If you liked the previous youtube video, I'm sure you'll like this one...no offence meant to my friends in anesthesia...but it's damn freakin' funny!!!
Showing posts with label Laughter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Laughter. Show all posts
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Just for Laughs!
For my medical colleagues out there...a unique way of teaching med students how to clerk patients!!!
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Smile :)
I certainly hope none of my surgical colleagues have or will ever encounter this situation...
And if you ever feel that your job sucks...
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Good for a laugh
Inspired by angrydoc's latest blog entry (or rather, blog link), I figured these might be worth a laugh. It's one of those email jokes forwarded from various friends every so often - this is a keeper though...
NEW DRUGS FOR WOMEN
DAMNITOL
Take 2 and the rest of the world can go to hell for up to 8 full hours.
EMPTYNESTROGEN
Suppository that eliminates melancholy and loneliness by reminding you of how awful they were as teenagers and how you couldn't wait till they moved out.
ST. MOMMA'S WORT
Plant extract that treats mom's depression by rendering preschoolers unconscious for up to two days.
PEPTOBIMBO
Liquid silicone drink for single women. Two full cups swallowed before an evening out increases breast size, decreases intelligence, and prevents conception.
DUMBEROL
When taken with Peptobimbo, can cause dangerously low IQ, resulting in enjoyment of country music and pickup trucks.
FLIPITOR
Increases life expectancy of commuters by controlling road rage and the urge to flip off other drivers.
MENICILLIN
Potent anti-boy-otic for older women. Increases resistance to such lethal lines as, "You make me want to be a better person. "
BUYAGRA
Injectable stimulant taken prior to shopping. Increases potency, duration, and credit limit of spending spree.
JACKASSPIRIN
Relieves headache caused by a man who can't remember your birthday, anniversary, phone number, or to lift the toilet seat.
ANTI-TALKSIDENT
A spray carried in a purse or wallet to be used on anyone too eager to share their life stories with total strangers in elevators.
NAGAMENT
When administered to a boyfriend or husband, provides the same irritation level as nagging him.
NEW DRUGS FOR WOMEN
DAMNITOL
Take 2 and the rest of the world can go to hell for up to 8 full hours.
EMPTYNESTROGEN
Suppository that eliminates melancholy and loneliness by reminding you of how awful they were as teenagers and how you couldn't wait till they moved out.
ST. MOMMA'S WORT
Plant extract that treats mom's depression by rendering preschoolers unconscious for up to two days.
PEPTOBIMBO
Liquid silicone drink for single women. Two full cups swallowed before an evening out increases breast size, decreases intelligence, and prevents conception.
DUMBEROL
When taken with Peptobimbo, can cause dangerously low IQ, resulting in enjoyment of country music and pickup trucks.
FLIPITOR
Increases life expectancy of commuters by controlling road rage and the urge to flip off other drivers.
MENICILLIN
Potent anti-boy-otic for older women. Increases resistance to such lethal lines as, "You make me want to be a better person. "
BUYAGRA
Injectable stimulant taken prior to shopping. Increases potency, duration, and credit limit of spending spree.
JACKASSPIRIN
Relieves headache caused by a man who can't remember your birthday, anniversary, phone number, or to lift the toilet seat.
ANTI-TALKSIDENT
A spray carried in a purse or wallet to be used on anyone too eager to share their life stories with total strangers in elevators.
NAGAMENT
When administered to a boyfriend or husband, provides the same irritation level as nagging him.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
For all the Mothers out there...
I received this from a friend. I usually delete chain mails, but I couldn't resist putting this up...
JUST A MOM?
A woman, renewing her driver's license at the County Clerk's office, was asked by the woman recorder to state her occupation.
She hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself.
"What I mean is," explained the recorder, "do you have a job or are you just a ...?"
"Of course I have a job," snapped the woman.
"I'm a Mom."
"We don't list 'Mom' as an occupation, 'housewife' covers it," said the recorder emphatically.
I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation, this time at our own Town Hall.
The Clerk was obviously a career woman, poised, efficient, and possessed of a high sounding title like, "Official Interrogator" or "Town Registrar."
"What is your occupation?" she probed.
What made me say it? I do not know. The words simply popped out.
"I'm a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations."
The clerk paused, ballpoint pen frozen in midair and looked up as though she had not heard right.
I repeated the title slowly emphasizing the most significant words. Then I stared with wonder as my pronouncement was written, in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire.
"Might I ask," said the clerk with new interest, "just what you do in your field?"
Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply, "I have a continuing program of research”, (what mother doesn't),
“In the laboratory and in the field”, (normally I would have said indoors and out).
“I'm working for my Masters”, (first the Lord and then the whole family)
“and already have four credits” (all daughters).
“Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities” (any mother care to disagree?),
“and I often work 14 hours a day”, (24 is more like it).
“But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers and the rewards are more of a satisfaction rather than just money."
There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk's voice as she completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to the door.
As I drove into our driveway, buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants -- ages 13, 7, and 3. Upstairs I could hear our new experimental model, (a 6 month old baby) in the child development program, testing out a new vocal pattern.
I felt I had scored a beat on bureaucracy! And I had gone on the official records as someone more distinguished and indispensable to mankind than "just another Mom."
Motherhood! What a glorious career! Especially when there's a title on the door.
Does this make grandmothers "Senior Research associates in the field of Child Development and Human Relations"?
And great grandmothers "Executive Senior Research Associates?"
I think so!!!
I also think it makes Aunts "Associate Research Assistants."
JUST A MOM?
A woman, renewing her driver's license at the County Clerk's office, was asked by the woman recorder to state her occupation.
She hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself.
"What I mean is," explained the recorder, "do you have a job or are you just a ...?"
"Of course I have a job," snapped the woman.
"I'm a Mom."
"We don't list 'Mom' as an occupation, 'housewife' covers it," said the recorder emphatically.
I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation, this time at our own Town Hall.
The Clerk was obviously a career woman, poised, efficient, and possessed of a high sounding title like, "Official Interrogator" or "Town Registrar."
"What is your occupation?" she probed.
What made me say it? I do not know. The words simply popped out.
"I'm a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations."
The clerk paused, ballpoint pen frozen in midair and looked up as though she had not heard right.
I repeated the title slowly emphasizing the most significant words. Then I stared with wonder as my pronouncement was written, in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire.
"Might I ask," said the clerk with new interest, "just what you do in your field?"
Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply, "I have a continuing program of research”, (what mother doesn't),
“In the laboratory and in the field”, (normally I would have said indoors and out).
“I'm working for my Masters”, (first the Lord and then the whole family)
“and already have four credits” (all daughters).
“Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities” (any mother care to disagree?),
“and I often work 14 hours a day”, (24 is more like it).
“But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers and the rewards are more of a satisfaction rather than just money."
There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk's voice as she completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to the door.
As I drove into our driveway, buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants -- ages 13, 7, and 3. Upstairs I could hear our new experimental model, (a 6 month old baby) in the child development program, testing out a new vocal pattern.
I felt I had scored a beat on bureaucracy! And I had gone on the official records as someone more distinguished and indispensable to mankind than "just another Mom."
Motherhood! What a glorious career! Especially when there's a title on the door.
Does this make grandmothers "Senior Research associates in the field of Child Development and Human Relations"?
And great grandmothers "Executive Senior Research Associates?"
I think so!!!
I also think it makes Aunts "Associate Research Assistants."
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Duh Moments
Duh Moment #1
Patient needs PAP Smear done. I tell her to undress & lie on couch while I prepare the equipment. I return to the examination couch & notices that she still has her underwear on.
Me: "Er...you need to remove your underwear in order for me to do the PAP Smear."
Patient: "Oh, is it? I need to remove my underwear?"
Me: "Er...yeah" (Inner Me: "Duh")
Duh Moment #2
Patient complains of headache. After taking history, I tell her I am going to check her blood pressure.
Patient: "Do you want me to take off my watch?"
Me: "Er...no." (Inner Me:"Duh")
Patient needs PAP Smear done. I tell her to undress & lie on couch while I prepare the equipment. I return to the examination couch & notices that she still has her underwear on.
Me: "Er...you need to remove your underwear in order for me to do the PAP Smear."
Patient: "Oh, is it? I need to remove my underwear?"
Me: "Er...yeah" (Inner Me: "Duh")
Duh Moment #2
Patient complains of headache. After taking history, I tell her I am going to check her blood pressure.
Patient: "Do you want me to take off my watch?"
Me: "Er...no." (Inner Me:"Duh")
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Laughter is the Best Medicine
I was trying to clear out some trash from my archives when I came across this little vignette I had received in one of those chain emails one receives from friends occasionally. It made me laugh so hard (I almost pee'd in my pants - pun intended) that I just had to share it with some of my girlfriends who were also ROFL when they read it.
Ladies...enjoy!
The Real Restroom Story - author anonymous
My mother was a fanatic about public bathrooms. When I was a little girl, she'd take me into the stall, teach me to wad up toilet paper and wipe the seat. Then, she'd carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat. Finally, she'd instruct, "Never, NEVER sit on a public toilet seat."
Then she'd demonstrate "The Stance," which consisted of balancing over the toilet in a sitting position without actually letting any of your flesh make contact with the toilet seat.
By this time, I'd have wet down my leg and we'd have to go home to change my clothes.
That was a long time ago. Even now, in my more "mature years, "The Stance" is excruciatingly difficult to maintain, especially when one's bladder is full. When you have to "go" in a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women that makes you think there's a half-price sale on Nelly's underwear in there. So, you wait and smile politely at all the other ladies, who are also crossing their legs and smiling politely. You get closer and check for feet under the stall doors. Every one is occupied.
Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter. The dispenser for the new fangled "seat covers" (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook if there was one - but there isn't - so you carefully but quickly hang it around your neck.
Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR; you yank down your pants, and assume "The Stance - Ahhhh, relief. But then your thighs begin to shake. You'd love to sit down but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance" as your thighs experience a quake that would register an eight on the Richter scale.
To take your mind off of your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you would have tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!"
Your thighs shake more. You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail.
Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet.
"Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle, and sliding down, directly onto the insidious toilet seat. You bolt up quickly, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.
You know that your mother would be utterly ashamed of you if she knew, because you're certain that her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get."
By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, sending up a stream of water akin to a fountain that suddenly sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged off to China. At that point, you give up. You're soaked by the splashing water. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket, and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.
You can't figure out how too operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past a line of women, still waiting, cross-legged at this point, no longer able to smile politely.
One kind soul at the very end of the line points out that you are trailing a piece of toilet paper on your shoe as long as the Mississippi River! (Where was it when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this."
As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has since entered, used and exited the men's restroom and read a copy of War and Peace while waiting for you.
Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?"
This is dedicated to women everywhere who have ever had to deal with a public restroom (rest??? you've got to be kidding!!).
It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked question about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other woman can hold the door and also pass you a tissue.
Ladies...enjoy!
The Real Restroom Story - author anonymous
My mother was a fanatic about public bathrooms. When I was a little girl, she'd take me into the stall, teach me to wad up toilet paper and wipe the seat. Then, she'd carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat. Finally, she'd instruct, "Never, NEVER sit on a public toilet seat."
Then she'd demonstrate "The Stance," which consisted of balancing over the toilet in a sitting position without actually letting any of your flesh make contact with the toilet seat.
By this time, I'd have wet down my leg and we'd have to go home to change my clothes.
That was a long time ago. Even now, in my more "mature years, "The Stance" is excruciatingly difficult to maintain, especially when one's bladder is full. When you have to "go" in a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women that makes you think there's a half-price sale on Nelly's underwear in there. So, you wait and smile politely at all the other ladies, who are also crossing their legs and smiling politely. You get closer and check for feet under the stall doors. Every one is occupied.
Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter. The dispenser for the new fangled "seat covers" (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook if there was one - but there isn't - so you carefully but quickly hang it around your neck.
Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR; you yank down your pants, and assume "The Stance - Ahhhh, relief. But then your thighs begin to shake. You'd love to sit down but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance" as your thighs experience a quake that would register an eight on the Richter scale.
To take your mind off of your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you would have tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!"
Your thighs shake more. You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail.
Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet.
"Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle, and sliding down, directly onto the insidious toilet seat. You bolt up quickly, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.
You know that your mother would be utterly ashamed of you if she knew, because you're certain that her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get."
By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, sending up a stream of water akin to a fountain that suddenly sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged off to China. At that point, you give up. You're soaked by the splashing water. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket, and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.
You can't figure out how too operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past a line of women, still waiting, cross-legged at this point, no longer able to smile politely.
One kind soul at the very end of the line points out that you are trailing a piece of toilet paper on your shoe as long as the Mississippi River! (Where was it when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this."
As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has since entered, used and exited the men's restroom and read a copy of War and Peace while waiting for you.
Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?"
This is dedicated to women everywhere who have ever had to deal with a public restroom (rest??? you've got to be kidding!!).
It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked question about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other woman can hold the door and also pass you a tissue.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Boys are ALSO from Mars & Girls from Venus
My 14 year old son recently suffered a bout of viral GE, with fever, nausea, abdominal cramps, vomiting, diarrhea, the works. Threw up all over the bathroom except the toilet bowl (must be a guy thing, trying to will himself not to vomit or suppress the feeling till he couldn't tolerate it anymore, hence, did not make it in time to the aforementioned receptacle).
He went back to school & described his illness to his friends. I believe the words "Projectile Vomiting" were mentioned, probably with a rather graphic description of the state of his bathroom in the aftermath.
The reaction from his female friends : "Eeewww!!!"
And from his best friend (a guy): "Awesome, dude!"
Go figure.
He went back to school & described his illness to his friends. I believe the words "Projectile Vomiting" were mentioned, probably with a rather graphic description of the state of his bathroom in the aftermath.
The reaction from his female friends : "Eeewww!!!"
And from his best friend (a guy): "Awesome, dude!"
Go figure.
Saturday, May 28, 2005
DON'T MESS WITH MOM!!!!!!
I came across this poem on the Internet a couple of days ago. It was posted by someone in response to an SOS from someone who was having attitude problems with her brat.
Fortunately, I am not having such problems yet (& hopefully never!) but found the poem amusing nevertheless...
DON"T MESS WITH MOM
My son came home from school one day,
With a smirk upon his face.
He decided he was smart enough,
To put me in my place.
Guess what I learned in Civics Two,
That’s taught by Mr. Wright?
It's all about the laws today,
The "Children's Bill of Rights."
It says I need not clean my room,
Don’t have to cut my hair.
No one can tell me what to think,
Or speak, or what to wear.
I have freedom from religion,
And regardless what you say,
I don't have to bow my head,
And I sure don't have to pray.
I can wear earrings if I want,
And pierce my tongue & nose.
I can read & watch just what I like,
Get tattoos from head to toe.
And if you ever spank me,
I'll charge you with a crime.
I'll back up all my charges,
With the marks on my behind.
Don't you ever touch me,
My body's only for my use,
Not for your hugs and kisses,
That’s just more child abuse.
Don't preach about your morals,
&n bsp; like your Mama did to you.
That's nothing more than mind control,
And it's illegal too!
Mom, I have these children's rights,
So you can't influence me,
Or I'll call Children's Services Division,
Better know as C.S.D.
Of course my first instinct was
To toss him out the door.
But the chance to teach him a lesson
Made me think a little more.
I mulled it over carefully,
I couldn't let this go.
A smile crept upon my face,
He’s messing with a pro.
Next day I took him shopping
At the local Goodwill Store.
I told him, "Pick out all you want,
There’s shirts & pants galore.
I've called and checked with C.S.D.
Who said they didn't care
If I bought you K-Mart shoes
Instead of those Nike Airs.
I've canceled that appointment
To take your driver's test.
The C.S.D. is unconcerned
So I'll decide what's best.
I said "No time to stop and eat,
Or pick up stuff to munch.
And tomorrow you can start to learn
To make your own sack lunch.
Just save the raging appetite,
And wait till dinner time.
We're having liver and onions,
A favorite dish of mine."
He asked "Can I please rent a movie,
To watch on my VCR?"
"Sorry, but I sold your TV,
For new tires on my car.
I also rented out your room,
You 'll take the couch instead.
The C.S.D. requires
Just a roof over your head.
Your clothing won't be trendy now,
I'll choose what we eat.
That allowance that you used to get,
Will buy me something neat.
I'm selling off your jet ski,
Dirt-bike & roller blades.
Check out the "Parents Bill of Rights,"
It's in effect today!
Hey hot shot are you crying,
Why are you on your knees?
Are you asking God to help you out,
Instead of C.S.D.?"
Fortunately, I am not having such problems yet (& hopefully never!) but found the poem amusing nevertheless...
DON"T MESS WITH MOM
My son came home from school one day,
With a smirk upon his face.
He decided he was smart enough,
To put me in my place.
Guess what I learned in Civics Two,
That’s taught by Mr. Wright?
It's all about the laws today,
The "Children's Bill of Rights."
It says I need not clean my room,
Don’t have to cut my hair.
No one can tell me what to think,
Or speak, or what to wear.
I have freedom from religion,
And regardless what you say,
I don't have to bow my head,
And I sure don't have to pray.
I can wear earrings if I want,
And pierce my tongue & nose.
I can read & watch just what I like,
Get tattoos from head to toe.
And if you ever spank me,
I'll charge you with a crime.
I'll back up all my charges,
With the marks on my behind.
Don't you ever touch me,
My body's only for my use,
Not for your hugs and kisses,
That’s just more child abuse.
Don't preach about your morals,
&n bsp; like your Mama did to you.
That's nothing more than mind control,
And it's illegal too!
Mom, I have these children's rights,
So you can't influence me,
Or I'll call Children's Services Division,
Better know as C.S.D.
Of course my first instinct was
To toss him out the door.
But the chance to teach him a lesson
Made me think a little more.
I mulled it over carefully,
I couldn't let this go.
A smile crept upon my face,
He’s messing with a pro.
Next day I took him shopping
At the local Goodwill Store.
I told him, "Pick out all you want,
There’s shirts & pants galore.
I've called and checked with C.S.D.
Who said they didn't care
If I bought you K-Mart shoes
Instead of those Nike Airs.
I've canceled that appointment
To take your driver's test.
The C.S.D. is unconcerned
So I'll decide what's best.
I said "No time to stop and eat,
Or pick up stuff to munch.
And tomorrow you can start to learn
To make your own sack lunch.
Just save the raging appetite,
And wait till dinner time.
We're having liver and onions,
A favorite dish of mine."
He asked "Can I please rent a movie,
To watch on my VCR?"
"Sorry, but I sold your TV,
For new tires on my car.
I also rented out your room,
You 'll take the couch instead.
The C.S.D. requires
Just a roof over your head.
Your clothing won't be trendy now,
I'll choose what we eat.
That allowance that you used to get,
Will buy me something neat.
I'm selling off your jet ski,
Dirt-bike & roller blades.
Check out the "Parents Bill of Rights,"
It's in effect today!
Hey hot shot are you crying,
Why are you on your knees?
Are you asking God to help you out,
Instead of C.S.D.?"
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