Thursday, November 30, 2006

Sometimes The Stupidity Spreads Into The Ranks Of My Own Profession.

So I'm dragging my sorry ass into the happy little pill room this morning hating life just a little more than usual. I'm not really awake yet. No surprise there. Some dumbfuck is waiting at the gate thinking if he stands 2 inches away in the moments before I show up to unlock it, that means his Vicodin will be done all the faster. No surprise there. What I'm dreading is throwing open that gate and seeing the mess the agency guy left for me. Agency guys suck. In this era of unprecedented pharmacist shortage, when in an average week I get 3 to 4 unsolicited job offers via telephone or US mail, agency guys are unable to land steady employment. You can just imagine then, the joy of having an agency guy at your store. And they are almost always guys. I've yet to see an agency woman. I should clarify that. I mean an agency woman who works for a pharmacy temporary placement service. Woe is the pharmacist that has the shift after that of an agency guy.

Today did not disappoint. Before I could even get to the gate I see the following note taped across the pharmacy alarm keypad:

COULDN'T GET THE ALARM TO WORK, SO I DIDN'T SET IT. ANY PROBLEMS GIVE ME A CALL!


I should mention that the store and the pharmacy are open different sets of hours, and that this keypad is outside the pharmacy, meaning that for 2 hours, members of the general public were walking by a helpful sign letting them know that there was no alarm guarding the room 'o drugs.

How the fuck do these people get out of college?

For a couple minutes I thought about taking him up on his offer to call if there were any problems:

Hello, dipshit? This is the drugmonkey. Just letting you know all the Vicodin is gone. The real problem though, is that you neglected to post a sign saying exactly how much money was in the safe and the combination. Also, next time maybe you could make a banner with my home address and the hours I will be working and not at home. Not to be all negative though. The way you somehow left 20 prescriptions on the counter when we went out of our way to schedule an extra cashier for you was simply unparalleled in the annals of laziness. Should you ever be assigned to work at this store again, please kill yourself instead.


Christ I need a day off.

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

You Know, My Penis Is Plenty Happy Without Any Government Handouts, Thank You.

An alert reader tipped me to this story, via MSNBC:

Small city's mayor gives free Viagra to old men,

'They're much happier,' says town's chief of program to spice up sex lives

BRASILIA, Brazil — The mayor of a small Brazilian town has begun handing out free Viagra, spicing up the sex lives of dozens of elderly men and their partners.

"Since we started the free distribution of sexual stimulants, our elderly population changed. They're much happier," said Joao de Souza Luz, the mayor of Novo Santo Antonio, a small town in the central state of Mato Grosso.

Souza Luz said 68 men over the age of 60 had already signed up for the program, which was approved by the town's legislature and has been dubbed "Happy Penis," or "PintoAlegre" in Portuguese.

The fact that the "Happy Penis" program is being implemented in a state by the name of Mato Grosso is a joke that writes itself.

Moving on......one question for anyone who thinks we now live in an age of equality between the sexes. Can you imagine anyone in a position of authority, anywhere on the planet, proposing a "happy vagina" program, much less getting it passed and implemented? Can you?

No, you can't. As a matter of fact right here at home we have this:

The Bush administration has appointed a new chief of family-planning programs at the Department of Health and Human Services who worked at a Christian pregnancy-counseling organization that regards the distribution of contraceptives as "demeaning to women."

Eric Keroack, medical director for A Woman's Concern, a nonprofit group based in Dorchester, Mass., will become deputy assistant secretary for population affairs in the next two weeks, department spokeswoman Christina Pearson said yesterday. He will oversee $283 million in annual family-planning grants that, according to HHS, are "designed to provide access to contraceptive supplies and information to all who want and need them with priority given to low-income persons."


So, a man who regards distribution of contraceptives as "demeaning to women" is put in charge of distributing grants designed to provide access to contraceptives. Hmmmmm.... wonder how that will work out? The penises of Brazil may be happy, but those running the executive branch of government of the United States want vaginas here to be very sad.

The jihad watch NEVER stops my friends. The Christian fascists have no respect for the will of the people. Ten days after an election where they get their ass kicked and President Shithead pulls a stunt like this, proving that kicking their ass one time isn't nearly enough. We can't stop until every last iota of their political power is dead. And buried under many tons of dirt. The jihad watch never stops.

Monday, November 27, 2006

My Fecal Material Is Free.....Free To Soar Amongst The Eagles......

....and Amitiza™ is the wind beneath it's wings. Evidently that is the image that Takeda Pharmaceuticals, the same people that brought you the Rozerem beaver playing chess with Abraham Lincoln, thinks will imbed it's drug into the brains of healthcare professionals everywhere. I'll show you what I mean.

Going through the mailbag the other day I came across this nifty little ad:




How could I not be intrigued? I mean, I like to activate stuff just as much as the next guy. As you can see, the ad was set up in a window-blind kinda way. There was a tab on the right hand side you could pull that slid the window blind thingys over to look like this:



I now knew that this miracle medicine was the answer to my life's troubles. I wanted....no I NEEDED..... to soar, to break loose of the gridlock of life and rise....rise upwards towards freedom and heaven itself.

I felt in my very soul that Amitiza™ was for me. Then I saw the ailment Amitiza™ was meant to treat; chronic idiopathic constipation. The birds were representative of my shit starting to flow.

Even though I have been blessed with regular bowel movements, somehow looking at this ad I still felt the desire to take the drug, and had to read more about it. Maybe in the fine print I would see something about how it enhances the happy feelings scotch gives me. Didn't happen. What I did see was that the most common side effect was nausea, which happened to 31% of people in clinical trials. Actual puking happened in 5%.

So you have a choice between being stopped up and not able to go, and an almost 1 in 3 chance that you'll be trading that for the feeling of having to puke and not being able to. I suppose I can see now why they felt they needed an ad a little "out of the box" for this one. Should my birds ever stop flying though, I think I'll stick with the Glycolax.

Sunday, November 26, 2006

A Kid Peed In Front Of Me Today.

He's standing there at the counter and just lets it go. He didn't whip out his wiener mind you, just went right in his pants. And it's not like he just couldn't hold it anymore and a little bit leaked out, it was fucking Niagara Falls roaring down his pant leg........and onto the floor........and down a good ways into the first aid aisle. He was probably like 5 or 6 years old. Definitely old enough that he should have had the proper training.

His mom was there right beside him. Her reaction, delivered in a Xanax induced monotone: "Um, you should have told me you had to go."

Thing is, I wasn't really all that surprised. This is what working in retail has done to me. I am not fazed by seeing a little boy piss down his own leg.

The boy didn't really care either. That's what the ghetto has done to him.

Saturday, November 25, 2006

Thanks To The DEA, I Now Have The World's Longest Schlong, And One Of The Thickest.

This realization came in today's mail. Mixed in with the usual advertisements for Wonderpill XR™ and corporate sponsored continuing education was the store's self certification certificate from the DEA. Yes, a "self certification certificate" is exactly as stupid as it sounds. It works like this:

1) The government issues new regulations regarding the sale of pseudoephedrine, the nasal decongestant you've known and loved for years as Sudafed™. If you've had a cold in the last few months, or if you make a lot of crystal meth, you know exactly what I'm talking about. You can't buy Sudafed™ and friends anymore without signing for it, showing some ID, and saying "Lloyd Duplantis of Gray, Louisiana is not worthy to act as my decongestant by sucking the mucus out of my sinuses." The third requirement just applies to my store, when I'm working and in the right mood.

2) The government then makes pharmacies promise to be good and obey the new regulations.

3) Pharmacies then get a certificate saying they are complying with the law.


A kicker is that at one time the DEA was planning on charging a $35 fee for issuance of this certificate. I shit you not. The government was going to charge money for the privilege of obeying the law. I don't know if the fee went through as planned. One of many benefits of not being the pharmacy manager is that I don't have to give a shit about such details.

So this is what it's come to my friends. In 40 years we've gone from Ralph Nader taking down General Motors for selling coffins on wheels to businesses "complying" with the law by saying that they are. In the spirit of this new era of corporate regulation I would like to issue the following self-certification. My wiener is 24 inches long, and at least 100% thicker than the average male's. I will be happy to provide a certificate certifying the accuracy of these statements. Just drop me an e-mail.

Thursday, November 23, 2006

A Reflection On The True Meaning Of Thanksgiving.

You know, the story didn't end up so well for half the people at that first holiday feast:

It's all in who's doin' the storytellin'

I Spend Thanksgiving Morning With My Dominatrix, And She Breaks My Body In The Way That Only She Can

Ask any dominatrix, and she'll tell you most of her customers are lawyers. Actually I don't know this firsthand, I'm just going by what I read in Savage Love. Seems like it would make sense though. If your life's work is to be a condom for the pricks of the world, there's probably some part of you deep inside your brain that demands you be punished.

My dominatrix is beautiful. When I die of Alzheimer's, one of the last memories that will leave my brain will be the way she rises from her waterbed to intimidate you with her height. I'm also not ashamed to tell you she's big, and green. Green during the winter that is, the rest of the year she's a dormant brown waiting for the rains that bring her to life. I should also probably mention she's a mountain. Literally, a mountain.

I started calling her The Mountain Of Punishment long before I realized her role in my life, simply because of the Herculean effort it takes to get to the top of her. The first time I made it was only because of utter disbelief. No part of me thought the state park system could expect a person to go straight up the side of a fucking mountain without any switchbacks, but they did, and so I did, one step at a time all the way to the bench at the top. When I collapsed on that bench I wasn't so sure I wasn't laying down to die. However, to the disappointment of some I lived, and afterwards got a periodic urge contrary to all rationality to go up that mountain again and again, sometimes 3 or 4 times a month. I didn't understand it, but I couldn't fight it.

I was in a bad relationship at the time. Very bad. When I finally grew a pair and got the she-banshee out of my life, my death march urges subsided, and a little window into the workings of my mind was opened. When I went through my blizzard of revenge relationships, thinking that 3 or 4 or 10 emotional wrongs inflicted could make a right, I knew a mountain penance would be in order from time to time before I could bring in the next woman. Me and the mountain had an understanding, and it did it's job well.

This morning at sunrise the mountain called me. I don't know why. Maybe this guy finally got to me, or this lady. I do know that when the mountain calls, it is not to be ignored. So I put on a sweatshirt and some hiking boots and threw myself into the arms of my dominatrix so she could break me just like old times. She didn't disappoint. After I type this I will barely be able to walk to the refrigerator to try and come up with something for Thanksgiving dinner.

Here's the view from the top of her. I guess as far as punishment goes, this, some fresh air, and a little sunshine isn't all that bad a gig.

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

I Refuse To Eat Any Turkey Tomorrow

Why? Because the man expects me to eat turkey tomorrow, that's why. The man can kiss my ass.

I'm having a can of Chef Boyardee Ravioli.

Nobody owns me. No one.

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Tonight I Realize I Need To Take The Turd Hand Life Has Dealt Me And Make Turd Lemonade.

From "The Actual Conversation With An Actual Customer" File:

Upon filling a prescription for the antibiotic Zithromax, a close relative of erythromycin.

Me: "Mrs. Smith, I see we have you on file as being allergic to erythromycin, is that correct?"

Idiot #1: "I don't know, what did it do to me?"

Yeah.....um.....you know.....I would ask the person who told me you had this allergy..........EXCEPT I JUST DID!

Later on in the evening we had this:

Me: Your prescription will be $5 sir.

Idiot #2: WRONG! I have INSURANCE! The copay is TEN DOLLARS!

Customer's always right you know. I happily rang up $10 and the douchebag walked away thinking he had really showed me......

Now it may surprise you to hear me say that experiences like this can leave me a tad....bitter.... angry at times even. Tonight though, I'm gonna jump off the angry train and onto a track going in the complete opposite direction. I am using the motivation provided by these and countless other dimwits to start anew, to begin a project that will lead to a happy, meaningful, and productive remainder of my years.

I am going to start a magazine. I have a preliminary working title of "The World Can Lick My Hairy Scrotum"

I mean, I kinda like writing here in my little blog garden, and the key to happiness is to do something for a living that you like, right? Check this out though, I can go one better than just writing. How about in this magazine, I have a regular column where I review different brands of scotch, the wrinkle would be that I am not allowed to start writing until I had ingested at least 4 ounces of product. I think this would be very entertaining for both writer and reader, a true win win.

I am also working on developing some contacts within the serial killer community. I mean, who doesn't like reading about serial killers? Fuck, a serial killer is a printing press to make hundred dollar bills, that's what a serial killer is. Plus when a serial killer is caught, I don't think you have to pay them anymore.

I also think the magazine would run regular cartoons mocking Jesus. Mostly because I like to mock Jesus, but also to show Danish Muslims it's possible to be a good sport about these things.

Throw in a little hate mail from the avalanche I'd be sure to get after the first few issues, and it's gold. Fucking gold baby.

And when I accept the Pulitzer Prize that is surely in my future, the first person I will thank.....will be the erythromycin allergy moron. My anger will have been finally conquered, my mind..... finally at peace.

The Melatonin Chronicles.....Or, Bizzaro Dream #2

The bizzaro dream is coming, I promise, but first the necessary background:

Detroit was ground zero for the dark, seething underbelly of the 60's. Everybody remembers the happy hippies of Woodstock, but we have tried to forget the very real anger that was just as much a part of that era. While the flower children were doing their thing, singing how we should just just smile on our brother and learn to love one another right now, Detroit bands like The Stooges and MC5 were letting us know what it was like to have your teeth kicked in by the cops and then be charged with assault. My kind of music. Now I love the MC5, but I haven't been listening to them much lately. You know how it is, music works it's way to the back of your collection for awhile, only to be re-discovered years later. Last night, however, the MC5 came back into my life as I slept.

In my dream, I had decided that it was time for me to learn to play the bass guitar, and so I had signed up for some classes at the local community college. The instructor enters the classroom, and it is none other than the bass player for the MC5. Sweet! I will finally be able to ask him about the jar!

"Um...the jar?" I hear you saying. You see, the first MC5 album I bought years ago had a rather, um....disturbing picture on the back. Here it is:





That jar has fascinated me from the day I first laid eyes on it. What could possibly be inside? Would I really want to know? The way the dude with the afro is pointing at it it almost looks like he's soliciting spare change so he can take the bus home after the gig. In my dream though, the mystery of the jar was about to be solved! I sat patiently though class, barely able to concentrate on the lesson knowing that this obsession of mine was about to be put to rest. After class, as I made my way up to the front of the room my heart rate quickened with anticipation........

Then I woke up. And my heart really was beating fast. Why the fuck would my brain be thinking in the middle of the night about a band I haven't consciously thought of in years? Why would the mystery of the jar surface now after lying dormant for so long? DAMN YOU JAR! I WILL UNLOCK YOUR SECRET SOMEDAY!

I'm thinking I should talk to my doctor about Ambien, and, um, maybe a few other things.

(note: for special bonus content for this post, click on "American Ruse" where you see Drugmonkey Radio, on the right side of this page.)

Monday, November 20, 2006

And You Think Your HMO Pisses You Off.....

From the UK Guardian:

Thousands of protesters went on the rampage through a hospital in south-west China after the death of a young boy whose guardians could not afford to pay treatment fees of more than £40, it was reported yesterday .

The riot, which led to clashes with security personnel and the burning of several police cars, highlights public frustrations over a healthcare system that was once free for all but is now a symbol of the growing inequality between rich and poor in an increasingly market-oriented economy.


Hmmmm....growing inequality between the rich and poor.....sounds familiar.

Far be it for me to incite a riot, but sometimes you gotta talk to the man in the only language he understands......

I Stole This Picture. I Saw It And Had To Have It.


It came from the blog of Katie Schwartz, Feminish Jewgirl. You should read Katie's blog. Katie kicks ass.......

But getting back to the pic....you know....I've said it before, and I'll say it again:

IN YOUR FACE JESUS!

Although not literally in your face, that would be kinda gross, and I'm not into guys. Not that there's anything wrong with those who are.....

Chutzpah. Defined.

It's hard to believe I'm sober when I come across stories like these.

First a little background; across the pond in the UK, our friends the English, along with our not so good friends the Scots and those utterly annoying Welsh have a national health service, a part of which is The National Institute for Clinical Excellence, whose job it is to determine which drugs are worth putting on the health services formulary and which aren't. There has been some advocacy from government officials for NICE "reform." "Reform" of course meaning restructuring it in a way to maximize the profits of Big Pharma.

Wait. It gets better. According to the UK Guardian:


In a surprising intervention, the US deputy health secretary, Alex Azar, forced the issue in London yesterday, ahead of talks with officials following a trip to the US last week by the health secretary, Patricia Hewitt. He said attempts to use rationing mechanisms such as Nice to cut soaring drugs bills would stifle innovation - an argument that is constantly made by the pharmaceutical industry.


You read that right. The government official lobbying for NICE "reform" Is from the Government of the United States, not the government of the UK. The deputy US health secretary is trying to tell the United Kingdom what it's health care policies should be.


Wait. It gets better. The UK spends less and provides better outcomes for it's citizens than the health care system of the United States. Yet we still feel the need to tell them how they should be running things.

Oh, and everyone is covered in the UK. 46.6 million people in the US aren't.

Allowing all new drugs to be used in the NHS would result in the companies "fighting it out" on price, Mr Azar said, which would drive the drug bill down.


Yyyyyyeeeaahhhhh.....because allowing totally open formularies works so well here that most hospitals and insurance companies have decided to allow coverage for every single new drug. I am very glad I will never have to see the words "NDC NOT COVERED" ever again.

Ok, pulling this all together. USA spends more per person on health care than the UK. People in USA are sicker, way sicker, than in the UK. Everyone covered in the UK. USA feels the need to start telling the UK how it should run it's health care system.

Does a lot to dispel the stereotype of the stupid, arrogant American doesn't it?

Saturday, November 18, 2006

Saturday Sports Post #2. Free At Last, Free At Last, Thank God Almighty I Am Free At Last

I will attempt in this post to describe to you the grip that college football has on most of the state of Ohio. I will fail. Unless you were born there, or someplace like Michigan, Nebraska, Oklahoma, or Alabama, places so empty of culture and possibilities for a meaningful life that the whole of a persons physical and spiritual existence is manifested through a game where boys play fight over a leather air-filled sack, you don't and never will know what it is like to be born into the cult of the poisonous nut. My mother is a little old lady who can always tell you the score of last week's game. I visited my sister once in Columbus, home of the University of the poisonous nut, during the weekend of the annual game with their hated rivals, the Michigan weasel-cousins. Every time the poisonous nuts scored a point, the entire building literally shook. I had a drink knocked off her coffee table.

That building may have collapsed today. Those of you who follow sports know what I'm talking about. The poisonous nuts and the weasel cousins were the number 1 and 2 ranked teams in college football, and they met today to fight over that leather sack. I dreaded this day, for I knew that I would have to watch. Even though I long ago escaped to the coast, I knew that just as the Eagles once sang about the Hotel California, you can check out of the poisonous nut cult anytime you like, but you can never leave. A few years ago the poisonous nuts played the Miami weather disturbances for the national college football championship. I was working, so I taped the game. I am ashamed of this. I am more ashamed that I was watching the tape at 2 in the morning shouting things like TACKLE HIM! GODDAMMIT, TACKLE THAT SON OF A BITCH! Any illusions that I was a sophisticated, classy, intellectual type of guy went right out my lungs that night, and I knew that from then on, the best I could do would be to try and hide this flaw of character.

So this afternoon, as my cult masters readied to take the field to battle Emmanuel Goldstein in the three hours of hate, I pulled the curtains closed and turned on the television, resigned to my fate. What happened though, was that I saw only a bunch of straight boys who don't realize they're gay dressed in panty hose hitting each other really hard for no apparent reason. It really was a good game if you're into that kind of thing, close, hard fought....put in your favorite sports cliche here. But the only time I got emotional witnessing the spectacle was when I found a bag of the good salsa chips in the back of my cupboard.

I know most of you don't realize what this means. It means that this...thing...it wasn't in my genes, I'm not an animal....I'm......I'm.....

Free. Gloriously free....

So as the celebratory riot is certainly underway in Columbus, I stand this night born into a new world. A wonderful world where affection between men doesn't have to be limited to public play-fight rituals. You are free to love each other however you choose men of my world!

But not to love me.....I still like boobs. Just wanna be clear on that.

Saturday Sports Post #1. I Have A Dream, Chasing A Rubenesque Whitney Houston In An Eternal 100-Yard Dash.


I shit you not my friends, this was an actual real dream that came into the DrugMonkey's head during the night, or more likely late morning , of this day:

I emerge from the locker room to take part in a track meet. As I take the field, the electricity amongst the crowd is overwhelming. Whitney Houston will be there. You see, in my dream, before her singing career and years of drug-fueled creatively inactive notoriety, Whitney was a star of track and field, and this event was to be the start of her comeback. Whitney was wearing a black fishnet, spandexy thing that was not flattering to the pounds she's picked up over the years. During the race, Whitney and I were lapped by the eventual winner, even though we were competing in the 100 yard dash. I finished the event in what seemed like around three hours in next to last place, ahead of only Whitney Houston.

I went through a phase in college when I thought Whitney Houston was the most beautiful woman on earth. Other than that, I have no fucking idea what this whole episode says about my subconscious mind, none the less I find myself feeling disturbed.

Maybe I should lay off the melatonin.

Friday, November 17, 2006

Friday Night Freak....


God I love working in the ghetto sometimes. The blog just writes itself on a night like tonight, all I have to do is take a few notes.......

Short little dude comes to the counter and asks if we have his medicine. I swear the only difference between him and the oompa loompa men from Willy Wonka is that the customer is white and not orange. I tell oompa that there is nothing ready and he walks away confused. This type of thing only happens about seven thousand times during the course of an average workday. Oompa returns about an hour later to check again.

Me: "There's still nothing here for you sir. What medicine did you need?"

Oompa: "Cannabis"

Me: "Excuse me?"

Oompa: "Here, this should explain everything"

Oopma then hands me a picture of his mug shot and booking info from the county jail.

Me: "I gotta be honest sir. This doesn't explain anything. Was your doctor going to phone in a prescription for you? "

Oompa: "They told me the cannabis would be here."

Me: "Who told you the cannabis would be here?"

Oompa then drifts away from the counter like a ship cut away from it's anchor. I saw him awhile later in the snack aisle. Snacking probably just isn't the same without your cannabis.

The only theory I can come up with is that a corrupt cop or fellow prisoner duped Oompa out of his stash upon his entry into the correctional system and told him as part of the ruse that it would be stored for safekeeping at my pharmacy. If that is the case I would say only that there was no need to keep me out of the loop. Just clue me in next time guys, and I'll be happy to fuck with his little Oompa brain some more when he's at the counter.

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Hate Mail Quickie

Feel the love baby......

Do the profession a favor and quit. If you want to make money and not help people, wear a suit and work for Wall street.


But I look so much hotter in a lab coat. I'll betch'a if you saw me in a lab coat you'd totally wanna fuck me.....

A Monument To My Budding Artist's Ego Taunts Me Each Workday.

The closest I may ever come to doing anything successful may be this post. I gave birth to those words a few months ago and have since watched as my stats page recorded them being zapped around the planet, not to mention the magnets they have become, constantly drawing people into my little blog garden. I always wondered how it would feel to know that you were the one that started one of those e-mail sensations, and now I do. I know all too well.

The other day I show up to the happy pill room and before I even have a chance to shake off the morning grogginess, my pharmacy manager is showing me something I "have to read." Shoved under my nose is.....you guessed it, my word children. Before I realize I'm going to have to act like I've never seen this before though, I notice.... that someone amongst the mile-long header that began the e-mail message was a person who.....CHANGED MY WORDS! Some FUCKER thought they could improve upon MY WORK!

ASSWIPE, I WILL FIND YOU!

I came very close to saying "you should have read the original, it was way better," but managed to recall the words before they came out of my mouth. As it was I was able to pull off acting like this was all new to me. Sometimes being in a coffee depraved haze works to your advantage.

But when the hangover wore off or the caffeine kicked in, I'm still not sure which it is but it happens around 1 o'clock on most days, I saw that the manager liked this hack job enough to hang it on the wall in the back, where every day my child's mutilated body will stare at me, crying for help, and I will be too chained to my paycheck it save it, my own creation.

I feel like less of a person.

Hate Mail Is Entertaining, This Was Even Better.

Got this in the mail today and thought I would share it with you:




While it may say something about my little blog garden that people are willing to put in a little photoshop time & send things like this in, I think it says more about my readership that the things sent in look so fucking cool. That is one kick-ass picture, that's all I have to say. Thank you very much to the person zapped it my way.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Guess What I Got Today.......Said The Drug Monkey In His Sing-Song Voice.

It will surprise no one working for a corpo-pharmacy chain that my store was a few days behind in putting away our last warehouse order. Our store's labor budget calls for nothing to go wrong, ever. Got to the last tote tonight, and there were the new Over The Counter Plan B's. I've said it before, and I'll say it again:


IN YOUR FACE JESUS!


I was thinking about maybe blowing out the first few packages at cost, maybe calling it the Lloyd Duplantis special. Hmmmmmm.....I like.... Yes, anyone coming to the Drugmonkey's counter asking for the Lloyd Duplantis special will get a Plan B at cost......hell if I'm in a good mood I just might give 'ya one for free and pick up the tab myself.

And if you're past the 72-hour window I'll let you know how you can do a drug induced abortion using a prescription ulcer medicine. No....... not Nexium.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Tonight I've Realized The Key To Wealth Beyond My Wildest Dreams. I Shall Become A Car Dealer Who Sells Only To Republicans.

I can see it now.........

(Fade into dream sequence here)

Me: As you can see Mr. Bartlett, this model handles like nothing else on the road.

Bartlett: You're right Drugmonkey. I think this is the car for me.

Me: I'm sure you'll be happy with it. Now, before I get the paperwork, there is the matter of the price.

Bartlett: Well I certainly hope you're not planning on giving me any type of discount.

Me: Since you are buying an entire fleet of vehicles for the use of the federal government I think we might be able......um.....what did you say?

Bartlett: You're not one of those liberals who want to charge me anything less than full sticker price are you?

Me: Um, no, ahh....certainly not.

Bartlett: Well good. I'm glad I don't have to explain to you how expensive it is for automobile manufacturers to do the research and development necessary to continue to bring us new and improved cars each year, that you see the only way to get airbags and anti-lock brakes is to let the market work. And by golly, the market has been working. The proof is in the pudding, it's been benefiting American drivers. Now you charge me full sticker price and not one nickel less.

Me: Yes sir.

(Fade into a secondary dream sequence of me at a lush tropical resort surrounded by burka-clad bimbos and lighting a cigar with a hundred dollar bill)

Some of you might be quite rationally saying at this point, "Drugmonkey, WTF? Have you been hitting up the LSD again? The thought of the federal government demanding to pay full price for something instead of using it's volume buying power is ridiculous."

Is it?........ Is it?

What if Bartlett really existed? What if he were in charge of Medicare Part D, which provides prescription coverage for old folks? Might he say something like this?

Fox News Loudmouth Know It All White Middle Aged Guy: You’re saying you don’t need to have Medicare negotiate lower prices. it’s already happened.

BARTLETT: The marketplace is working. We’re more than happy to have that debate with Republicans, Democrats, whoever wants to talk about it. The proof is in the pudding. It’s been working. It’s been benefitting America’s seniors.


Click here for a trip into the Twilight Zone.

These fuckers still don't get it. They just got bitch-slapped by the American people and they are still defending their corporate masters to the death. Soon to be Speaker of The House Nancy Pelosi, who looks damn hot even when she's not wearing a burka, has promised legislation giving the feds the power to negotiate drug prices within the first 100 hours of the Deomcratic takeover of the House in January. Estimates are this could save $190 billion over the next 10 years.

Your decision in last weeks elections is about to pay off. Literally. Us tax and spend liberals are about to save you some serious jack. It's pledge week over at antiwar.com. You could show us your appeciation by throwing some of it their way.



Sunday, November 12, 2006

There's A Woman I Can't Get Out Of My Mind. She's 80 Years Old, Short, And She Left Me Speechless.

The Doughnut hole. No, I'm not talking about that thing you put around your bat when you're on deck in baseball. Neither am I talking about bite-size goodies you load up on when you're at the Krispy Kreme. Those of you in the profession know exactly what I'm talking about. For those of you who aren't, I'll let you know the "doughnut hole" is a term that refers to a coverage gap in the new Medicare Part D drug plan. In a nutshell, Part D covers you for awhile, then stops, then starts again. It's stupid, but that's not the point of this post.

The lady at the counter was in the doughnut hole. She came in the store to get some medicine to treat a brain tumor. For just shy of a thousand dollars, chances are she would get to live about an extra 2 months.

Label popped out and I saw the price. Then I looked over and saw her sitting patiently by the blood pressure machine. Fuck. I hate this part of the job. I waved the cashier away because I knew I should break the news myself. It's almost a relief when they yell at you in these situations. It's when they're just quiet and hand over a pile of cash that you feel like shit.

I took a deep breath and started. "Mrs. Smith, I don't know if you knew this, but this medicine is pretty expensive........."

She heard me out and didn't bat an eyelash. Then she took my hand and said something like "The last 60 years have been a gift young man" At least I think the word she used would translate as something like "young man".

Then she gave my hand a pat, turned her arm over, and I saw the blue numbers tattooed in her skin. This woman had been a concentration camp inmate. I looked up and our eyes locked for what couldn't have been more than a few seconds. It felt like an hour. When I saw those eyes I saw a wisdom, a confidence, and an inner peace that I do not have the ability to put into words. This woman was tougher than any drug bill. She handed over a pile of cash and I felt like shit.

As she left I wanted to run after her and ask her to tell me something, anything, about what she had been through so that maybe I could help keep some part of her story alive. I didn't. I stood there like a moron as she walked out of sight. I haven't seen her since. This happened a few months ago, but I've been thinking about it more these last few days. It's funny how a memory can go underground and then pop right back up with the right trigger. So, uh, yeah, even though it may be a retreat from my battle against growing up, I don't think I wanna be the drugnazi anymore.

I don't mean I want to quit the blog, or stop posting rants about freaks, Big Pharma, or Republicans, and rest assured you'll still be getting the occasional Beavis-like bit of immaturity. I just think I should do it under a different name. I like monkeys, so I'm thinking something monkey based. Maybe The DrugMonkey.

I like it. Let's try it out and see if it sticks.

Saturday, November 11, 2006

This Night, I Am Given A Mission. No, Strike That. Tonight, I Realize The Mission Fate Always Intended For Me.

I love the G-mail. Not for the mail service so much, although it is pretty kick-ass. What I love is the ads. Yes, the ads. I've written before about how an effort is made to relate them to what you are talking about in your messages. I may soon be able to start a separate blog based on where the G-mail ads take me. Tonight, for example, while writing about how I have a newfound fetish for military women, I see an ad touting a "free mission statement builder" You basically fill out a form that asks what's important in your life, and presto, out comes your mission.

Now I ask you, how the hell could I pass that up?

I know you're all anxious, so I won't keep you in suspense any longer. Here is the Drugnazi's personal mission statement, done by computer, so you know it's accurate:


My purpose is to express my appreciation of hot women, commitment to life and good hygiene by watching them shake their moneymaker, by not killing people and by taking regular showers. To sleep, form a band, get laid and obtain at least $5 by Monday, November 12, 2007.

Wish me luck my friends.

Update- I can't decide if this is really funny or if I am just too goddamn tired after a 12 hour workshift. I'll have to reevaluate in the morning.

Friday, November 10, 2006

The Bizarre Customer Minute.

Not a lot of time tonight, oh fans of the drugnazi, as I'm doin' the 9's all weekend......off at 9....in at 9......I know those in the profession hear what I'm sayin'. Fortunately you don't need a lot of time for a freaky customer. Here goes.

DrugMonkey; on the phone, another line has been ringing for a couple minutes. Couple people at the counter want a piece of me. I'm trying to figure out if what I see on the paper in front of me is an overdose, when I hear, shouted at me mind you:

"ALEVE IS STILL GOOD"

Special note. I was making eye contact with no one when this volume assault drown out my phone conversation.

My response was based on the initial assumption that the lady was asking a question and not making a statement, although it was impossible to be sure. My best guess was that she was asking whether Aleve was affected by the recent huge acetaminophen recall. At least that was the assumption I went with when I assured her that yes, Aleve. Good.

Thursday, November 09, 2006

And Now, Back To The Freaks........

I should know better by now. I'm old enough to remember when OBRA, the federal law that led to various state mandates that pharmacists offer to council patients with every new prescription, went into effect. At one time it was perfectly legal, encouraged even depending on what chain you worked for, to bag up someones prescription and just throw it in their general direction. Those were the days. I thought OBRA was the stupidest thing on the face of the earth when I first heard of it, but I have since had a change of heart. I now think OBRA is somewhere around the 20 or 25th stupidest thing on the face of the earth. I've seen a lot of stupidity since then.

Read your fucking label. Read the goddamn paper that came with your prescription and leave me alone.

Today however, I met the woman OBRA was designed for. A baby momma who evidently sent a lot of her IQ through the placenta in the process of reproducing. Tech asks if she wants the pharmacist to go over her kid's new medicine and baby momma eagerly says yes. I think she may have jumped at the chance because it will be the first time anyone has paid any attention to her since baby daddy's cock was withdrawn. So I sadly walk over to begin the "counseling session"

Usually in this case I just kinda say whatever pops into my head about the persons medicine. "Take it with food......it's pink.....it's to treat an infection.....keep it away from drain-o", for a couple minutes, then wrap it up with something like "there's some more information on these sheets, if you run into any questions feel free to give me a call" Two minutes of my life I will never get back. Tonight though, part of the conversation went like this.

Me: so you'll give a dose two times a day, shoot for about every 12 hours.....

Baby Momma: "and it's 3 to 4 teaspoons"

Me: no ma'am...... it's three fourths of a teaspoonful at a time, up to here on your dropper.

Baby Momma: "But the first dose should be more, right?"

Me: "No ma'am. some antibiotics work that way, but with this one you'll just be giving three-fourths of a teaspoonful two times a day"

Baby Momma: "Would it hurt anything if I gave her the 4 teaspoons?"

I understood the stakes now. I was in a fight for the kids well being. Drastic action was necessary.

Me: "YES! GIVE THREE QUARTERS OF A TEASPOONFUL. NO MORE!"

It was only when I started to treat her like shit that I seemed to get anywhere with her. I imagine that explains a lot about how she ended up in her particular life situation.

I hate all people.

One More Election Post, Then I'll Get Back To The Wacky Customers, I Promise.

Unapologetic, angry liberals such as myself often get accused of hating America. I'll show you in this post why that couldn't be further from the truth, but I'll need some help.

Meet Keith Ellison. He was elected to Congress last night. Here he is looking rather Congressional.





In January Ellison will become the first Muslim member of the U.S. House of Representatives. You read that right. Ellison ran on a platform of opposition to the war in Iraq, universal health care, environmental protection, and commitment to education. He won the endorsement of the newspaper American Jewish World and the Arab American Leadership PAC. Talk about being a uniter. There is also zero evidence he is a terrorist. Congressman-elect Ellison shows what happens when we value everyone, when the ideas each and every one of us can bring to the table are put in play for the benefit of us all. His election shows us what we can become. I love that country.

What I hate, and when fuels the angry train, is what we have become. Detention without trial, torture camps, ethnic cleansing carried out by our puppet regimes, the party in power thinking the way to stay there is to exploit our differences, using them to create fear and a superiority complex for those currently on top. It's precisely because I love what we could and should be so much that I hate what I see.

Hope that helps explain things.....now back to the freaky pharmacy......

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Ok, Seriously. My Thoughts On Election Night.

I'm an atheist, but tonight I say thank God.

The forces of hate, the pro life party that chooses death without a second thought, the political pillars of intolerance and hypocrisy, have had their grip on our House of Representatives broken. As I write this it looks as if they may lose our Senate as well. The abortion ban in South Dakota goes down in flames, as do parental notification laws in California and Oregon. A Socialist will sit in the United States Senate, and in California, 70's rerun and former Linda Ronstadt boy-toy Jerry Brown will have a go as Attorney General. Sweet. I miss the 70's. All in all, not a bad night.

But let's not kid ourselves. Tonight was only the first step on the road to building the country we want. The Republicans spent over 25 years building this nightmare we live in, and it won't be brought down in one election. Many of the new Congressional Representatives will be rat bastards. They'll do things that will drive us nuts. And the Republicans will be back. They'll have to be whacked a few times before they get the message that we won't fall for their hate, their lies, their hypocrisy, or their blood lust anymore.

Tonight though, was the first whack. Admit it, felt good didn't it?

With One Blog Post, I Changed The Course Of The Entire Country.

I can come clean now, because there's nothing you can do about it. It was a lie. A trap. And you fell for it. Red state America, you fell for it beyond my wildest dreams.

I'm talking about this post.

As I listen to the election results come in from across the country. It's obvious that Republicans stayed home in droves, eagerly awaiting their chance to have a say on Wednesday, exactly as I had hoped. Well guess what Bush lovers, you can show up Wednesday morning all you want, but the only ballots that will count were cast today. BBBBBWWWWHHHHAAAAAHHHHAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!

Yes, it was sneaky and underhanded, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and Lord knows someone had to do something to help the hapless Democrats. You're welcome.

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

We Start Tonight's Election Coverage With A Bit Of Immaturity

So when you're a big time politician, you have staff members. Lots of staff members. I once met a guy whose sole job it was to make sure that the camera angles used in any pictures of his guy were always the most flattering possible. No shit. Keep that job description in mind as you look at this picture of Republican US Representative Charlie Bass of New Hampshire, which comes to you via Daily Kos:



ASS!!! BBBWWWAAAAAHHHHHAAAAAHHHHAAAAHHHHAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!

Monday, November 06, 2006

By Reading This Wacky Customer Story, You Commit Yourself To Voting Democratic On Tuesday.

Power surge. It sounds like a good thing. Like maybe I turned up some sort of personal booster knob that allows me to fill prescriptions just a little bit faster, but no, a power surge is a very bad thing. A power surge can fry your fax machine, which is what we found out at my workplace. It can also knock out the electricity in the part of town where the nearest store in your giant corporate pharmacy chain is located, which happened as well. This means all the familiar lunatics I deal with were joined by a pack of unfamiliar pill craving lunatics from the other side of town. It was like a lunatic regional meeting.

At about the midpoint of the agenda, I get a phone call. A woman evidently upset that she couldn't attend the meeting in person, but determined to take part in the festivities. "YOUR CARTS ARE ALL OVER THE STREET!!!!"

For a person to get me on the phone, they have to navigate an incredibly complex voice mail system that makes it clear at several points they will be talking to the pharmacy, and giving them the option, again at more than one point, of veering off this path and talking to someone in the general store.

"Are they blocking traffic?"

"NO! THEY ARE ALL OVER THE SIDEWALK!"

Knowing that our store was physically a long way from a sidewalk, and that any stray carts from our place almost certainly would become the property of the local homeless population before they got anywhere near a sidewalk, and that the now powerless store, 5 miles away mind you, was right next to the street, I ask the nice lady, "ma'am are you talking about the store at address x? You're talking to the store at address y"

"I DON'T CARE! I'M CALLING THE POLICE!"

This was supposed to frighten me. I thought about why. Were the police going to come and arrest the shopping carts? Would they be booked and thrown in a cell without access to counsel? Might giant corpo-pharmacy's shopping carts end up as bitches to the Crips, traded to the Bloods for a carton of cigarettes?"

I never got a call from the carts asking for bail money. As a matter of fact, I never heard of the carts again. I fear they may have been stripped of their habeas corpus rights. I hope they don't end up in Guantanamo.

We live in dark times.

Talk To Me......

It took the better part of two years into the whole experience, but I finally got around to adding a direct e-mail link to my little blog garden. You got something to say to me? Then click on the "Tell Me What You Think" link on the upper right hand part of the page. Love letters and hate mail equally welcome.

Sunday, November 05, 2006

One Picture Shows Why I Hate Right To Life Nutjobs, The Vast Majority Of Whom Are Republicans

Look at it.


This was taken in 1994 during a famine in Sudan. It won a Pulitzer Prize for the photographer, Kevin Carter. Three months later Carter committed suicide. Can't say that I blame him.

If you're in the Bible belt of the USA though, chances are you've never seen this picture. Americans don't have a good record of being able to handle ugly truths. Chances are you've never seen what your tax dollars are doing in Iraq either. If you'd like to, just drop me a line.

More importantly though, if you're an American Bible belt right thinking Jesus lover, you know what kind of life counts and what kind doesn't. The naive among us might think you'd be interested in fighting for that child's life, and the millions just like him that didn't have the good fortune to die close to a camera. Your fight for "life" however, applies to the sperm and the egg, and only to the sperm and the egg. Because that is the way to advance your own personal power, and that's what your fight is really all about. Once the kid is out, they're of no further use to you since mommy is trapped for the next 18 years and now has a huge disadvantage if she wants to do anything like compete for your job. You know it's hard to challenge your position of authority when there are mouths to feed, so sorry slut, no abortion for you, and we're working on stopping the whole contraception thing as well.

And if some of those mouths don't get fed, well, those African babies don't really count anyway do they?

Although your kind makes me sick, I do admire your political savvy. There was a time when being a Republican meant you were probably the main-street banker type of person. A practical, thrifty, plain kinda folk who looked over the ledger at the end of the day through his little round steel rimmed spectacles and knew that spending way more than you took in was a sure fire recipe for disaster.

That pillar of main street is gone now. His party is now run by frothing at the mouth lunatics who run up and down that same street shouting insults at 18 year olds trying to get to the Planned Parenthood clinic. You kill doctors. Because you're pro life. You bomb the Olympics. Because you're pro life. You bomb the clinics. Because you're pro life. Then you take over one of our political parties and claim it's the only one that can fight terrorism.

Maybe you just really like vultures.

To the rest of you: Send a message on Tuesday. Vote. Help stop this country's bleeding.

Grassroots Tales Of Life In Bushland. Or, Two Little Reasons I Hate Republicans.

So the little shit didn't seem as bad as most of the feral child-beasts that run around the store. At one point he was sitting in front of the reading glasses trying them on and checking himself out in the mirror. A 4 year old kid with a mullet trying on some spectacles can be kinda funny to watch actually, but man, it seemed like this little dude had been hanging around the store a long time, and, now that I thought about it, I'm pretty sure I saw him yesterday too.

Then V comes down the aisle. I'm not sure what V's job is, she changes the prices for the things that go on sale or something, not really my concern. When the little boy saw her, and yelled out "mommy!" I had my explanation. V either couldn't find or afford day care for little mullet-head, so she brought him in the store to keep an eye on him while she did her price thing. For eight hours. Putting aside the incredible boredom mullet-head must have felt having to kill all day in a drugstore, obviously giant corpo-pharmacy can't have it's employees bringing their kids to work every day to be turned loose amongst the merchandise. If whatever day-care problem V had wasn't worked out by the time the manager got back from vacation, she would probably have to start staying home. Corpo-pharmacy misses her work and she misses a day's pay. So not having a sane daycare system in place that working-class people can access makes sense how exactly?

Then there's J. She's a pharmacy tech that started a few months ago. J and I worked together a few years back at another corpo-pharmacy chain. She was an OK tech, a little annoying, but adequate enough to get the job done. When she applied to work at our store she said that she had to take some time off to take care of her dying father. Federal law requires a company to offer at least an equivalent position to an employee who takes a leave under these kind of circumstances, and they did, 20 miles away. J doesn't have a car. She does have an autistic child, and now that she had a new job, she had a 6 month waiting period to be covered under our health plan.

J had issues. Those issues, however, were being taken care of with a dose of Effexor, a little lithium, topped off with some Depakote and an occasional sprinkle or two of clonazepam. You never would have known about the issues if she had been able to afford to keep buying her meds. She thought she could make it 6 months without the medicines she couldn't buy. She was wrong. I watched her slowly deteriorate until one night she became so unhinged I sent her to the back to pretend to work on some computer training crap. Couldn't send her home, no car. I kept going back to check on her and begged her to just let me lend her the money to buy her damn medicine for the month, but by this point she was so out of it she couldn't see anything was wrong. They let her go the next day, turned loose on society with all the demons in her head now out of the bottle and raging in full force. The good news is that now that she is unemployed and unemployable, she'll be able to qualify for public assistance, which means that surely she'll soon get that car she needs. Probably a Lexus. Just ask any white-boy pharmacist son of privilege and he'll never hesitate to tell you all about the welfare people he's seen driving to his store in a Lexus. Then ask him to name one of the people. He'll probably get quiet at that point. Anyway, now that J will be on welfare, feel free to hate her. I know how you upper middle class people love to feel better about yourself by hating the people on welfare.

So because of this dog-eat-dog, kick down/kiss up society that Reagan and his spawn have built for us corpo-pharmacy can't find people to do needed work and people who want to work have to stay home to take care of their children and fight the battles raging in their skulls. Thing is, these are just two little reflections of what we've become. There are other, bigger ones. You probably don't need me to tell you about a place called Iraq.

The election is Tuesday. Do something to help stop this country's bleeding.

Saturday, November 04, 2006

Tonight's Immaturity Moment.......

Headline from space.com:


Uranus Has a Dark Spot


Huh huh..huh huh....huh huh.....your anus....huh huh.....dark spot.

Doctor's Mistakes Can Kill You, Except When They're Trying To Kill You.

Loyal readers of my little blog garden already know why lethal injection, as currently practiced, is an incredibly fucked up way to kill someone. The state of Missouri evidently thought that it wasn't quite fucked up enough. From News of the Weird:

In June, federal judge Fernando Gaitan Jr. ordered Missouri to suspend executions until substantial changes are made in its procedures, including specifying exactly which lethal drugs are to be used and in what quantity. Gaitan also pointed out that the doctor overseeing the state's executions is dyslexic and may inadvertently be transposing the dosage numbers.

Nothing to add here. This one stands on it's own.

Real Words Spoken By A Real Customer.

UMMM......YEAH.......I TAKE ADDERALL........AND.......UH.......KLONOPIN.......AND......VICODIN..... TAKE THE VICODIN BECAUSE IT HELPS ME CONCENTRATE.......AND THIS HERE'S A PRESCRIPTION FOR PROZAC. MY DOCTOR SAID IT WOULD HELP GROW BRAIN CELLS. IS THAT RIGHT?????

Oh severely misguided customer, you have no idea how sincerely... how deeply....how with every last bit of a bit of my very soul I wish that Prozac grew brain cells. I would give it away for free. I would put it in the water. I would bake it in bread. I would saturate the atmosphere with nebulized Prozac if only it were so. My dear sir, you and I, we're not so different, we both long for something........anything, that will allow your brain grow out of it's current sorry state. What a wonderful dream to have.....

Until that day comes my good man, might I suggest you at least stop killing the brain cells you do have. I swear I could pick out the particular brand of gin that was lending it's aroma to your breath. I'm not sure if that says more about your love of alcohol or mine.

Thursday, November 02, 2006

Quick Hit Of Customer Wisdom To End The Day

Me: Do you have any allergies to medicines you know of?

Moron: Oh, pretty much all of them. I don't really like drugs.

Pretty much all of them. I'll make a note of that in your chart.

Sweet sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet scotch.............

CVS Is Buying Caremark. Which Is Important For Some Reason.

Big news in the high finance/big business drug world these last few days, and I know you're all excited about it. I'm talking, of course, about the upcoming merger of CVS, the nation's second largest drug chain by sales, and Caremark, one of the "Big 3" in the prescription claim denial business. Knowing that this is a story that you, my loyal readers, simply cannot get enough of, I managed to score an exclusive interview with Edwin M. Crawford, current chairman, chief and president of Caremark, who is set to become chairman of the new company, to be known as CVS/Caremark Corporation. How did I manage to land an interview with a titan of American business you may ask? Because I'm the Drugnazi, and people fear me, that's how.

Crawford started the interview by droning on and on about "synergies" and "redundant operations" of the two companies that could be combined or something to save money. I think he said something like $400 million, but to be honest, he was being kinda boring, and the pen I brought with me to the interview wasn't working, so I couldn't really take any notes. Finally I asked Crawford if he had a pen I could borrow, and I asked him about what we at the store level, both pharmacists and customers, could expect from the new company. Crawford seemed pretty excited about some of the initiatives he had in mind for the new CVS/Caremark:

"Our new company will be lean and efficient" Crawford said. "and we would like our partners, particularly independent pharmacies, to join us in this era where every dollar counts, where every penny must be maximized." Crawford then went on to explain the details of the new "dollar wise, penny smart" program to be unveiled next month. "for every prescription our independent pharmacy partners fill for our cardholders, we will reimburse them the cost of the med plus one shiny new penny, these pennies will be straight from the mint, to show the pharmacies in our network how much we care"

Crawford added that prescriptions that require prior authorization would be reimbursed with a crisp new dollar bill. "The crispest fucking dollar bill you will ever see" he emphasized.

"There will also be some changes in the cards our members will present to you." said Crawford. "Why waste time and money on a card that has such useless information that it is of little if any use to you when you're attempting to file a claim? That's not how the new CVS/Caremark is gonna operate. Our new, improved card will be totally blank, which our market studies have shown actually leads to a higher percentage of paid claims than the current ID cards carried by our members. Plus, since there is no need for ink, they are cheaper to produce"

Another change we're sure to notice is when those cards don't work. "We're gonna quit bullshitting you" said Crawford. "Starting tomorrow, the 'help desk' is the 'hold desk.' Write that down" he said with an increasing air of giddiness. "We also plan on using some of the money we save in streamlining our two companies to hire people whose exclusive job it is to change the voice mail options every five minutes, with bonuses paid every time they can do it in the middle of your call"

"Yeah, this is gonna be a lot of fun" Crawford said at the conclusion of our talk. He then lit a cigar with a hundred dollar bill and made a call to the local Walgreens to ask if they had Sir Walter Raleigh in a can.

Read a real news story about the CVS/Caremark merger here

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

I'm Tired Of Getting Outsmarted By Republicans.

I can't fucking believe this.

After almost 6 years of the dangerous incompetence of president monkey-boy and his party of little bitch-men, it was looking like the American people were about to get their head out of their collective rectum. The polls were giving every indication that there was going to be a can of whoop-ass opened next Tuesday on those blue suit wearing Republican cavemen. Just when it looked like our side might finally win one, they reach into their bag of dirty tricks and pull this out.

I don't care if there are enough voting machines or not, a split election day is bullshit.

Of course the bastards fixed it so Republicans get to vote on Wednesday. That way they'll know the exact turnout figures for all the Democrats that voted on Tuesday, giving them the advantage of being able to work all day long when it's their turn, on Wednesday, to get out their people until they know they have those numbers beat. Maybe they really are smarter. The only good part is that at least I won't have to look at any Republicans when I'm in line to vote, unless they're being told to come back the next day. Maybe I'll hang outside the polling station for awhile on Tuesday and make fun of Republicans who never got the memo that their day to vote is Wednesday.

We've only got one shot. We have to make sure that when it's the Democrats day to vote, on Tuesday, that so goddamn many of us show up that even if every last one of them shows up on the Republican day to vote, Wednesday, it won't be enough. They think they've outsmarted us. Let's not prove them right.

The Neck Stretching Mystery Solved.

You know, I've only seen one sex bondage video in my life, so I remember it pretty well, and I'm just a whisker short of positive that this picture is from a scene in that film. Who knew that the um...actress...was really just suffering from back pain?

Thanks to the reader who sent it in, & to the others who wrote in to teach the drugnazi something new.