Does The Cat Want Her Medicine?

You knew a cat once, your family had known the woman who owned her, she wasn't a relative, but you visited her enough that she was familiar, wow, she had one sick cat. That woman would say, "Does pretty want her medicine?" & you thought, the stupid cat doesn't want any medicine. It doesn't know any better. But then the cat would actually look better after she got the medicine, & you'd have to wonder, did she know she felt better because of the medicine, did she understand the cause & effect? Some animals did - that's how you could train them.

You were at that impressionable age when you thought every example was the perfect example, when you thought the types you met were the only types that existed. You'd hear snatches of conversation that made absolutely no sense so you'd twist them around in your head until they made your kind of sense. Like that man who made the comment about "the next door over, past the railroad tracks." You got it into your head that a town's limits were circumscribed by railroad tracks. You finally got brave enough to tell your observation another kid & he said scornfully, "What did they use before railroads? Moats?"

You wanted things to go on forever. You got sad when, looking at a map, you saw roads ending, dead-ending or worse, changing names inexplicably. Maybe that's why the cat freaked you out. You kind of thought it would be sick forever, & if it weren't aware of the way the medicine helped it, it would be afraid of the medicine all the time, day after day. That sounded like some kind of torture. But, you know, it couldn't be torture if the cat were feeling better.

You never asked if medicine sometimes didn't work, or its effects wore off. You learned that, maybe, on some television medical drama years later.

The First Tuesday Night Show

Reviews are in! No one listened.

What?!?

Well, no one who reviews my radio show listened. They always wait for me to send promo copies. They're used to freebies.

Hey! I am now giving you a freebie, which is last night's show in its entirety, not including the part where the paramedics had to give me activated charcoal & pump my stomach. (I took a different pill for each song.) (Don't worry, they were all sugar pills.) (In different colors, like in a 64 color crayon box.) You can listen at self help radio dot net. There's also a new episode of Sugar Substitute. Surprisingly, it's hosted by a paramedic pretending to be me!

Enjoy listening. Please see possible side effects on the label.

New Timeslot! New Show!

Self Help Radio debuts in its new timeslot tonight at midnight on 88.1 fm WRFL. You can listen online or you can listen live or you can wait until some time tomorrow & I'll put it up at self help radio dot net.

The show tonight is about pills. Nothing terribly specific, just those little things that deliver medicine (prescription, over-the-counter, or illegal) to us. There might be some impressive insights. There might also be some good advice. I think the entire family should listen.

I'm pretty excited. A new timeslot! Wowee!

Whither Pills?

The shocking prevalence & undermining of authority in today's drug-rich environment has chilly echoes in radicalized youth-group professionals from perhaps earlier times. Nowhere is this more exorbitant than the so-called organized lower echelons of contemporary underground middle-class & highly addictive group-think considered over-arching in academic & possibly non-governmental bipartisan think-tank publications peer-reviewed by the leftovers of the field. What makes these impressionable, individualized youngsters suffer so from the audaciousness of hegemonic assumptive "big pharma" protocols, invariably resulting in the catastrophic mendacity of hitherto capricious annihilation of what some have called & indeed the media has invested great time & effort presenting to the world at large but also the mute, alienated American electorate which continues to be co-opted by savage, dispassionate, ultimately deceptive ruling & golden class? Indeed, shouldn't the quotidian, medicated & fabricated youth of this great land of ours, so tirelessly vocal about freedom & savings, whose dependence on foreign-born resentments & what retired military men refer to humorlessly as cavalcades & collages, wouldn't this be the pitch-perfect time that, as the course of human effluvium sets gelatinously into intellectual flotsam & psychological jetsam, so tragically recycled over & over again whether by hyperbole or concatenation, bringing to the fore & also to the aft the consequent & subsequent quintessence of failure, fury & fulsome pessimism? Sorrowfully, but with a glint of the future, we put in the pills we force-feed our progeny the character assassination of both metaphorical & memetic procrastination, the sum of multiplicatives & derivatives we ignored but scribbled salacious slogans upon, our triumphs upended like statues coiled & sun-baked; this, then, is the asymptote of the medicated generation, orange with small printing like a pharmacy bottle, which we purloined as child-proofed, but finally handcuffed, as fin de siècle, patented & trade-marked innovation.

Preface To Pills: I Refuse To Have One Of Those Little Boxes Which Organize My Pills By Days Of The Week

For one, I have a hell of time getting them open. How do people do it? Do they just live with the broken fingernails?

For two, I only take one pill a day. I'm not that old. It's just one pill. I take it daily. I can remember that.

For three, I do take a vitamin, too, but I do it mainly out of habit. I'm pretty sure it doesn't help. Like, I got a sore throat recently, & I didn't miss taking my vitamins. What the fuck vitamins? I thought you had my back.

For four, okay, maybe, if I have to take more pills, if as I get older I have to have more pills, maybe I'll get one of those box things. I'll burn that cart when I've built the horse.

For five, I think I might actually have one. I just don't use it. My wife probably got it from a bank or something & asked me if I could use it. It might still be around somewhere. I was just like, fuck this, it's only one pill. Plus a useless damn vitamin.

For six, I mean, seriously, useless damn vitamins, what the hell?

For seven, for eight, for nine, for ten.

I'm pretty sure this has nothing to do with anything. It's like an argument in the back of my head where no one, not even me, gives two whooping hoots about my health. But still. I don't really like those daily pill box things. Like this:



That image, by the way, is called "teacher-appreciation-pill-box.jpg". Can you imagine the excitement that teacher had when he or she got that for "appreciation"? "Thanks for everything, teach! You're old & you obviously need to take a lot of pills & even though my parents are entrusting you with my education we definitely feel your 'senior moments' prevent you from managing your medications!"

For eleven.