Demonologists, Proctologists, and News Anchors.

Posted by Kyle Jacobson , Monday, October 4, 2010 7:17 PM

"Welcome to the newest game show on television! Are we really medically licensed?! Let's welcome our first contestant of the night, Kyle Jacobson!" Cheers erupt from fans who wonder why they're there and more importantly, why I'm here. One man wondered so deeply they had to implement euthanasia to prevent any more suffering of that man. Why am I here? Oh yes, that's right, I have a tendency of putting people in danger. 
            "I hope you don't mind," said my mind. I had no idea how to respond to that. Might as well try.
            "Mind what?" I cautiously pressed.
            "Hahahaha, that's rich. I'm feeling kind of tired. I think I'll take a nap," said my brain. 
            "WAIT NO!" I petitioned. To no avail. Zzzzzz. 
            "Kyle," sang the doctor. Literally. "First question....have you ever been diagnosed for any problems dealing with your current health problem."
            "No."
            "Dang. Well, I got nothing."
            "What do you mean you've got nothing."
            "Well, if no one else was able to diagnose your problem, then I'm 98% sure I can't either."
            "Okay...." I said as I slouched down into a ball of mental problems. 
            "Complementary toothpick?" He tried sounding helpful. The only thing he was helping was the mustache revolution.

            It came time for my sleep study. Which was, as anticipated, cruel and unusual. Definitely more unusual than cruel. This might have to do with an award given a few months back, "most boring medical facilities." They ranked second. Right below the local monochromatic, monotone, and monotheist gynecology lab. Dull, dull, dull. The sleep medicine center was pulling out all the stops to become "fresh," as my doctor failed to describe it. 
            "Now," said the doctor, "we are going to begin tonight's festivities with an unofficial news program.

            The lights dimmed and the plastic-looking news anchors took their places to provide a boring subject in a less boring way. 
            "Welcome to channel seven and three-quarters. We're the Medical Journalists. Bringing you News every hour, on the hour, Unless we're late or don't feel like telling the news. And we're also exempt for Jamaican holidays, pet's birthday parties, imaginary biopsies, and any other occasions that we deem completely unnecessary. I'm Janice Fairweather." 

            "And I'm John "Pixie Stix" Wilson. We've got Bob Michigan here with us. Bob is going to tell us all about the lucky old gypsy man who won a party pack of syphilis in a BINGO competition. Hi Bob."

            "Hi, thanks John. Alright, now back to you John."

            "I actually just sent it to you Bob."

            "And then I sent it back John."

            "Take it or I'll set you on fire Bob."

            "Received." Said Bob, "now back to you John."

            This play of pathetic banter went on for an unnecessarily long time. It would have gone on longer had John not jammed his microphone down Bob's throat. 

             "Why am I here again?" I asked, knowing very well that I wasn't going to get a logical answer.
             "You're not here." Said a voice.
              "Then where am I?"
              "You tell me."
              "This game sucks."
              "Well, that's not very nice."
              "You're not even real. You're a stupid voice coming from a void, and that's all you'll ever amount to be."

               After having dozens of wires attached to parts of my head that I didn't even know existed, I began the study. The word study alluded to a test immediately following. That test was only one of my patience. I slept for eight hours overnight with an indian guy sitting at my bedside staring at me during the night. I thought it was creepy. I thought it was even more creepy when I woke up in the middle of a crime scene and the indian man was kneeling on the ground in handcuffs. "I wonder if I passed the test?" I wondered. 

               This is going in my giant bin of things I don't want to take a part in ever again. Now, if anyone asks you to take part in a sleep study. Hide your kids, hide your wife, hide your husband. 

              And just remember children, that there are no coincidences in a made up story.  
                                                    -Economically,
                                                                              Kyle 


3 Response to "Demonologists, Proctologists, and News Anchors."

Merrills Says:

Favorite line I am trying to not think about this time: "you are not here".

Merrills Says:

PS you know those annoying safety words that you have to type before you can post a comment, I just about failed it. Theyre too hard(!) and what would have happened to me if I would have guessed the mangled blue letters wrong? I am still a little nervous. Oh, and I will have to do another one here in a second just to post this. Man! At least its not a sleep test!

by Cristy Hill Says:

First of all, loved Robert Daisy. Can't wait to read it all. Second of all, both my girls have sleep disorders, and we have been to over 10 of those stupid sleep studies in the past 8 years, so I KNOW how you feel. They are creepy, and you don't sleep how you normally sleep (especially with a camera on you, and my girls always seemed to sleep BETTER at the study because of the white noise from the computers), so I don't get how they ever get a true reading on your sleep.

Do they think it is narcolepsy? Have they tested your hypocretin via spinal tap? I'm sorry. I hate doctors. You can find more on webmd.com then a dr. can tell you these days. Keep us informed. In the mean time...keep writing :)

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