Dear Dr. B.; last year I did an all night drive to South of
the Border just for to buy me some fireworks for to show
my kids a good time on the 4íth of July. Maybe it was lack
of sleep but it seemed a good idea to try to get a little
play from a Roman Candle by holding it at the base and
moving around as it fired. I lost a good deal of my right
arm. My question is, what fireworks might you
for use with a prosthesis.
-Patriotic in Pawtuckett
Patriotic: Sometimes when the good lord blows the whistle
to get everybody out of the gene pool, heís not blowing
hard enough. Either stay away from the fireworks entirely
or hold them in your mouth this time. You might try this
though; toast a few marshmallows over the Bar-B-Q on your hook. My great uncle Chester used to do that after
he returned from WWI and us kids sure looked forward to
it. Itís amazing how far a steel plate in your skull and six or
seven liters of warm beer can do to a manís ability to
remember the conductive properties of a metal hook.
Iím fixing to get me one of them Dick Chenney type Ticker
Kickers put in my chest. Can I still use the microwave?
-Concerned about Gas Sation Burritos in Pennsacola
That depends on what you use the microwave for. Seriously, though, if
itís not the complicated digital kind and just has a twisty nob, you
should be fine. You might concider a full body lead apron of the kind
worn for multiple xrays when reheating, but not in a precautionary
sense. I just kind of like picturing you in it.
Dear Dr. Bactine;
Me and the husband are pale skinned redheads as is the
kids. His Momma says sun screen is just a hoax concocted
by the food and drug to get money out of you, and at $3.99 a bottle for the no name Iím hoping sheís
right. We never used it when we was kids and have only minimal
amounts of what may be skin cancer. What do you think?
-Burning mad in Bumpus Parish
There are plenty of things you never used when you were a kid besides
sun screen. Computers, cable television, soap, and seat belts to name a
few. Your mom never crashed the car bad enough to send you through the
windshield and likewise there wasnít a hole in the Ozone
the size of Ohio floating over your head letting in enough
UV rays to grow tails on your unborn grandkids. That being
said, yes, sunscreen is pretty much of a hoax. SPF 40 my
ass. You gonna tell me that white cream provides 40 times
my normal skinís protection and I still get a little red
through it? If I didnít wear it would I burst into flames like
a vampire the moment I stepped outside? Whatís the SPF
on spackle, or a coat? In closing, do what you want. You
Dear Dr. Bactine,
My eldest is off to Boy scout camp on a Church Scholarship and they want
I should have my Doctor fill out his medical history, which I am
forwarding to you on account of we ainít seen a Dr. out these parts
since Lemís pole boat sank.
-Congenitally Malformed in Honey Island
I am forced to send back your form, as my oath forbids me
making statements such as these for patients I have not
seen and do not know the medical history of. I recommend
you fill it out yourself and sign it by closing your eyes,
holding a pencil over the paper with one hand and sticking
a fork in the toaster with your other, which should approximate
a believable Doctorís signature. Itís not like anyone at this camp will
ever open the mail, let alone read or make use of these records. If half
the rumors about Boyscout Camp are true you have lots more to worry
about than some camp Ďnurseí knowing about your sonís
eczema, bedwetting or fatal peanut allergy.
We have a son, thirteen years of age. He donít talk much
since hitting his growth spurt wherein he went from 4 ft. 3
to 8 ft. 8 in a four month period, except for the screaming
at night. His lower jaw has receded by a good six inches,
his knees are swole as big as watermelons and a dark purple in color, his left eye has migrated to the side of his
head and he seems to vibrate somewhat at most times. He
will only take tapioca which he eats by the bucket with a
little lime juice and he is constantly taking the Montgomery
Ward catalogue out to the hayloft where you can hear him
hollering sweet Jesus. Whatís wrong with him?
-Wondering in Spatula-by-the-Trench Parish.
There is nothing wrong with your boy a date wouldnít clear
up, which under the circumstances seems unlikely. And what the hell do you mean, a
Ďgoodí six inches? Hardly sounds good to me.
Well, gentle reader, thatís all the good Doctor can take
this week. The trout are biting and thereís an oil drum of
Jeagermeister with my name on it in the back of the dingy.
If you donít hear from me in a month let the Fish and Game know.