Spoof Space
You’re sick? Take a pill

by Steele Coddington | July 1, 2009

If you are like most grandparents, you love thinking about your grandkids. But, more often than not, you are probably thinking about your next pill and not loving the thought.

Especially if you need to take five or ten of the big ugly ones that are hard to swallow. Or are green! Green pills are really ugly. They’re the kind my grandfather calls “chokers,” and my grandmother calls “gaggers.” “Sort of like grandfather’s jokes,” she loves to say when he isn’t wearing his hearing aids.

Thinking about pills always reminds me of a really hot chick I once dated in high school. Not that I think about her with every pill I take. Only once or twice on bad days, because as I recall, the prospect of a date with this particular girl was contemplated with high anxiety and raging hormones. Unfortunately she was extremely intelligent and turned out to be the class valedictorian with honors in math and ornithology or some other goofy subject. Needless to say, she turned a deaf ear to my phony invitations to jump in the back seat of my old man’s car where it was more comfortable. Warmer? Colder? Anything? Nope! She was a pill and only wanted to talk about algebraic equations and birds of North America in the front seat.
Well, God bless her. She was probably just listening to her father’s warnings about boys and what’s really on their minds 24 hours a day. I certainly clued my daughters in on the dirty old men dressed in young guys’ clothes who dared to date my angels. I think my lectures on “no back seats” were very educational. The only reason my daughters were embarrassed was because of the shotgun I had tucked under my right arm as I escorted them to the front door and said, “Remember what I told you about guys like this, dear.”

Wow, it’s amazing what the subject of pills can do to your mind. We have become a nation of pill eaters. Everything wrong with your body or mind or that you think is wrong, is curable with a pill. That is the new mandate for seniors under any version of socialized medicine contemplated by our leaders in D.C. Pills will become your treatment and your doctor. Every morning you will be required to raise a red, white and blue pill on a flagstaff while your cell phone plays the National Anthem and you salute Sir Pill as it rises. When you visit the ACORN clinic to renew your prescriptions, get examined and register to vote again, you get to cup your outstretched hand as they dispense your pills as largess for still being alive.

But you will get a thorough exam, by government standards. “Mr. Patient, your exam sheet shows you need to cut your toe nails. They’re an inch beyond your toes.” “I know, I can’t reach down to cut them any more.” Response: “Here, we’ll give you a $5 discount coupon for a pedicure at a local salon owned by a Democrat.” “Oh thank you, exalted one.” “Don’t get smart, Mr. Patient or I’ll reduce it to a $2 coupon. And while you’re here Mr. Patient, I’m giving you next month’s treatment – a new pill considered a miracle medical development, guaranteed to fix all senior ills. In fact, these just arrived from the Obama Pharmaceutical Corporation.” “Gee thanks. How come it says ‘aspirin’ on the pill?”

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