No trace of vestibular plagorism in my upper bile duct

In Absurdlandia, Music on June 21, 2016 at 2:13 pm

First, a word to the spammer, asking for advice concerning copyright violations and “plagorism” of his/her writing: Yes, spammer, I’ve seen a lot of your poor spelling around the internet but…was it yours or someone else’s? I can’t say. Good luck in all your endeavors.


After the ultrasound, the pleasant doctor wanted to send me over to the scanner but it was down for maintenance. Meaning I’ll have to book another appointment and locate another kind soul to bring me to the clinic and back. Considering the pleasant doctor found no trace of vestibular plagorism or plagiarism in my upper bile duct, I’m assuming the exams will turn up some minor, if annoying condition. Or one of those aches no one has worked into a compendium of ills yet – the perfect candidate for a pharma corp’s ad agency.

(Squeaky disquieting soundtrack. Dark bedroom, curtains flutter at the window. Camera pans in on a woman lying in bed with an anxious face. Close-up on the eyes. Concerned voice :” Do you sometimes wake at night with the certainty something is weighing down on your lower body? Do you sometimes experience sharp stabbing pains no one can explain? You may have plagorism of the lower intestinal tract. Ask your doctor about Plagorex and re-discover true well-being both day and night….Product appears on screen in a pretty blue and white bottle…Shot of same bedroom in soft evening light. A laughing woman in a negligee, laughing male partner – no worries, both wearing wedding bands – pleasant, light-hearted romantic music and final voice-over: With Plagorex, be plagued no more.”)


Next : I go to the doctor’s office so he can admire ultrasound pics of my innards and book me another appointment. Then traipse home again and find transportation back to Albi for this evening’s concert.

Ordinary doesn’t come close to describing this day.


(For the record in the absurdlandia category: the gentleman shuffling out to the benches outside the clinic, holding on to the pole from which a bag of milky-white liquid spouted down into a number of plastic tubes leading to the side of his neck. Sitting down with precautions that made me wince. Then, pulling out his pack of cigs and his lighter in order to add an extra layer of soot in his lungs, and a deeper tinge of grey to his skin. I wouldn’t be one bit surprised if he had aggravated plagorism of the upper bile duct).


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