Pain?

( Hmm... )


Muse ~ Dr. Gregory House
Fandom ~ House
Word Count ~ Not enough, but who cares? ^_^ House spits on the rules!

((ooc: ...I was planning on skipping this topic for House...but he'd have none of that. So, so much for that I guess. And I did NOT make that icon. If I knew who did I'd credit...but I don't...))

"What would you kill for?"

Vicodin!

Killing is usually a no-no in my field of work. Then again, so is...just about everything else I do, but Dr. Jack Kevorkian I am not.

Right now?

A Snapple Iced Tea and a bag of original Lays...

Who do you look up to more than anybody else? Everybody has a role model - take a few minutes to pay tribute to yours.

My role model? Like the kind with all the idolizing, admiration, adoration and all those other spiffy ‘-ation’ words most commonly associated with celebrity stalkers?

Yeah, can’t say I have one of those--celebrity or not, really. Showed up a bit late when it came time for the role model selection day and the only person left was George W. Bush... (No joke needed, it stands on it’s own I think) Well, that, or there’s the possibility that I’m incredibly conceited and see no need in elevating another human being on a shiny pedestal above myself. My pedestal is the tallest...and most shiny.

Hmm, kind of puts a kink in the whole 'Everybody has a role model' thing, huh? What can I say? I’m a wave making rebel.

Although, come to think of it, maybe my role model is Eminem. He did have that aptly titled song, after all. Maybe, as the lyrics imply, I DO want to grow up to be just like him. Plus there’s this. Not-so-subliminal messaging...what a wacky guy.

Clearly, I wouldn’t be admiring the man for his keen grasp on the idea of subtlety.

Oh, or how about the guy who invented Post It notes? I’m guessing it’s a guy anyway...because apparently I’m conceited AND sexist, but back to Post It man; my maybe-role-model. Think about it, everyone knows what a post it is, but how many know the genius behind the sticky, yellow slips of paper? Better still, how many care? I sure don't.

I think I’m intrigued by the idea of being known for something world wide yet not really ‘known’ at all.

Houston, we have a role model... I just don’t happen to know his name or care much to know really.

Is Post It guy even alive? I’d be crushed to find and lose my idol all in a matter of the same day.

The less I know the better...

EDIT: Post It man's birth name is Spencer Silver, apparently. I asked a patient. Who knew they were good for something other that complaining? "My arm hurts." "It hurts when I pee." "I can't breathe." Waaaah.

Hypodermic darts...it could have been big, an Olympic sport even. Sadly, all hopes of that have been shot to hell since the game has been sent to a premature grave due to the evil, ever looming eyes of ‘Big Brother’. Although here at the hospital, Big Brother wears pumps, low-cut tops and goes by the name of Lisa Cuddy--but still, very much like the formless yet omnipresent entity in George Orwell’s, Ninteen Eighty-Four.

Lisa Cuddy is watching--be afraid, be...mildly afraid.

I still fail to see what it was I we Wilson did wrong. The syringes were empty, straight out of the packaging for heaven sake. Plus, it’s not like we I Wilson was whipping them at patients. My god, I’m he’s a professional! The Vitruvian Man poster being used as the dartboard in the scenario didn’t object either. So...what’s the problem? Could’ve done a whole lot worse if you ask me. Could’ve tried reviving wheelchair bowling or, my personal fave, bedpans and broom sticks. (My take on the great Canadian sport of...Curling...)

Anyway, what’s done is done and dues obviously have to be paid. Obviously... Good thing the hypo-needles are pretty cheap to replace and the holes in the poster are virtually unnoticeable.

Wilson really is a bad influence. Definitely not the type my mother would approve of me socializing with... If Chase, Cameron and Foreman weren’t so damn boring I’d consider joining their posse--but they are.

Plus I’m pretty sure one of them tipped Cuddy off about my dart game.

...uh, I mean Wilson’s

Describe a dream that you've had. How did the dream make you feel?

Is this some dream analysis study? Most places of business subject their employees to urine tests... Oh well, I’ll play.

It all started when I was five; I wanted a dog...my dad was allergic

I had a dream that, due to high levels of toxic mold growing in the walls, the hospital clinic had to be shut down...indefinitely.

It made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside--kind of the same feeling a person gets when they think about rainbows, lollipops and kittens... Those things actually make ME kind of queasy, but I’ve heard talk around the pharmaceutical window that most people enjoy them. Who understands ‘pure happiness’ better than people hopped up on painkillers and antidepressants? Nobody, that’s who.

Actually, come to think of it, the feeling of no clinic duty was probably a better feeling than anything rainbow-cat-candy could provide. Dare I say, better than sex even? Gasp! Well, okay, no...I probably wouldn’t say that. I am male after all.

Well, hopefully this helps your ‘study’.

Oh, this-is-not-a-bribe, I have a friend named Ben Franklin totally-not-a-bribe who would just LOVE Dr. Lisa Cuddy's rusults of this experiment faxed to my office ASAP. Huh, what bribe? She SO wants me...to, uh, have a copy of that...

...yeah.