Thursday, December 19, 2013

Down Christmas Memory Lane, Part 2

A Tribute To Frosty, The Most Selfless Of Water-Based Life Forms.

Original blogpost airdate December 16, 2008

He kept up appearances for the children. That is the epitaph to remember Frosty The Snowman by always. Frosty loved the children.

Frosty knew the sun was hot that day. He knew his fate. But Frosty chose to spend what remained of his time living, not dying. He took his broomstick and he ran here and there, around the square, leading the nation's children into a rebellion not of street gangs, violent crime, teenage pregnancy or any of the other social ills that plague our youth, but a rebellion of joy.

He even paused for a moment when the town square's traffic cop called for him to stop, for Frosty was at his core a good and decent soul.

Frosty is gone now, a victim of seasonal change and global warming. Most of his corpse is scattered in the vast nothingness of this planet's oceans, some of it refroze and may be trapped glacially for millennia, some is locked underground, and some may be carrying away the sewage of the fetid masses of humanity, but the magical moment he gave our children will never die. Which is why I hope.... no, which is why I know, that someday Frosty will know the magic that is a trip over Yosemite falls.

I think I may have just peed out a piece of Frosty.

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Down Christmas Memory Lane, Part One

Original blogpost airdate, December 17, 2007

If I Were Rudolph The Reindeer, I Would Have Told Santa To Go Fuck Himself.

I would have been like. "You bastards have given me shit my whole life and NOW you want me to bail you out?? You can kiss my reindeer ass"

Then I would have been like "You know, while I was excluded and ostracized all those years, I worked on a few reindeer games of my own, since you would never let me play any of yours" There would be a crazy look in my eye.

Then I would take off and fly around in circles while Dancer and Prancer and the rest of those asswipes sat grounded with all the undeliverable toys on the shipping dock. Every once in awhile I would swoop down and kick them in the head or maybe bite them in the back while yelling "WHAT CHA THINK OF MY NOSE NOW MUTHA FUCKER?? TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK OF MY NOSE!!!!!"

I guess that wouldn't be a good way to mark Jesus' birthday though. I mean, hell, Jesus would never punish you years after the fact for being a bad person.

I don't think I can take listening to those songs at work for another week.

Monday, December 16, 2013

My Non Freudian Dream.

I wasn't an athlete in high school. Not even close. It wasn't like I was undersized, uncoordinated, a lame polio survivor or anything like that. As a matter of fact, I held my own pretty well on the playground in elementary school, but by the time we were old enough for the sports to be organized, the practice fields were 12 miles from my little rural house of isolation and a Dad who put in long hours in the plastic factory meant they might as well of been on the other side of the world. Gradually I became one of the last kids to be picked for gym class teams and I realized if I were ever to blast away from Appalachia my best hope would be to fire up my nuclear powered brain.

I'm not bitter about it, but I always thought if I would have had a chance, I could have developed some moves on the field, or court or course or whatever.

Last night in my dream I was on my high school basketball team. There was the actual basketball coach from my old high school telling me he'd put me in for a few minutes, but when I was on the bench, I was to sit in an old, beat up, ready to fall down folding chair, unlike the rest of the kids who got to sit in real chairs.

During warm ups, all my practice shots bounced right off the basket because there was a plastic cover over the hoop. I pointed out to coach that if it weren't for the plastic cover all my shots would be hitting nothing but net. He didn't seem impressed.

Sure enough, at an unimportant part of the game, coach told me to get my ass in there. A couple minutes later I unexpectedly found a ball whizzing towards my head. I caught it and whipped it towards the hoop. Nothing but net baby. I had scored. A meager two points, yes, but the most incredible feeling in the world.

Maybe I really could compete here.

That basket got me another chance and I hit the hoops again. My teammates kept testing me and I kept up the scoring. Gradually it became apparent that this wasn't a fluke. Not only could I hang for a bit, I could make it. I could own this world.

In my dream though, I kept sitting in that piece of crap chair, no matter how big I got. Because I always wanted to be reminded of what it felt like to have no one believe in you. I wanted to remember always what it was like to be motivated by a world of haters and use that to spur myself forward.

It took me a couple hours at the store today to figure out that dream. You see, according to the Quickbooks, two of my first three months have been profitable. I've found a ball whizzing towards my head and managed to take a shot at the hoop. Finally, I've found my chance and that first shot has sunk into the net. A mere two points, yes, but maybe... I really can compete here.

I just hope I have the equivalent of that crappy chair somewhere. Something that will keep my head from getting too big:

I believe you voted for Obama Bin Laden TWICE! You get what you pay for. Pelosi must be your rep because "we have to pass it to find out what's in it." Fortunately, you are an independent, so that means you can't bite the hand that feeds you, like you did at Rite-Aid. You are now having to realize what business is all about, and that ObamaCommiecare will threaten ALL small businesses. Sevres you Rite. You'll be asking for Aid when selling your files to Walgreens (oh the irony). (Actual piece of hate mail from a fan in Florida who writes in regularly) 

I'm thinking that won't be a problem. I wish my chair wasn't quite so insane though.


My Annual Heartfelt Tribute To The Christmas Spirit.

Original blogpost airdate, December 28, 2009. Also can be found in my awesome book, perfect as a Christmas gift to appease that son of god prick. Still time to order now for X-mas delivery. 


You know, for someone who professes to love us all, you'd think that maybe the thought our time could be worth a little something might enter Jesus' skull once or twice. That maybe Jesus could tell us, "You know, there's no need to go all out for my birthday. Really. Me and my Dad, the all knowing, omnipotent creator of universes known and unknown, the Deity that can part seas with his breath, move mountains with his pinky and knows the exact number of hairs on your head, I'm sure we'll come up with something. Don't put yourself out just on my account."

"And there is really no need to invent The Clapper to sell in the season of my special day. You work too hard for your money."

That's what my Uncle Harold would say. Uncle Harold always insisted we never make a big deal about his birthday, because that was just the kind of guy Harold was. Unlike this prick Jesus who pretty much ruined my whole week with this Christmas shit.

And by whole week I mean entire month of December. And part of November as well. Traffic gets backed up because of a goddamn parade. People everywhere I want to shop. A big pile of pine trees right where I normally park my car at work. All because this savior of mankind lets it go straight to his head.

I got news for you Jesus. I once saved the life of a mouse we found in the backroom of the store. That's right. Instead of killing it, I captured the little guy and let him loose in the woods in back of the mall. And I don't expect the mouse to buy shit every year for my birthday either. I think maybe I could teach you a thing or two about humility Mr. Son of God.

The sad thing is it's not just me that gets screwed. The entire goddamn planet has to put their lives on hold just for Jesus every year. Fuck it makes me so mad. I got over birthdays when I was like 9, and Jesus still gets all giddy like a girl after 2000 of them? Give me a break.

Buddhism looks better every day. No wonder there are so many Buddhists.

Sunday, December 15, 2013

A Random Tribute To The Era Of Flower Power

Peace, love, happiness, and standing up to the man. The 60's had it all my friends. Free love, acid, Woodstock, and political conventions that were far more than week long informercials.

It wasn't all groovy vibes, art, and music though. It seems like every major band of the era had a member that didn't make it. Keith Moon of The Who, Brian Jones of The Stones......

Actually, maybe only two major bands of the era had a member that didn't make it. And Keith Moon lasted until 1978.

Never mind.

Another Video Warning To Each And Every Pharmacy Student Across This Land. This Is What You Are Lining Up For.


1) My question is, why didn't they just transfer her prescriptions? Cause I gotta tell you, when I was in retail hell, that was something a lady like this never would have had to say twice.

2) The bland, soothing music in the background is a nice touch. "Heartbreak Hotel" isn't a bad choice for the soundtrack either.

3) Pharmacy students of the world, you will deal with this at least once a year over the course of your career. Probably more often. Merry Christmas.



Sunday, December 08, 2013

From The Mailbag, Five Years Later, A Guess As Good As Any

Hardcore fans of the Drugmonkey will remember the Christmas present that baffled me. I wrote about it in the blog a few years back and included a chapter on it in my awesome book. In short, a customer who used to drop off little Christmas presents every year once gave me a manicure set. A mystery manicure set. It didn't come with instructions you see, and while some parts of it were self explanatory enough, there were some utensils that completely stumped this college graduate and Mensa member. Here's a picture of the mystery implements:




Many things have changed since I wrote that original post. I escaped chain "pharmacy" hell and became a responsible business owner. I moved from the liberal bastion of Coastal California into the embrace of the Sierras, I met and will soon marry the most awesomest woman on the planet.

But I still have no idea what these things are. Not a clue. And I'm still worried that customer gave them to me to correct some hygiene or grooming problem that makes me less than smokin' hot.

The other day though, I got this in my mailbox:

Hello, 
My name is Xxxxxx. I’ve been in the Navy for about 3 and a half years, and close to the time of me getting out, I have taken an interest in pharmacy. Looking up various books about the field, I found your book entitled “Why Your Prescription Takes So Damn Long to Fill.” I’m still reading it, although so far I’ve enjoyed it. Although I am no doctor, I can relate to dealing with the stupidity of the general public in retail. In regards to the mysterious tools in the manicure set, the one to the far right with the split pieces of metal, I’d say it was something used to stick inside a dick hole, and the pieces of metal keep the hole in the meat helmet spread open and stay open, maybe allowing an easier going STD test. That’s my best guess. Hopefully I could help.


Yes Mr. X.,  help you did indeed. Because that's the most plausible suggestion I've had to date. Which means now I can worry that I give off the appearance of a syphilis-wrecked shell of a man in desperate need of help. That's way better than just thinking I might be less than the ultimate piece of man meat.

I hope my fiancee' doesn't see this.