“hmm, I see. Well, I don’t know what exactly you think I can do for you.”

“…do for me? You’re a doctor! Do doctorly things!”

“Pills? Is that what you’re here for? You want some Vicodin? Oxycodone? You know I can’t do that. Enabling addicts is of course, highly against the doctors ethical code, not to mention illegal.”

“I’m not an addict! I don’t want pills! I just want some help with this.”

“I’m sorry sir, I just can’t possible help someone like you. Drugs are not the answer. How about rehab? I can get you into some kind of program. How would that be?”

“Pro…PROGRAM! Jesus Christ man! I have a fuckin’ NAIL sticking out of my FOOT! I don’t want drugs, I don’t want rehab, just TAKE the FUCKING. THING. OUT!!”

“I’m going to leave now sir, when I get back I trust you will not be here. I have other patience to see. I don’t want to have to call the police.”

“Mother Fucker! I’m not a druggie! I’m just that grimy!”

Our dear poor old Nelson bought a bright new car.
He treated it like his child.
He washed it, petted it and even talked to it; He loved that thing.

So much so, he even gave it a name:

Dorean.

One day after their year of bliss together, Nelson went to start his dear Dorean and all he got was one loud

CLUNK.

Three hourse later, he tried again.

CLUNK CLUNK CLUNK.

His neighbour came out to investigate the sound and after some coaxing, Nelson let him try to start his Dorean.

On the first turn of the ignition, off she went, her enging started purring. But the neighbour didn’t get out right away. Instead he drove her around the block just to make sure everything was ok.

Dorean never started for Nelson ever again.

Oh, our dear poor old Nelson: Who knew a car could cheat on you?

Our dear old Lewiston was a man like no other.

He loved everything about his life. Loved his job, his wife, his kids, his house, his car and most of all, he loved himself.

Everything was just perfect.

But he stubbed his toe early one morning, on the leg of a tabl,e on his way to make coffee.  And the words just came out of his mouth:

“I hate that table.”

It all went bad from there.

His job got boring, the wife got fat, kids stated taking drugs, the house got termites, the car rusted out and Lewiston himself?

Well, his toe got gangrene and it killed him.

Oh dear poor old Lewiston.

It’s a strang time out there.
Or maybe a strange era.
I don’t even know if there is a proper word for it.
But it is definitely strange.

I keep thinking to myself that things are going to turn around.
That people are going to get better.
I haven’t seen any evidence of it yet though.

So all my heroes are fictional characters.

They know when to call the shots because there ain’t no line between good and bad. At least they know when to either help themselves, get help or destroy themselves with their problems.

“All your wounds are self-inflicted” indeed.

Are there any that aren’t?