October 21, 1989
Phish Pheature Of The Month
This originally appeared in the October 1989 issue of the Phish Newsletter
The beak-headed doctor cradled a dislodged pile of medical what-not between his forearm and bosom as he scurried surreptitiously through the ovular corridor. Looking left and thus right, the malice-minded pagan anti-hero made his clumsy way into a supply closet. Before he made motions to procure a long tubular needle extension-wand, it occurred to his busy-bodied head that there was a male and female nurse couple fornicating in the closet and periodically brushing the doctor’s tailbone with a kneecap. After the doctor overcame his initial frustration of desire for an experience himself not unlike the one presently being enjoyed by the unknown party of two, he belittled the situation and motions onward towards the large box of needle extension wands beneath the small shelf of a large metal locker unit.
After the box-brained beagle huff-puffed through the over-sterilized wand assortment, he grabbed the appropriate death tube and reached for the exit knob. To the dismay of all three closet constituents, the pus-breathed medical madman tripped on a pile of soon to be repaired orange extension cords and fell sideways onto the back of the diagonally down-faced female fornicator, and accidentally lodged the needle wand tip into the right nostril of the floored, horizontal male intern. He thus pulled the unfavorable tube out of the young dribbler’s head, creating a vacuum and encasing a tubular array of blood, pus, and mucus inside the retrieved unit-stick. He verticlated and refumbled for the outward passage. Without graceful reproach, the dog-horned doctor slimed flatly out of the unfortunate closet.
With several quick twirl-hops, the disorganized deacon of science floundered into the second white-washed patient-quarter doorway on the left. To the abhorrent dissatisfaction of the vulgar nostril-piercer, his empathizeable ex-patient had been recently euthanized by another, more important member of the ever-rigid medical hierarchy. Demoralized by the lack of a supposed opportunity to do evil deemed-doable, the old chapped-chinned, adult-minded pediatrician pulled a de-rolled hotdog from his suede lunch sack and re-popped the reheated end into his leather mouth. After rejournailzing a preconceived log entry, he de-escalated to ground level in order to board his silver and grey Chevrolet Vega as part of a home-going route.