MAYDAY! MAYDAY! Mormon Mombos on RPs Rock! Rick Amped Up and shooting straight from Paint Creek! Herman and Rick Celebrate Christie woosing out by raising cain! RP teaches HC&MR Dirty Ag Campaign Tricks! HC shocks RP with M-80 in Hunting Lease Bidet! Ron Paul invites Mitt to Man-Up & Eat Texas Gefilte Fish Balls at the Alamo! RP has Senior Moment during Debate and Nominates Al Gore for President of NRA! Mitt Misses Debate-Food Poisoning! Sarah P Seconds Nomination of AG and calls him a Great Patriot and a Real Man who knows how to pack heat! RP threatens to secede from Campaign and join Fellow Ags in the SEC! Mitt asks Al to teach him how to shoot straight!
How did I end up in this Mess! Having made a vow to keep my life simple and dedicated to serving only the best and brightest of Helipad Parents (we not only fly our kids copter-we land it!), I get sucked into a Texas MMA Death Match (RP to HC: Anderson Silva, You will not survive Round 1! I will beat you and your Obama-Wama HealthCare Plan like an Aggie Drum!). Herman, sharp as a Baylor Teddy Bear, fires back: Anderson Silva?? Ricky, you've had one too many spoons of Ag Kool-Aid. To make a long story short, RP's new campaign manager, Donald T Trump, has Rick totally convinced that he & Ronny Paul should Hook Em together and secede from the Big 12 (The Land of Little Onions per The Donald) along with all fellow 12th Men. Yee-haw! Who could not vote for RP Squared! Rick has a little Paint Creek seizure and embraces RonP like a long lost fellow Cadet-I am naming you not only my running mate but my new Director of Global Warming and Southern Unification! And dig this-RonnyP has his own little seizure and invites The Compound to lead the health care secession from The Land of Meaningful Uselessness to the SuperNova of Fee for Frigging (RP's word-not mine) Service! Yep-all we have to do to leave the TROT and join the SEC of Health care Domination:
1. Renounce beef for pork (bar b-q with the word beef do not cut it in the New South SEC-sacrilegious!)
2. Make sure all our illegals have legit green cards or college degrees paid for by the State of Tejas.
I immediately recognize the dangers of playing ball with The Trumpster and the RP twins. I don't have a college degree! Way too long a story-but suffice it to say that I got into medical school with all the basic requirements, a knock-your-socks-off score on the MCAT, and help from my ability to tone up a resume and network long before LinkedIn got the Internet hookup. But a degree somehow evaded the grasp of my incredible work ethic. But, as I am told repeatedly by the Trumpster, the Compound docs will be fighting not just for themselves, but all their medical brothers to reshape and liposuction the fat out of our new Health and Human Savings Corpse. (I think he meant Corps, but far be it for me to correct The T Man).
In the meantime, I also learn that, if we secede from TROT, we lose all our Social Security benefits and future cash flow, any chance to join Medicare (the ultimate Senior Ponzi Scheme per DT), and we forfeit all our Sears Reward Points now. As we speak, I am quietly tunneling under the barbed wire surrounding the Compound (landscaping in the words of the Compound's new Director of Security and Holy Blessings-Jimmy Swaggert-who, by the way, is a walking billboard for the magic of Drysol), hoping to escape the medical and political and culinary swamps of SECWorld.
You know you are in trouble when Waco and Baylor appear as a miracle mirage on your career horizon. I need some metal clippers STAT! Jimmy tunneled the barbwire 3 feet underground, and I am miles from the nearest Home Depot. Your humble pediatrician is digging for his life, country, and his right to be a TROT doctor-and, yes, you can call me a true Texas Dirtbag, determined to keep every one of those dang Sears Points I earned sweating out multiple well baby visits in the Spartan confines of the Compound.
Pow-Pow! Pow-Pow! Good grief-real bullets! Not friendly fire! Jimmy told me he was a straight shooter. And, true to form, he is sweating like a pig in heat and shooting like a Tea Party Drill Instructor. I think he may be beyond simple negotiation-but at least I will flame out at the hands of someone who has really Good Hair! Stay tuned-Jimmy must be shooting without his pearl blue contacts in cause he keeps missing by at least 2 feet. (And if you have a well-baby appointment this afternoon, please reschedule and gimme a little carrot to live for.)
Mayday, dammit! And this time I mean it!