they seemed to use this incident as an argument against the 1st amendment (and somehow the 3rd), and a bunch of white folks argued why the comment wasn't offensive to minorities. They managed to make a bunch of completely ridiculous statements seem totally rational. It was breathtaking.

So I've been spending my time laughing at conservative talk radio, completely centered around Imus. By the way, if you live in Tucson and saw a big goofy guy LOLing in his car, don't worry. It wasn't a crazy guy, it was just me. Well, maybe I'm a little crazy.

There seemed to be no end in sight. Then this shooting happened. And the "truth" wasted no time swooping and and using it for political means. The best part is that they actually said it would be wrong to use this incident as support for gun control, then preceeded to use it as support for everything on their platform. Hypocritical much? It'd be funny, if it wasn't so sad this time.

That's all I have to say about that. I'll try not to blog about conservative talk radio in the future. Their antics provide enough fodder to fill an entire blog, and lots of people already do that. I just wanted to let you know what has been keeping me entertained as of late. Also entertaining me: a rat with a snickers tied to his tail. He just keeps going in circles!

PS - hosts on The "Truth" also really love Bill Cosby.

Pen 15

Last week marked a critical moment in my medical educational. A moment that can make or break any budding physician (that's right, physicians reproduce through budding...like yeasts). Last week, I learned how to place a urethral catheter. Vsskdjf2341eakbnrjhvlb...

Sorry, fell over and curled up into the fetal position on my keyboard. You see, I placed a catheter in a male practice dummy. "How did you know it was a male dummy?" "Didn't you notice the tiny balls?" I had sympathy pains for my artifical friend. Although it helps to pretend that I was torturing a rogue robot...a roguebot.

Let me walk you through the steps:

Step 1: Cut a hole in the box
Step 2. Put your...

Sorry, wrong steps. That's junk in a box. In need tube in a junk. Let's try again:

Step 1 - Place sterile sheet over the patient's lower abdomen
Now it looks like you're going to have a picnic on their tummy.

Step 2 - Place a second sterile sheet (this one with a whole in the middle) around the penis
Now it looks like your patient's junk is about to eat lobster.

Step 3 - Scrub the penis with iodine to kill any bacteria
Now it looks like your patient just had sex with Prickle

Step 4 - Coat the catheter in lubricating jelly
Now we're getting somewhere.

Step 5 - Insert the catheter
Now things get tricky. Slipping rubber tubing into a dude's package is not as easy or as fun as it sounds. It can collapse on the way up, requiring all sorts of twisting and turning. But we were given the advice that using a larger catheter can make things easier, since it is less likely to collpase.

This means that at some point in my medical career, I might get to say, "I'm sorry, I can't quite get this tube all the way into your penis. Let me go get a bigger one."

Professor Look Alike o' the Day

Today's familiar looking professor comes to us from Microbiology. He was teaching parasitology (the study of lawyers) and now he has moved on to infectious disease (the study of D-Rock's mom). Je vous presente Dr. Dangerfield:
As always, I'll add the warning that his online picture differs from his actual appearance. That being said, I think he looks like Judge Reinhold - 16th Chief Justice of the US Supreme Court.

♫Mock Trial with J. Reinhold♫

D-Rock, on the other hand, believes that Dr. Dangerfield looks more like Ryan Stiles.
Pretty good, pretty good.

But last night, I think I solved it. I had a dream that the Wiggles were out on a picnic, laughing and singing and eating barbequed kangaroo. You know, stuff they probably do in real life. Then they stumbled across a container of zygrot-24, the mutagenic fertilizer from that movie Freaked. They started playing with it, when suddenly its toxic effects kicked in. As a result, they all got stuck together. The four Wiggles became one Wiggle with characteristics of each. And that composite was named Dr. Dangerfield. Here's a picture to help you out:
I know it takes a little imagination, but if you look hard enough you can see it. You have to stare through the picture, like a magic eye.

Whatever happened to magic eyes?

Fruit Cocktail

When Legal Counsel and I first moved into our current residence, we had a vision (or as my psychiatrist calls it, a folie-a-deux). One of the elder gods appeared and instructed us to purchase a juicer. So we did. And it is awesome. I've always said that chewing is overrated, and now I can finally bypass my damn stupid teeth. You think you're better than me, teeth? Do ya?? I could have enamel too, ya know...I just don't wanna.

Cut to yesterday, when Legal Counsel returns home with a fresh load of fruit. Score. But she had a surprise in store for me. She had found a "Grapple" (pronounced "grape-l") - it's an apple that tastes like a grape. Witchcraft! I was too excited to juice it, I had to dig right in.

I've got some bad news for anybody hoping to run out and buy some grapples - it's all a lie. you want the truth? It's actually an apple that tastes like an apple, but smells like a grape. Which confuses my senses just enough to increase my brain aneurysm by 1mm. Don't get me wrong, it's still delicious. But that's just because apples themselves are delicious.

So I decided to look it up. And here's what wikipedia has to say:

The product is created by soaking a Fuji apple in artificial grape flavoring

Here I was thinking the grapple was the product of some mad scientist's genetic modification of an apple tree. But no, it's the product of Gilligan bumping into the Professor at the flavor factory.

Maybe this is actually a good thing. It opens up a whole new world of artificial fruit potential. If it was created by cross-breeding fruit, we'd have to resolve ourselves to fruit that just tastes like other fruit: apple that tastes like grape, grape that tastes like orange, orange that taste like pineapple, pineapple that tastes like kumquat, kumquat that tastes like breadfruit, etc.

But using artifical flavoring, we can make them taste like anything! Anything! Just read "Fast Food Nation," you'll learn that they can do wonders with chemical flavoring. Or if you're too lazy to read, get your illiterate ass to the candy shop and eat some Jelly Bellies. Mmm...Jelly Bellies....

With the knowledge that all we need to do is soak a fruit in flavoring, let's explore the things that molecular gastronomists should start working on. It's time to get manifest destiny all over these angiosperms!

Pearamisu
Lemon merango
Lycheetos
Swineapple
Lemonte Cristo sandwich
Cayenngerine
Bear Clawberry
Grape Ape
C-antelope
Bunnydew melon
Beernana
Bubble gumquat
Aprikatsudon
Salamigranate
Key Lime Pie
Blood orange
Breadfruit
Buckcherry

Science is delicious...

Hoppy Belated Easter!

Easter fell on a Sunday this year, so I didn't have a chance to blog about it. But I still want to inform you, my loyal readers, about the truth behind Easter. I did it for Valentine's Day, and I hope to extend it to most of the formerly religious commercial holidays.

People are always asking me, "Hey Montgomery, why are you stealing the copper wiring from the walls of my house?" But after tapping the handle of my pistol they quickly change the subject to, "Don't worry about it, pal. Hey, while you're here I had a question. What's the deal with Easter? Eggs? Bunnies?"

I usually feed them some lies about the Goddess Eostre, rabbits being a pagan symbol for fertility adopted by Christians, and the egg representing Jesus' rock tomb. And they believe it! Suckers...

But I'm ready to teach you all the truth. You've remained loyal throughout my scandals (Cheryl Ladd is lying about me!), and it's high time I rewarded you. So here we go.

-----

Good Friday. 1322. England.

Peasants were working hard to earn just barely enough money to support their families, of which they would give half to the church and nearly starve to death. Feudal lords and clergymen were rolling around in piles of gold coins and ye olde hookers. Robin Hood was still dead. All was right in the kingdom.

Until they showed up.

They in this context means an advanced race of cyborgs from Xarlon 75. They showed up in flying corn cob shaped spaceships at exactly noon o'clock. The stupid medieval people ran up, thinking them to be angels. Those people were the first to be sucked into the corn cobs through straw like vaccum tubes.

Nobody knows why they showed up. Some say they were looking for a food source, and humans were rumored to make their own gravy when served in water. Some say they needed a new homeworld, having wrecked their own. Some say they were blood-thirsty kill machines, much like Earth's bears. I happen to know the truth. They came to Earth to grind us up and use us as paste for a papier-mâché sculpture of their Grand Warlord, Vondrook the Killtacular.

Good Friday became Holy Saturday and the sucking and squishing continued. That is until one village took a stand. A group of farmers, with no real weapons to speak of, began throwing eggs at the attackers. As luck would have it, the cyborgs were not prepared for a fat-soluble assault, and therefore were helpless when the eggs gummed up their sensors and delicate machinery. The peasants were then free hit them with rakes and shovels. And those little spiky hand tools you use when you're gardening to loosen up the soil, they worked pretty well. Great success!

Word spread quickly of the enemies weakness for eggs, and a counterassault was mounted around the country. But word spread among the enemy as well. They knew of this weakness being exploited and reprogrammed their dodge/duck/dip/dive/dodge reflexes to avert round white missiles. The two sides were at a stalemate.

That is until my great^30 grandfather, Montgomeri the Crazy, came up with a plan. Decorate the eggs with vinegar based dyes, glitter, and shrink paper. By making the eggs pretty, the enemies sensors would get confused and they wouldn't be able to avoid the assault. After an initial test proved successful, Montgomeri and seven score peasants began painting the eggs with Montgomeri's barn of supplies. People always wondered why he had a barn full of vinegar based dyes, glitter, and shrink paper, but nobody dared ask. He had the cold dead eyes of a killer.

The "Battle of the Pretty Eggs and Evil Sky Monsters," as the unoriginal peasants called it, was a great triumph! Cyborgs were getting gummed up left and/or right. To dispose of the nullified (yet still living) cyborgs, Montgomeri and his band of merry men released a batch of carnivorous rabbits onto the battlefield, which would devour the conquered foes. Montgomeri had been breeding the blood-hungry rabbits for years, and again nobody dared ask why.

The cyborgs were defeated on Easter Sunday and Earth went back to normal. Only problem: the church and government couldn't let people know that mere peasants had the ingenuity and strength to defeat the alien cyborgs. So they disavowed all knowledge of the events, and their bravery was doomed to be forgotten.

That is until Montgomeri's royal mistress, Lady Legul Counsul, managed to sneak a reminder into the royal Easter celebrations. Colored eggs would be dispensed by a man in a rabbit costume, and the peasants would always have a memory of that fateful weekend. The royal family was far too inbred to question it. They just liked the giant bunny.

Candy and chocolates were added later because...well...everybody loves candy and chocolate. Also it was a plan by the Man to keep the peasants down via diabetes. Stupid The Man....

-----

So there you have it. The true story behind Easter. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go eat some more peyote.

A lesson in rhetoric

Before I start writing, let me ask you all a question: Grindhouse - great movie or greatest movie? Best film ever created by humans.

Today I listened to a talk sponsored by the Pro-Life medical student club in order to get a free lunch from Eegee's. As a result, I feel so dirty that I don't think I'll ever get clean. I don't like making this blog political, but sometimes...you just...and...(Montgomery makes a throttling motion)...you know?

It was a talk put on by an Ann Coulter-esque woman from Arizona Right for Life. Without exaggeration, it was the worst presentation I've ever seen. It was a verbal abortion. This isn't because I disagree with her. Oh no, it was much worse than that - she was bipartisan bad.

I don't care if you're on the side that believes abortion to be a necessary, albeit unpleasant, medical procedure or if you're an ignorant hillbilly, she had no idea what she was doing. It was one long train of logical fallcies, biased samples, out-of-context statements and emotional appeals. It was like watching a hyena try to convince a bunch of monkeys that eating bananas is wrong.

Here are some highlights:

• She began her speech by saying that the following things aren't pro-life: slavery, the holocaust, eugenics and the murder of Matthew Shepherd. In the process, she implied that Pro-choicers agree with all those things. Sigh. (By the way, all of those things have been done by people on your end of the political spectrum. Just FYI.)
• She said that we don't discriminate based on age. When I asked about voting/drinking/smoking/driving/renting cars, she stopped taking questions.
• She kept saying things like "we all agree that a fertilized egg is a human." Um...I never agreed to that.
• She compared the murder of a three month old child to a first trimester abortion. When we called her on how ridiculous it was, she just kept acting like there was absolutely no difference between the two and we moved on to...
• "A fetus is dependent on the mother, but so is a baby because if mom throws it in the pool it will drown. It's dependent on the mother." I don't even know where to begin on this one...
• She repeatedly used out-of-context statements and isolated incidents of pro-choicers saying things against abortion to support her argument.
• "Abortions can be dangerous, so abortions are wrong." She neglected to mention that pregnancy is more dangerous than having an abortion.
• "300 doctors said that this specific kind of abortion is useless and no more safe than other kinds, so all abortions are wrong." Nice argument. And wow, did you get a whole 300 doctors to say that? Of the millions out there, you got that many? Nice...
• She randomly inserted a slide saying that Planned Parenthood distributed an unsafe "sexy" patch. After repeatedly asking for clarification, we learned that it was a contraceptive patch. She's against contraceptives now?? Where the hell did that come from?
• She showed a picture of an elephant fetus and said "this is an elephant" then a picture of a human fetus and said, "so this must be a human." Makes a lot of sense.
• She had a slide saying that a fetus has metabolism, grows, and differentiates so it must be alive. She skipped that one quickly, probably because she knew that med students would tear it apart. Teratoma much?
• She wouldn't take questions or comments, probably because we were calling her on her bullshit.

Basically, it was a stream of non sequitors, red herrings, proof by example, generalizations, half-truths, ignoratio elenchi, ad hoc, ad hominem, ad logicum, ad ignorantium, post hoc ergo propter hoc, com hoc ergo propter hoc, cum laude, ipso facto, nolo contendere, habeas corpus...whoa, starting to get a little dizzy. Where am I?

I'm more than happy to listen to both sides of the argument*, but try actually using facts and real logic. Not logical fallacies disguised as truth. Sometimes it was just straight up lies. Like I said - it was the worst speech I have ever heard. I think somebody did a D&C on her brain.

The worst part: she said she used to teach debate. I think I can guess why she doesn't have that job anymore. It takes about two seconds to tear any of her arguments apart. She probably trained a whole generation of idiots.

I've heard a lot of well constructed arguments against abortion, and this was not one of them.

Get that shit out of my school.


Sorry for ranting. Needed to vent.

* not really

Not the best blog on the internets

Yesterday I was hanging out in the law library (jibbly), when an unexpected guest showed up. Actually, several dozen unexpected guests showed up. A group of students I initially assumed, and later confirmed, to be a group of pre-law undegrads started roaming the library on some sort of publication scavenger hunt. They were loudly discussing where certain books might be found and from the sound of things, our university needs to introduce a general education class which teaches the alphabet. Anyway, the law library isn't the most quiet place on campus but this was ridiculous.

So I left the library and studied in the lounge. And by "studied" I mean "contemplated who had the genius idea of setting a scavenger hunt in the library." Several phrases started springing to mind: "not the sharpest knife in the drawer," "not the brightest bulb in the box," etc. But those phrases aren't good enough. Not good enough! They're so old. Older than Bees, even.

Think about it; "not the sharpest knife in the drawer?" That phrase is probably as old as knives themselves...at least as old as drawers. We need some newer, hipper phrases to describe stupid people. And if there's one thing I know, it's stupidity. Wait...that didn't come out right.

Anyway, I've decided to head up the drive for new stupid people euphemisms. I'll try to keep them in "not the blankest blank in the blank" format, but I make no promises. Ever. I'll start be rewriting some classics, then I'll move on.

The List
"Not the brighest compact fluroescent in the box"
"Not the fastest sonic knife in the drawer"
"Not the cheapest day worker in front of Home Depot"
"Not the brighest bulb in the Lite Brite"
"Not the fastest conducting neuron in the brachial plexus"
"Not the spiciest chalupa in the Taco Bell"
"Not the largest expanding ozone hole in Al Gore's mind"
"Not the fastest extincting species in the rain forest"
"Not the strongest latte in the Starbucks"
"Not the biggest SUV on the road"
"Not the most fuel efficient hybrid in San Francisco"
"Not the strongest coke balloon in the drug mule's stomach"
"Not the sharpest arrow in Ted Nugent's quiver"
"Not the saltiest pretzel wedged in Dubya's throat"
"Not the greediest pharmaceutical company in the US"
"Not the fastest sperm in D-Rock's mom's vagina"
"Not the most well preserved zombie in the shopping mall"
"Not the most stable mason jar of nitroglycerine in Montgomery's fridge"
"Not the most adopted Pound Puppy"
"More of a Michaelangelo than a Donatello" (works with artists and Ninja Turtles - it's a twofer)
"More Snork than Smurf"
"More Go-Bot than Transformer"
"More Power Ranger than Voltron"
"More Golden Girls than Golden Girls
"More Cabbage Patch Kid than Garbage Pail Kid"
"More M.U.S.C.L.E. than Monster in my Pocket" - wait, both those things are awesome. Scratch it.
"More Filmation's Ghostbusters than The Real Ghostbusters"
"More D-Rock than Montgomery"
"More Leno than Conan"
"More Gettin' Jiggy wit It Will Smith than Parents Just Don't Understand Will Smith"
"More Funky Bunch than Marky Mark"
"More radio than vaudeville"
"He's no William McKinley"

Okay, I'm out of control. But that should be enough to get you all started. Stop using those old and busted phrases and start using my new hotness.

Too close for comfort

I generally don't pay attention to song lyrics. When you've got the location of every churro vendor in Disneyland memorized, it becomes difficult for your brain to sort through new information. So my lyrical knowledge is limited to songs about Mr. Roboto, big butts, and purple rain.

Fortunately for me, however, Legal Counsel knows the lyrics to every song ever. It's evidence in my theory that the part of the brain dedicated to movie quotes in guys is dedicated to song lyrics in girls. But sometimes she apprises me of the lyrics to a song that remind me why I never listen to the words. This time around, that song is "Too Close" by Next. From wikipedia:

The song is about how the singer gets an erection when he dances too close to his girl...It spent five non-consecutive weeks at the top of the chart.

While I sppreciate the similarity with Grover Cleveland, I do not appreciate the subject matter. Not for any moral or religious reasons, but because they're singing about the most awkward thing that can happen to a guy. Are you trying to give me flashbacks of my uncomfortable teenage years? Let's look at some highlights:

• "I wonder if she could tell I'm hard right now"
• "Uh oh? You feel that? Alright...you done did it"
• "You're making it hard for me"
• "It's almost like we're sexin'"
• "I feel a little poke comin' through, on you"
• "My corpus cavernosum is engorged with blood, thus ensuring erection"

Do you see what I mean? So vulgar. Okay, so maybe that last one isn't in the song, but the rest of them are! The lyrics range from innuendo to straight up (no pun intended) penile description. And by the way, Next, I wouldn't be singing about my "little" poke if I was you.

I'm outraged. Outraged! Google image search, show them how outraged I am:This song is not appropriate and I don't know how it got the greenlight. Remember, I'm not upset by the sexually explicit subject matter, just at how it reminds me of my embarrassing youth. If I had a nickel for every time I had to stay seated at my desk with a backpack on my lap after the bell rang, I'd have several nickels. Don't look so appalled - I really like chemistry.

I don't know who these lyrics are supposed to appeal to. For men, it just reminds us how little control we have over our bodies. Accidentally rubbing an erection against the woman you're dancing with isn't something to brag about. Even during a lap dance it's considered a faux pas. Trust me.

For women, it borders on sexual harassment. I'm not a woman (that I know of...wink), but I probably wouldn't take this as a compliment. Or would I? Wink. I wouldn't. Wink. Stupid twitchy eye. wink.

And for both sexes, it brings back horrible prom memories.

Montgomery Guy: "Uhh, sorry. It's my boutonniere."
Girl: "Your boutonniere is in your jacket buttonhole."
Montgomery Guy:"Yeah...it's my backup boutonniere."
Girl:"Why would you need a backup boutonniere?"
Montgomery Guy:"Umm, In case I get a...massive erection poking you in the hip? Damn it!"

This disturbing look at Montgomery's past brought to you by the B and number one.