Flash Fiction #71

Bra

PHOTO PROMPT – © Connie Gayer …(Mrs. Russell)

A SHOCKING EXPERIENCE

Thunder and lightning like the 1812 Overture. The rain was just bucketing down.  I was coming back from the Library, with my bestie Becky when it broke.

They say don’t go under a tree, ‘cause it might get hit by lightning. Then they tell you don’t stay out in the open, ‘cause you might get hit.  We jogged home, all soaking.

I watched from the back porch, leaning my left arm against the post. I woke up on the lawn.  Lightning went down my arm.  The doctor said the underwire of my support bra kept it from stopping my heart.

***

Go to Rochelle’s Addicted to Purple site and use her Wednesday photo as a prompt to write a complete 100 word story.

 

Healthy Respect For Medicine

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Mommy!  Mommy!  A strange lady stuck her finger up my bum, and I had to give the Government money to pay her to do it.  Then she hired some guy to do it again with a hose – and then I have to learn to deep-throat.  I don’t understand.  The charges were dismissed, why do I still have to attend the Going To Prison Seminar?

I went to see my female doctor for my regular physical – ‘cause there’s 703 days in a year, right??  Suddenly my annual checkup became an anal checkup.  It all started innocently enough.  She took my blood pressure – 120/70, which means my heart ain’t thumpin’ hard, and I’ll live long enough to make some people sorry.

“Do you have to get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom?”  I’m almost 70 – of course.  “How many times?”  Usually once, occasionally twice.  “When it gets to three, contact me, and I’ll start you on meds that you’ll have to take every day for the rest of your life.  Is it still rigid when you have to go?”  Uhhh…no.  “Would you like some Cialis?”  That’s like offering a dog a driver’s licence.

I’ve heard about, Turn Your Head And Cough, but around here, it’s, Shuck your shorts and lie on the examining table in a fetal position, facing the wall.  Suddenly….WOW – are you right up to the wrist?  I don’t think I’m going to get out of this fetal position.  She says, “I don’t feel anything unusual.”  Lucky you, I do.

She’ll make arrangements with an internist, but first, I have to take tests to prove I’m healthy enough to survive the torture.  I asked one, innocent question.  Would a little extra adipose, just north of the belt buckle, combined with poor eating posture, prevent the esophagus from emptying into the stomach, causing difficulty swallowing?

The next thing I know, I’ve got $250 worth of stomach pills I don’t need. I’m thankful for a great medical plan, which pays for it.  The unexpected benefit is that they’re combo-pills with an added painkiller just short of Hillbilly Heroin.  I could sell these on the street.  The next time I have a headache (very uncommon) I’ll just crush one up and snort it.

After walking five miles at the Cruise Night, and then setting the daughter up for the Anti-Violence Festival the next day, and hauling her stuff back home, both hips said, “Take the pill!  Take the pill!”

So, off to the clinic I went.  I had to do a 12 hour fast.  I was starting to have food withdrawal symptoms, but I made it.  Some sadistic little oriental nurse-wannabe stuck a railway spike in my arm, and sucked out so much blood, I thought they were doing a remake of Helter-Skelter.  Then she said, “I need a urine sample.  Could you fill this little cup?”  Not from over here.

My cholesterol levels are lower than my doctor’s, although I still need to remove that spare tire.  Like any other bureaucracy, Ontario’s taxpayer-paid medical coverage can sometimes be head-scratching.  The doctor’s visit is paid for.  Four blood tests and the urine tests are paid for, but the test that might indicate that I have prostate cancer???  That one I have to pay $30 for!  😕

The wife’s had to endure colonoscopies three times.  Except for the finger, I’m still a virgin.  At least I’ll have someone to guide me through it – and point and laugh when I go all sucky and whiny.  I think I can handle that, even though I’ll have to drink stuff that makes cod-liver oil taste like Haute Cuisine, and ending up so empty that I won’t be able to face into the wind without developing a whistle.

It’s the endoscopy I’m a little worried about.  I have a sensitive throat.  I could never do gay porn.  The wife takes 12/15 pills every morning, including a couple that would choke a horse – into the mouth, a little juice, one big gulp, and they’re all gone.  Me?  Anything bigger than an aspirin, and I have to distract myself.  Oh, look, a chipmunk!….Is the pill gone?  Well, it will be by lunch.

I think if it weren’t for all these tests, old folks would live forever.  All this embarrassment and stress??  Ah Hell, let’s just die and get it over.

There’s No Excuse

To save everyone’s time, post this list near your desk or workspace, and everybody can just take a number.

 

TABLE OF EXCUSES

 

  1.  That’s the way we’ve always done it.
  2. I didn’t know you were in a hurry for it.
  3. That’s not in my department.
  4. No-one told me to go ahead with it.
  5. I’m waiting for an OK on it.
  6. That’s his job – not mine!
  7. Wait till the boss comes back and ask him.
  8. I forgot.
  9. I didn’t think it was that important.
  10. I’m so busy I just didn’t get around to it.
  11. I thought I told you.
  12. I wasn’t hired to do that

 

NOT KIDDING AROUND

 

Dear Doctor;

 

I wish to apply for a Vasectomy operation to endure my sterility.  The reasons for this are numerous, and after being married for 7 years and having 7 children, I have come to the conclusion that most of the methods of contraception amd are absolutely useless.

After I got married, I was told to use the rhythm method.  Despite trying the Tango, and the Samba, my wife became pregnant, and I suffered a hernia while doing the Cha-Cha.  Apart from the obvious deficiencies, where in the Hell can you get a dance band at 5 o’clock in the morning?

Another doctor suggested that we use the “Safe Period” after this, but at the time we were living with the in-laws, and we had to wait for three weeks for the house to be empty for a “Skag Safe Period.”  Needless to say, this didn’t work either.

A lady of several years experience informed us that if we made love while breast feeding it would be all right.  It’s hardly Jack Daniels, but I did end up with silky hair, a clear skin, and my wife pregnant again.

Another old wives tale was if my wife jumped up and down after intercourse it would prevent pregnancy.  After the constant breast feeding from our earlier attempts, if my wife were to jump up and down, she would finish up with two black eyes and eventually knock herself unconcuous.

I asked a pharmacist about the sheath.  He demonstrated how easy it was to use, so I bought a packet.  My wife became pregnant again, which didn’t surprise me.  I fail to see how stretching a rubber over a thumb, as the pharmacist showed me, can prevent pregnancy.

My wife was then supplied with a coil, and after several unsuccessful attempts to fit it, we realized that we had one with a left-hand thread, and my wife is definitely a right-hand screw.

The diaphragm, or “Dutch Cap” came next.  We were very hopeful about this method, and it didn’t interfere with our sex life at all.  Alas, it gave my wife a number of headaches.  Even though we got the largest size available, it was just too tight across her forehead.

Finally, and in desperation, we tried the pill.  At first it kept falling out.  Then we realized we were doing it wrong.   My wife started putting it between her knees, thus preventing me from getting anywhere near her at all.

You must appreciate my problem.  If this operation is not a success, we will have to resort to oral sex, and just sitting around, talking about it, can never be a substitute for the real thing.

 

Yours hopefully

John Smith

 

CORPORATE IMPROVEMENT

 

To:  ALL EMPLOYEES

From:  PERSONNEL  DEPARTMENT

As a result of new “effective management programming” and a declining work load, management must, of necessity, take steps to reduce our work force.

Arrangements have been developed which appear to be the most equitable, under the circumstances.

Under the plan, older employees will be placed on retirement, thus permitting the retention of younger workers, who represent the future of the company.

Therefore, a program to phase out older personnel, by the end of the year, via early retirement, will be placed into effect immediately.  This programme will be known as RAPE (Retire Aged Personnel Early)

Employees who are RAPEd, will be given an opportunity to seek other jobs within the company, provided that, while being RAPEd, they request a review of their employment records, before actual retirement takes place.  This phase of the operation is called SCREW. (Survey of Capabilities of Retired Early Workers)

All employees who have been RAPEd and SCREWed, may also apply for a final review.  This will be called SHAFT. (Study of Higher Authority Following Termination)

“Effective Management Programming” dictates that employees may be RAPEd once, and SCREWed twice, but may get the SHAFT as many times as the company deems appropriate.

Say What?

I keep bitching about precision of language usage, saying what you mean, and meaning what you say.  Have you mastered the art of effective communication?  The following are excerpts from actual letters received by Welfare Departments, asking for support.

I am forwarding my marriage certificate and six children.  I have seven children, but one died which was baptised on a half sheet of paper.

Mrs. Jones has not had any clothes for a year, and has been regularly visited by the clergy.

I am glad to report that my husband who is missing is dead.

I want my money as quick as I can get it.  I’ve been in bed with the doctor for two weeks and he doesn’t do me any good.  If things don’t improve, I will have to send for another doctor.

In accordance with your instructions, I have given birth to twins in the enclosed envelope.

My husband got his project cut off two weeks ago, and I haven’t had any relief since.

Unless I get my husband’s money pretty soon, I will be forced to live an immortal life.

I am forwarding my marriage certificate and three children, one of which is a mistake as you can see.

This is my eighth child.  What are you going to do about it?

You have changed my little boy to a girl.  Will this make any difference?

In answer to your letter, I have given birth to a boy weighing ten pounds.  I hope this is satisfactory.

I cannot get sick pay.  I have six children.  Can you tell me why?

Please find out for certain if my husband is dead.  The man I am now living with can’t eat or do anything until he knows.

 

This Is His Life

 

From 20 to 30 – If a man lives right, it’s once in the morning and twice at night.

From 30 to 40 – If he still lives right, he misses a morning, and sometimes at night.

From 40 to 50 – It’s just now and then.

From 50 to 60 – Its God knows when.

From 60 to 70 – If he’s still inclined, but don’t let him kid you.  It’s still on his mind.

His sporting days are over, his little light is out.

What used to be his sex appeal, is now his water spout.

It used to be embarrassing to make the thing behave.

For nearly every morning, it stood and watched him shave.

But now it’s getting older, and it sure gives him the blues,

To have it dangling down his legs, and watch him clean his shoes.

 

Cucumbers Are Better Than Men, Because:

 

The average cucumber is AT LEAST six inches long.

Cucumbers stay hard for a week.

A cucumber won’t get TOO excited.

A cucumber never suffers from performance anxiety.

Cucumbers are easy to pick up.

You can eat a cucumber when YOU feel like it.

A cucumber doesn’t care if you’re a virgin.

Cucumbers won’t ask:  Am I the best?  How was it?  Did you come?  How many times?

No matter how old you are, you can always get a fresh cucumber.

A cucumber won’t pout if you have a headache.

With a cucumber, you never have to say you’re sorry.

A cucumber will never leave you for another woman.

You always know where your cucumber has been.

Cucumbers don’t leave you wondering for a month.

It’s easy to drop a cucumber.

No matter how you slice it, you can have your cuke, and eat it too!!