THE RETURN OF THE ABOMINABLE DR. P.

It's barely dawn, the grey sky is still hedging its bet, my stomach is debating my choice of coffee as a wake up call, and I'm not sure about this or any other thing.  Maybe I should go back to bed.  Trouble is, if I could sleep I wouldn't have left my miracle foam dream inducer in the first place.  It's conscience, I think, that's nagged and dragged me to an upright position. 

You see, I've been meaning to write a blog about the Abominable Dr. P since my encounter with the Demented Dermatologist this past Thursday, but I've been distracted by the usual litany of life's vital endeavors which include everything but sitting down and writing.  You know what I mean, there is football to watch, there are books to read, and staring off into space to do.  Like I said, vital things.  The problem, as I see it, is that I don't really have anything new to say about Dr. P that I haven't already said in the long ago and, of course, as Norman Mailer was quick to point out, repitition is the death of creativity. He pointed that out on several occasions.  

What I have, though, in lieu of words, is a couple of pictures to document my face to face with the Mad Medico. Okay it wasn't really a face to face. It was more of a face to scalpel and face to electric cauterizing gizmo but, trust me, the doctor was in attendance.  I could see him through my watery, squinted gaze, silhouted against the we-have-ways-of making-you-talk intense light he was shinning on me so as not to miss any opportunity to slice off another bit of my own self.  As you can see from the photos (If I can get them attached) nary an opportunity went a-begging.

If this session with the Abominable Dude looks a might rash to you, fear not.  Four days post trauma I have no bandages and only small scabs to show for my venturing into the doctor's lair.  What happened was that I had a few "spots" that warranted more than the usual freeze offs.  The Dermo Doc, low on liquid nitro anyway, figured, what the hell, I'll just go ahead and slash and burn them all off. I agreed to the plan not realizing that a painful needle full of pain killer - what's the point of that? - would be required at each and every spot.  

Ah well.  All's well that ends well, someone said whose end was, well, well. My hide is good to go for another three months or so, and I got these cool photos to show for it.  What with pictures being worth a thousand words, think of all the time I've saved for more of those vital things... like...you know... a nap comes to mind.