Our First President Could Not Tell A Lie. Our Current President Probably Could.

Been awhile since I've done one of my undeniably partisan but irrefutably true political posts. Let's take a look at what Bush the Death Merchant had to say about his Iraq adventure a mere 18 months ago:

"Sending more Americans would undermine our strategy of encouraging Iraqis to take the lead in this fight. And sending more Americans would suggest that we intend to stay forever, when we are, in fact, working for the day when Iraq can defend itself and we can leave."
- George Bush, 6/28/05

That's a word per word quote my friends. I want you to remember that when you hear what the Death Merchant says in his nationwide address later on tonight. Also remember that John Kerry was supposed to be the flip flopper.

All right, maybe that wasn't fair. It's possible Bush isn't flip-flopping at all. Maybe what he really wants to do is undermine our strategy of encouraging Iraqis to take the lead. Maybe he also wants to suggest that we intend to stay forever, and what he said earlier about working for the day when we can leave was an outright lie. Flip flopper or liar, I suppose it could be either one. Whichever it is though, I'm not so sure you made the wisest choice in putting this guy in office America.

Of course if you remember, I tried to tell you that at the time.

I'm Thinking About Trying To Convince The ONU Alumni Association That I'm Dead

I've written earlier about the people-tracking prowess of Ohio Northern University and how they use this awesome power to become a constantly annoying buzzing little gnat in the ear of their graduates. True story, they once called while I was being.....um....intimate with one of my old girlfriends. I could hear some poor work study drone reciting their fundraising script into my answering machine while I was gettin' my groove on. I find it quite the testament to my manhood I was able to maintain a boner throughout the whole pitch.

Fast forward to today. My relationship with the alumni association has proven to be far more durable than any I've had with girlfriends or wives. Hate always trumps love, and annoyance always comes out on top of pleasure. Welcome to my life. Today the mail brought the latest copy of the ONU alumni magazine, which I couldn't help but notice contained a large obituary section. I bet the dead alumni don't get junk mail or phone spam. I see an opportunity here. Thing is, how does one get word to a small town college alumni office that my whole body, and not just my wiener, is now stiff as a board? I mean, it's not like I could fill out the "what's new with you" section of the alumni website to let them know I've been hit by a truck. The only thing I can think of would be to include them in a suicide note. Of course to be effective, I would then have to commit suicide.

It might be a plan.

Once Again, The Very Blog Your Eyes Behold At This Moment Has Changed The Course Of History

First, it was tricking millions of Republicans into staying home on election day. Now, thanks to the Drugmonkey, many thousands of overweight, diabetic psychotics may get some measure of justice from Eli Lilly, the company that knew it was making people fat and insulin resistant, but chose to try and hide the lard it was creating from your doctor. Less than a month after I told you about Eli Lilly's skulduggery, I am happy to share with you this bit of news, as reported by The New York Times:

Eli Lilly agreed yesterday to pay up to $500 million to settle 18,000 lawsuits from people who claimed they had developed diabetes or other diseases after taking Zyprexa, Lilly’s drug for schizophrenia and bipolar disorder.

Including earlier settlements over Zyprexa, Lilly has now agreed to pay at least $1.2 billion to 28,500 people who said they were injured by the drug.

In a press release announcing the settlement, Sidney Taurel, Chairman of The Board and CEO of Lilly said:

"The payment by Eli Lilly and Company of a cumulative amount equal to 63% of our profit in fiscal year 2005 is in no way to be perceived as an admission of wrongdoing. We just had some extra cash laying around and figured, what the hell, why not start writing checks to people whom we have not harmed in any way? It's kind of a good feeling really, kind of like that old TV show, Lottery! We like it so much that at the next board meeting, we're going to take up the topic of becoming a non-profit corporation"*

As for me, I am still sorting through my thoughts at having successfully taken on a muti-billion dollar corporation and emerging with such a complete and stunning victory. While I am pleased at this turn of events, and surprised at how quickly I was able to bring a measure of fairness to those who were wronged, I must say that I have learned a valuable lesson about the power I wield behind this keyboard. While I have used this power only for good to this point, I realize tonight I must be ever vigilant never to do something irresponsible, like mentioning how much I hate Lloyd Duplantis, and telling the world he lives in Gray, Louisiana.

You have my solemn pledge dear readers. The Drugmonkey will do no evil.

(*These words were actually said in my imagination, but the profit percentage is from the reality based world)

Best Comment Ever.

"-- you're retarded. and i'm gay. let's get married."

It actually would be a sounder basis for a relationship than me and the ex-wife had.....

Coincidentally, that came in the same batch as the worst comment ever:

"Do drugstore pharmacist have to go to school to get their job?"

Jesus H. I don't even know where to start with that one. Some nights the scotch just isn't enough.

A Late Night Scotch-Fueled Disney Mystery

Were Pluto and Goofy both dogs? I could see Goofy being a horse, and it would really make more sense if he were, because if he were a dog, that's not a healthy relationship he's got there with Pluto. It would be like he found some retard dog and made him his slave. That's not cool.

This is really bugging me, but I am way too drunk to look anything up right now.

Why doesn't Donald Duck wear pants? Should he really be allowed near children?

Daisy Duck doesn't wear pants either, but she does wear heels. This is getting too weird.

More scotch.......

Congratulations Ma'am, You Are Now The Biggest Idiot Of The New Year. Would You Like A Barf Bag?

An actual conversation with an actual customer on the first business day after New Year's, traditionally the busiest day of the year in the pharmacy business. A day when many people switch insurance coverage, resulting in up to hour long waits to get through to insurance plan help desks. The gravy on the mashed potatoes this day being that the computers at the store crashed as well:


Me: Ma'am. we went to bill your insurance and they rejected the claim saying your coverage was terminated. Did they send you a new card by chance?

Customer: Well, yes they did, but I know it's the same insurance so I threw the card away.

At that moment I could not even begin to tell this woman how screwed she was. The prescription was for Zofran, an anti-nausea med. Retail price, $460. Someone was totally gonna be doing some pukin'.........

Hate Mail Done Right

From the blog of my favorite radio show ever, The Al Franken Show on Air America. This on a day when Al was away and Billy the sidekick was filling in:

From: Ur a dick [mailto:yousuck@theallnitegaybar.suckit]
Sent: Tue 12/12/2006 12:17 PM
To: The Al Franken Show
Subject: Website Feedback: You are awful

Though I can take Franken's drunken rambling nonsense when I get high enough, no matter how much marijuana I smoke, no matter how many beers I drink, no matter how much masturbating I do, I can't bring myself to enjoy anything when you're on the air. Put something better on, like have Melanie Sloan fart on the mic to the national anthem

Drugmonkey haters, I post this as a direct challenge to you. I've been at this almost two years now, and not one of you has ever written a piece of hate mail that can hold the jock strap of these words. I realize every time I open my e-mail box it's not because you're not trying, but you can't seem to get past "why don't you just do your job and shut the fuck up?" or a comment along the lines that you would gladly put up with my workday in exchange for my paycheck. BOR-ING. Some of you who take issue with my politics will occasionally repeat things you've heard on the Rush Limbaugh or Bill O'Reilly show, evidently thinking that Rush and Bill talk only to you and don't broadcast over the public airwaves where millions of people, including me, can hear what they have said. A quality hate mail of the type Al Franken gets seems to be utterly beyond your capability.

Perhaps I am to blame. Maybe I have not been quite opinionated enough. Maybe those I hate (I'm looking at you Lloyd Duplantis of Gray, Louisiana) don't know how I really feel about them. On the other hand, perhaps I have done my job too well. Maybe when those who don't agree with me see my words of wisdom, my well documented chronicle of the error of their ways, they understand just how wrong they are and have no choice but to begin agreeing with me, leaving only the mentally retarded to oppose my view. Maybe. I am more inclined to think though, that people who hate Al Franken are just smarter than people who hate me.

Prove me wrong bitches. My birthday is coming up soon. Send me a hate mail done right to celebrate.

My Life Is Taking On The Feel Of Gilligan's Island

I don't have to remind you I'm sure, how in the classic TV series week after week Gilligan and his fellow castaways allowed themselves to get their hopes up about an apparent opportunity to finally escape the desert island that imprisoned them, perhaps with a scheme involving a ham radio constructed out of a coconut, processed sand, and a rare jewel owned by the millionaire's wife, only to have their dreams dashed by the end of the half-hour again and again. Through it all though, Ginger always managed to look fabulous. I think I may have popped my first little boy boner watching Ginger after school one afternoon.

I wrote recently how I had hopes that the gates of hell would deliver me from my own retail pharmacy desert island, but just like when Gilligan would do something like drop the coconut radio into the ocean, it wasn't meant to be. The other day though, I had this left as a comment to my recent post about the ONU alumni office and their less than impressive free luggage tag offer:

In A#$%&*stan, we gave out business cards to tribal chiefs with their name on it...they thought they were cool.

They would give out their cards to other chiefs...by examining the network of card exchanges, we could track people and their contacts. Often, dead Taliban guys would have many of the cards of our contacts.

Thank God! I had finally attracted the attention of the feds with my little blog garden! I wondered what took them so long. I mean, after all, Certainly my ability to attract up to 500 hits a day with my occasional anti-war writing makes me more of a threat than the Quakers or a University of Santa Cruz Banana Slug. It was honestly starting to bruise my ego that I hadn't been picked up for at least a little questioning by now. This comment though, seemed to be a sign that things were looking up. Some quality time in sunny Guantanamo Bay Cuba could be in my future if I played my cards right. Fantasies of time in solitary confinement, away from all customers and other annoyances of the general public, started dancing through my head like sugarplums. There was the matter of waterboarding however, which even though it does not involve a customer in any way, I was still sure wouldn't be a pleasant experience. I started to concoct a cover story about members of the Houston Astros baseball team and a dirty bomb that I hoped would stop the dipping of the Drugmonkey should it come to that. I was ready, so ready, for my tropical pharmacy-free vacation.

Gradually of course I realized the comment was more than likely left by a well-meaning grunt just trying to keep me away from the clutches of the ONU alumni office, and my heart broke yet again. If I remember correctly though, Gilligan and friends did eventually get off that island in a special made for TV movie. Hope springs eternal.

December 17th, That Was My Last Day Off

I know what you're thinking. How on earth was I able to maintain such a steady output of high-quality and incredibly interesting blog posts while working non-stop for almost half a month, many days involving 12 hour shifts, and simultaneously acquiring and fighting off a head cold?

The answer: I have a gift, that's how. Enjoy it, but tomorrow I'm sleeping all day.

Goodnight fuckers.

This Is What Happens When A Nurse Comes To The Counter.

Actual conversation with an actual customer:

Customer: "I know there's an over the counter med that's like Nexium"

Had I known she was a nurse, I wouldn't have answered yet, as I would have known more was coming.

Me: "Prilosec, it's a slightly different form of Nexium"

Nurse Customer: "You know, not like Ranitidine, or the H-2 inhibitors"

Me: "Prilosec. It's down aisle 2 on the right hand side."

I had made the mistake of answering before I could be sufficiently impressed with her drug knowledge.

Nurse Customer: "A proton-pump inhibitor"

You see, I had to be informed that she knew what a proton pump inhibitor was.

Me: "You mean Pepcid?" I now knew that if this woman was ever going to leave, it had to be established that *I* was the one who wasn't listening.

Nurse Customer: "No, not an H-2 inhibitor, the class like Nexium"

Me: "Prilosec"

Nurse Customer: "They're better for chronic heartburn you know"

Me: "Sounds like your talking about the Prilosec, it's down aisle 2"

I'm still not sure if the nurse came into the store with the intention of buying some Prilosec or the intention of telling me everything she knew about it.