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January 4, 2006

House, M.D.

octor House, I have a patient who needs your immediate attention.

No time, Cuddy. I have to get more Vicodin and carve me a new cane in time to watch my soap.

A lame excuse, House. Look, you take care of this patient and I'll take you off clinic for a week.

Oh joy! Cuddy doing me a favor. Who's the patient? A politican?

We don't know. He literally has his head up is ass.

That clinches it. A damned politician. Foreman, get the forceps. And a match for the methane. But first I have to take a 30-minute break.

Isn't that a bit extreme, House? The lack of oxygen will cause brain damage.


Foreman, don't make this into a black/white thing. This is a POLITICIAN. They breathe methane. The brain damage may start AFTER I light the match.

But...eh...ahem...

Catheter got your tongue, Foreman?


House, let's have dinner at your place.

I'm not your dead husband, Cameron, and I don't believe in pity sex!


Dammit, House! Are you trying to get this hospital shut down?

There are exceptions to the Pity Sex clause, of course.


Meanwhile, we do have a patient.


But we haven't done the standard chalkboard-analysis-with-heavy-helpings-of-witty-interpersonal-humiliation yet.

Goody! Do we get to break into the patient's house and strip-search the bedroom?


I've only had three Vicodin in the last hour...hmmm...I'm still hearing voices...One more should do it.

The patient is going into spasms!

Spastic colon attack with lumbar support! Quick, get me a shoehorn!


Amazing! It actually is a politician! How can House always be right?

Yeeeeeaaaahhh!


Hat Tip to WuzzaDem, the Master.


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Posted by witnit at January 4, 2006 2:22 PM

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