The bad case of MRI (Misrepresented Robot Inconsistencies), time to reboot.

Posted by Kyle Jacobson , Wednesday, August 18, 2010 7:58 PM

       My hair-color-changing-chameleon of a sister picked me up from a death-defying day at work. It was so death defying that death actually stopped by my apartment later and cried on my couch for an hour demanding an apology. I laughed at death in the face, turns out he doesn't like it much when people do that, he just sobbed harder.
     And as my reptilian sister and I were escaping the co-racial confinement of a call-center, the time drew closer, like a very impolite trucker who gets as close as he possibly can to your bumper while you are waiting out an endless red light. Time came and it creeped.

     We were driving terrifically while the counterproductive music projected so loudly that it reached into parts of the car that I didn't even know sound could reach into. The lyrics of such music describe nothing and sound like something even less. It would have been unbearable had I not been trained for such situations. That training all began at birth. My parents held rock concerts nightly in my room, the long haired musicians placing the bass in my crib. They would rock out to various Bon Jovi and Leonard Cohen songs. A kind father and mother looking out for their baby boy, protecting him from the noises of life.
      The climax of this story concludes in the Provo city hospital. And begins when we ran around the hospital building. I thought about entering the building. I entered the building. This was vital. But wait! Oh no! Pregnant lady! Must.....Hold.....Door....For....Her.....Holding....Holding...... Holded! Running. Running. Running. Stop Running. I was greeted by none other than, you guessed it, no one. I was greeted by a MACHINE! "I must prove my dominance!" I thought to myself.  "I could unplug him, but that would only stop him for a short time. He'd be back, and with friends. No, I must end this now!" The time was wearing thin, thin clothing that proved to be a nylon spandex biking outfit. Time was just preparing for it's daily bike ride, if you know what I mean, probably not. It could only end in one way, and one way only. If you were wondering if there was any other way, the answer is no way. None. Way? No. Are you sure? (spanish accent) Yes. It was a staring contest. My eyes began to bulge, my pacemaker started to pace, and my spine was beginning to crawl down my leg. The machine wasn't even straining or looking worried at all. How much longer? Then, my left eye shriveled up with lack of moisture and fell out of it's socket. I picked it up as it was dangling above my chin and held it towards the machine. It was soon followed by the right. I caught myself holding both of my eyeballs at a machine that, as the nurse described, just wanted my name. I finally gave up after my sister bribed me a milkshake, that I would just use later to moisturize my terribly dry eyes.
      "Kyle, we're ready for you." That statement can unnerve a complete bio-dome with it's implications. Why don't they just say, "Kyle, we've been setting up your death catcher machine for twenty years and have been expecting you since before you were born. The tools are sharp and the monotone doctor is waiting."
      The hospital smelled like a bunch of sick and injured people wishing to get better. It wasn't the odor of sickness that bothered me, more the smell of wishing and hope.
      They then instructed me to put on pants and go into another room where I would be called into a conjoining room and shuffled into a nearby closet until the doctor came to retrieve me. I named the mop, his name is, of course, Benjamen Franklin.
      "Kyle" gulped the doctor.
      "Why did you just gulp?" I asked.
      "I thought it would relax you."
      "Hmmmm....okay, you seem like a man who play blackout, no-light, racquetball, I can trust you." I logically succumbed.
      "Get in the machine, and don't move a muscle"
      "it is of the utmost importance that you do not move or the pictures will come off blurry and, just so we don't have to take another MRI, we'll just document it as a serious form of cancer and instantly start you on chemotherapy."
      "You use far too many ellipses."
      "Sorry, I didn't know you could tell."
The whirring sound began and grew and flourished into a BZZZZ BZZZ BZZZZZZZ sound. Then followed by a WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH sound and complimented with a BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP TICK TICK TICK noise. It wasn't but four minutes before I fell asleep and when I awoke, I jolted awake, like you do when you fall off a high rise building on a Tony Hawk signed skateboard in your dreams. Cancer was all I could think of, oh no.
         I left the hospital too embarrassed to tell anyone that I had fallen asleep in the MRI machine since I went there to be tested for falling asleep at inappropriate times throughout the day. Irony might be one way to look at it, zombie revolution might be another. The tests come tomorrow, the end of the world comes on Thursday, making my prognosis completely pointless.



3 Response to "The bad case of MRI (Misrepresented Robot Inconsistencies), time to reboot."

by Cristy Hill Says:

brilliant as always. alot of laughing-out-loud, and lala saying "mom quiet, I'm trying to sleep". sorry to plague your comment pages :)

Kyle "Danger" Jacobson Says:

Cristy, your comments are my favorite part of this entire experience. You're awesome.

Kevin Says:

Kyle. I have thought long and hard about this post, and I must say that you've left me speechless. All my thoughts are quite rudely interrupted with bouts of laughter and visualizations of a doctor rebuke you for overuse of verbal ellipses.

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