I Knew The Day To Re-Run This Post Would Come. Sigh.

Original Blogpost Airdate, January 20th, 2010

If your musical taste has never gone beyond the modern music machine that gives us American Idol and Lady Gaga, you're probably not a fan of folk music, and you may never have heard of Pete Seeger, which would be a shame for you. Pete is  was simultaneously the greatest  voice and last echo of the working man's folk music of the Great Depression, a last reminder of the time when This Land Is Your Land had all its verses.

"What are you talking about Drugmonkey? This Land Is Your Land? I've heard that song a million times"

But you probably haven't heard all of it. You've heard the sanitized version. The homogenized remnant that has been processed into mindless rah rah pap to be played on Disneyland's Main Street USA as Mickey Mouse™ walks by. The original was in your face political. A song of the working man who wasn't going to take being exploited by this country's self appointed economic elete much longer:

As I went walking I saw a sign there
And on the sign it said "No Trespassing."
But on the other side it didn't say nothing,
That side was made for you and me.


Nobody living can ever stop me,
As I go walking that freedom highway;
Nobody living can ever make me turn back
This land was made for you and me.


In the squares of the city, In the shadow of a steeple;
By the relief office, I'd seen my people.
As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking,
Is this land made for you and me?



That's how Woody Guthrie wrote it, and that's how Pete Seeger sings it to this day. sang it. An unapologetic leftist, he was blacklisted at the height of his group's popularity and dragged in front of Congress to testify before the House Un-American Activities committee, where he was asked about his past ties to Communists and pressured to name names of fellow travelers. Here's what Pete said:

"I am not going to answer any questions as to my association, my philosophical or religious beliefs or my political beliefs, or how I voted in any election, or any of these private affairs. I think these are very improper questions for any American to be asked, especially under such compulsion as this."

With those words Pete Seeger's music career had the knees knocked out from under it, and he was indicted for contempt of Congress. I'll leave it to you to decide which side was Un-American that day.

Pete spent the better part of the next decade in the wilderness, his ability to earn a living crippled while fighting a legal battle that at one point resulted in a sentence, later overturned, of 10 years in a federal prison.

It took The Smothers Brothers to reintroduce Pete to a mass audience.

Yes. Those Smothers Brothers. They had a variety show during the 60's and fought a tooth and nail battle with CBS to have Pete on. While the existence of testicles on The Smothers Brothers may come as a surprise to those who see them today, there is no doubt Pete has an iron pair. At a time when it had not yet become fashionable to protest the Vietnam War, Pete got on national television after an exile imposed by the United States Congress and sang this to Mr. and Mrs. America.



"We were lucky to escape from the Big Muddy/When the big fool said to push on..." Kick-ass. Not to mention depressingly familiar.

Oh, and along the way, Pete Seeger formed Hudson River Sloop Clearwater, an organization that convinced people the Hudson River was crazy polluted and should be cleaned up.

I saw Pete Seeger not long ago. When I heard he was coming close I knew I would have crawled through mud and ice and snow and rain on my knees for miles for the chance to see him. Fortunately all I had to do was buy a ticket. He's 90 years old now, and he held that arena in the absolute palm of his hand. I wanted to wrap myself around him and make him stay forever, as I fear they just don't make his kind anymore. The fact I couldn't made me want to cry a little, along with the continued power of the songs I heard that day.

Pete won't be with us much longer. is no longer with us. If he comes  came to your town I recommend crawling on your hands and knees to see him if you have to. and you were lucky enough to see him, I know you won't forget it.

And don't ever forget the lost verses. We won't see his kind again.

Pharmacy Jesus Smites An Enemy.

Couple of interesting things showed up in the mailbag this week my friends. Proof positive they were of my cunning investigative skills (not to be confused with my cunning lingus)  and of the raw power of my sexuality (wait, maybe those two things do go together)

We'll get into the power of the passions I release next time. Today we'll be concentrating on my smiting.

Those of you who are fans already know the story of Rite Aid and their multi-year, knockdown, dragout legal fight to have the people who have prescriptions filled at their stores defined as "customers," and NOT as "patients."  I am not kidding you. The number three drug chain in this country is paying an arm and a leg to maintain a court battle so it can claim the people it serves are NOT the term pretty much everyone else in the profession has been using for a generation.

At one point a judge agreed with them, saying the contribution we make to a person's health care is roughly the equivalent to that of a yoga instructor.

I am not making this up. The name of the case is David Landay v. Rite Aid. You can look it up for yourself.

By the way, at this point I'd like to give a shout out to the person at Rite Aid corporate headquarters whose job it is to monitor all things online for anything said about the company. How you doing today? Are you proud of your work? Would you want what you do carved on your tombstone? Ponder that over for a little bit after you file your report on this post.

Where was I? Oh....the thing is, Rite Aid had a habit, while claiming in a court of law that the people who get their pills there are in no way to be considered "patients," of using that exact same word to describe them in things like press releases. I pointed this out almost two years ago when I wrote about how an appeals court judge bitchslapped the company and reversed the lower court's ruling. I got a good laugh out of what I thought was the end of this sorry tale.

I was wrong. The sorry tale has not ended. Which brings me to what showed up in my mailbox the other day:

I enjoyed your blog post on April 24, 2012 regarding the class action lawsuit I filed against Rite Aid for charging $50 a page for one page of a patients pharmacy records. However Rite Aid appealed the decision of the Superior Court and the Pennsylvania Supreme Court took the appeal. Today I filed my brief asking the Supreme Court to uphold the decision of the Superior Court finding the people who use a pharmacist are “patients” and the pharmacists are health care providers. Attached is a copy of the brief. As you will see I included a reference to the Rite Aid press release you alerted me to in your blog. Thank you. If you have any questions please feel free to contact me.

Paul Lagnese
Berger & Lagnese
310 Grant Street, Suite 720
Pittsburgh PA 15219

In case you missed it, I'll repeat the most important part of that letter:


"As you will see I included a reference to the Rite Aid press release you alerted me to in your blog."




(insert a few seconds of silence here........)




BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!



BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!


HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!! hahahahaha......oh god....can't breathe.....must stop laughing to inhale....

ha ha......ha......ok.....whew.

So....for you business majors and other slow types who haven't quite caught on to what's going on here. Rite Aid's rank hypocrisy will now be laid out in black and white in front of the next judge to hear this case.

BBBBBBBWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAA.....no no no....can't keep this up.....my diaphragm is getting sore.

So there's a lesson to be learned here for the corporate hack in a cubicle scanning the Internets for word of what's being said about the corporation. This whole digging up things you put online and using it against you? It works both ways. For Pharmacy Jesus, he ends up with his own store happy in a town he loves, while it's looking like your masters... are gonna pay out a few million dollars after losing a class action suit.

Beautiful. Just Beautiful. And you can put that on my tombstone.

Read it and weep assholes. Copy and pasted straight from the press release section of your website:

_______________________________________________________________________



Rite Aid Asks Patients To Help Honor Rite Aid Pharmacists By Voting For Their Favorite During American Pharmacists Month in October

All Voting Customers and Nominated Pharmacists Entered For a Chance to Win $2,500 in Rite Aid Gift Cards

CAMP HILL, PA (September 28, 2010) – To celebrate American Pharmacists Month, this October Rite Aid is asking patients to vote for their Favorite Pharmacist by sharing stories of extraordinary service and telling what makes their pharmacist special. The program, now in its seventh year, was designed to honor Rite Aid pharmacists for their commitment to patient care and service.

Now through October 31, patients can cast a vote for their favorite pharmacist online at www.riteaid.com or at any Rite Aid store. Patients who vote will be entered into a random drawing where one lucky patient will win $2,500 in Rite Aid gift cards. One lucky pharmacist also will win $2,500 in Rite Aid gift cards through a random drawing. For complete details and official rules, go to any Rite Aid store or visit www.riteaid.com.

“American Pharmacists Month is the perfect time to honor Rite Aid pharmacists for all they do to keep their patients and communities healthy,” said Robert Thompson, Rite Aid Executive Vice President of Pharmacy. “Our pharmacists provide outstanding patient care every day, whether they’re counseling patients on medications, administering immunizations or helping them manage a new or difficult disease. Our Favorite Pharmacist program is a great way for our company and patients to thank them for their hard work and dedication throughout the year.”

All “favorite” Rite Aid pharmacists will be notified by Rite Aid and receive a Favorite Pharmacist pin and a letter of commendation from Rite Aid’s President and CEO John Standley in honor of their superior customer service.

“Earlier this year in Lowell, MI, Pharmacy Manager Kara Mull heard a crash inside her Rite Aid store. She immediately rushed to the noise and found an elderly gentleman collapsed on the floor. Kara acted fast and immediately began performing CPR,” said Thompson. “Kara and another customer continued caring for the man until more help arrived. Kara’s training and quick-thinking helped save this man’s life. This is just one example of how our pharmacists make a difference in the lives of their patients.”

Rite Aid Corporation (NYSE: RAD) is one of the nation’s leading drugstore chains with more than 4,700 stores in 31 states and the District of Columbia and fiscal 2010 annual revenues of $25.7 billion. Information about Rite Aid, including corporate background and press releases, is available through the company’s website at http://www.riteaid.com.

###

Contact:

Media: Ashley Flower 717-975-5718

I Strike Potential Business Gold With A Paradigm Shifting Plan

Ok, maybe it won't really shift any paradigms, but I needed a bit of business jargon, and it's the best i could come up with in my current drunken state.

That's right, drunk for the first time in a long while I am, but not for all the bad old reasons. This is a happy, "I  work in a job where I never have to use the word paradigm ever again" kinda drunk. A "I need to get rid of the last of the old disgusting gin I bought when I was unemployed and upgrade my liquor cabinet now that I have disposable income and health insurance again" kinda drink.

I'm in a good mood, that's what I'm trying to say, and I think this idea of mine just might add to the festivities.

It came to me the other day when I thought about how good it felt, on my last day with the pharmacy chain that keeps it personal, to finally tell my District Manager what an incredible buffoon I thought she was. How the fact she came in the store reeking of tobacco smoke said about all that needed to be said about my now ex-employer's commitment to health care. I gotta tell ya, telling off a District Manager does wonders for your mental health.

But, for those of you interested in remaining employed, it's not really an option. Until now. That's where Pharmacy Jesus comes in.

Here's how it works. I, who has nothing left to lose after being crucified and reborn, will offer to act as a conduit between you and your corporate superiors. Through me, you will finally have the ability to speak truth to power. Simply leave me the name of the corporate wanker, the message you would like them to have, (example: "Dear fuckwad, the flu shot quota you just set in your last memo is mathematically impossible to meet. Anyone with a rudimentary knowledge of arithmetic knows this. Therefore I am ignoring said memo and you can go to hell") and an email address. Your communication will be sent directly to them compliments of the Drugmonkey. Imagine how good it will feel to finally tell the people cutting your technician hours that this in fact makes it harder...not easier....to meet your metrics. And that they are not fooling anyone with their rah rah bullshit memos or with their pathetic comb overs.

You will never tell me your name, so your communication will remain totally untraceable.

Simply drop me a line, and their name. And I'll make sure they get the message. Guaranteed.

Tomorrow, the story of how Pharmacy Jesus smited a corporate enemy. But for now, it's back to the last of the unemployment gin.

Life is good.......:)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.