REVIEWED BY: Marguerite Zelle
MY RECOMMENDATION: YES
AMAZON SUBSCRIPTION LINK: Bad Swami, by Bad Swami
WEB ADDRESS: http://badswami.com/
BLOG DESCRIPTION: A comedy blog about a wide-array of topics, including the trials and tribulations of growing up brown in America.
Why the name Bad Swami? For starters, I am Indian, but born and raised in America. Like so many self-proclaimed swamis, I have decided to present myself as a swami with no “swami credentials” per se. To be fair, I’m not really sure where to get such credentials but if you know a good place, please let me know. Bear in mind that I have a short attention span, poor reading comprehension, and an aversion to most religions. I doubt that I’ll ever be a good swami but I do possess the ability to be offbeat and irritating. In short, I sit on a throne of lies. I AM BAD SWAMI.
MY REVIEW: This is a new blog, but what there's been so far is pretty good. The author writes well and humorously. I like the title Bad Swami! Worth reading!
Keep the doctor away
My brother is a doctor, and I feel bad for him because I use him as a proxy for all the aggression I have towards doctors. When he comes to visit me, I usually make him wait in my foyer for 45 minutes with only a Highlights magazine from 1972 to keep him occupied. Then I tell him to wait some more in my living room and I turn the temperature down to 50 degrees. Then, when I finally go downstairs to see him, I tell him that he might feel some “slight discomfort” and I slap him as hard as I can. I think he is getting tired of this ritual but I just have to get it out of my system.
I think doctors sit in their back office and laugh hysterically at me and I disgustedly page through Redbook and Women’s Journal in their waiting room. Come on! How about a nice copy of GQ or a flat screen TV with a nice cop movie or something. I long to sit in the waiting room staring up at an enormous flat screen HDTV and hear the words, “He’s a good cop in a bad mood” or “This time, they messed with the wrong cop” or “They kidnapped his family and kicked his dog…he’s pissed…and this time it’s personal.” Even when they have a TV in their waiting room, it’s one of those old cathode tube, black and white, curved screen TVs with poor reception playing The People’s Court or Jerry Springer.
Now don’t get me wrong, I love doctors and many of my close family members are doctors. It’s just that, like many of you, I find their assessment process very annoying and, in some cases, a tad humiliating.
If a doctor were especially naughty on this Earth and ended up in Hell, I can only guess what bizarre punishment the Devil would inflict on him. Chances are, there would be some kind of poetic justice where the doctor would have to endure the same process they put their poor patients through on Earth.
What might the Devil do to a naughty doctor? Well, for starters, I’m fairly certain that the Devil would make him wait for hours in a sterile, freezing cold room, completely nude except for one of those ill-fitting, paper snuggies that the medical profession generously refers to as a “gown.” The Devil would hang out in the hallway outside seemingly forever drinking coffee, laughing, and flirting with the nurses.
After that, he’d pompously enter the windowless examination room looking at a chart as though he was doing the doctor and the room a huge favor just by showing up, like Tom Cruise signing his last autograph of the day. The Devil would then put an ice cold stethoscope directly on the doctor’s chest and ask him to take deep breaths until he hyperventilated and passed out.
For the dreaded hernia exam, the Devil would cradle the doctor’s balls, instruct him to cough, and then to sing the entire soundtrack to Oklahoma (the long version). When testing reflexes, the Devil would hit the doctor’s opposing knees as hard as he could with a rubber sledge hammer, and say after each whack, “Hmmm…I can’t seem to find your patellar tendon. Are you sure you have one…hahahaha! Oh, man, that joke kills every time!”
The Devil would then ask him to bend over while he checked his prostate — the hard way. The Devil would, of course, make the doctor open his mouth, say “ahhh” for twenty minutes, and cram a splintery two-by-four into the back of his throat and say, “Just relax, I’m testing your gag reflex.” For no apparent reason the Devil would also say, “You know I think you really need a barium enema, and while we are at it, a full colonoscopy.” At the end of the exams, the Devil would tell the doctor that he is way too fat, needs to exercise, and should eat healthier if he wants to have a good quality of afterlife for eternity in Hell.
Now that would be poetic justice.
--Horny for Food
--South Asian Women: Insecurity and Beauty
--The Art of War…With Douchebags
--Keep the Doctor Away
Reviews published every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
Check out my kindle BOOKS!:Whose Body, by Dorothy Sayers (the Annotated Edition)
The Coldest Equations (science fiction)
Volcano Seven: Treasure and Treasure Hunters
The Lady and the Tiger...Moth
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