EYE DOCTOR
Script
I’m wearing
new contacts. I’ve just had my prescription changed after six years. Did you ever
wait that long? When you get new lenses, you’re like “Man, I could have been
seeing things”. How can instantly improve vision not be at the top of your to
do list? “Oh, I’ll see tomorrow. I don’t have time. I don’t have time… to see
clearly. No, I don’t, I don’t, no I can’t do that. You see what’s on my desk?”
So, I go in
for the eye exam. I don’t know about you, but I concentrate like crazy during
the eye exam. You don’t want to get a ‘D’ on that thing. End up with these big
thick coke bottle lenses. “I didn’t take it serious. Are you still in here? I’m
just seeing shadows and shapes”. It’s important. They don’t call it a quiz.
So I go in
there, I sit in that big chair. He slides that big giant thing on my face. “Are
these my glasses? What happened to me?” Gotta be one hell of a pair of glasses.
Do I like it better it like this or like this? “I like this but I wonna see
that one again. That one’s pretty good, but let’s go back …” Click, click,
click, click, click. I hate that test because I can’t commit. I could feel my eye
doctor losing his patience with me “Let’s try it again, Brian. Which one do you
like better, number 1 or number 2?” “I don’t like either one of those.” “Khe, yeh,
but that wasn’t the question I asked, was it? I asked you which one you like
better and I was careful to phrase it that way. So, why don’t you keep that in
mind while we try it yet again. Which one do you like better, number 1 or
number 2?” – “Huh, they’re about the same.” – “Ghm. Why would I waste your time
and mine by making them both the same. Did you ever stop to think about that? You
ready to try it one more time?” – “What do you want from me?”
Way too
much pressure during that entire exam. They do one test every time. I don’t
know what they’re looking for, all I know is I get an anxiety attack in the
middle of the damn thing. “Tell me the exact moment point A is directly over
point B.” – “Now! No, now, now! Then! I don’t know. I don’t know when it
happened.” I’m worried if I’m off by an eighth of a second I’ll get these big
giant hobble coming attraction
glasses. “Boy, you must have messed up that A-B test.” Did I ever. Grand opening.
What are they helping me with - my ability to watch cars pass on the highway? “They
pass NOW! And they pass NOW!” Man, how do you do it?
It’s weird
in the eye exam room. It’s just him and me. It’s dark in there. The door’s
closed. I feel strange when he pulls his chair up uncomfortably close to you –
yheeeeeee. He’s like this far from my face. He shines his goofy light into my eyes
for about an eternity. “Huuuuh. Uuuph, huuuuh. How’re you doin’ there?” – “I’m
a little uncomfortable. Can you back up a tad? Are you looking at my soul? You want
a ‘tic-tac'? So, he says “So, you know you have one eye set a little bit higher
than your other eye?” – “No. I did not.” He goes “It doesn’t affect your vision
or anything. I just thought might wanna be self-conscious for the rest of your
life.” I went out to my car mirror “Am I some kind of monster? Is that a hump? I
am not an animal, I’m a man!” What’s the matter with him?
Then he
asked me “Would you like to try trifocals?” And I’m like “I must have been away
a while because I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He says “It’s
exactly what you would think - you could see at three different distances
depending on where you look through your lens – you could see close, medium or
far away.” And I’m like “I can’t even imagine getting used to that.” There’s a
book, there’s a plane, there’s Alpha Centauri. Do people need this kind of
range? “Is that a fly on my nose? Is that a comet?”
EMERGENCY ROOM
Script
*Clapping and cheering*
Thank you.
*More clapping and cheering*
Wow. Feels good.
That’s all the time I needed to fill. I appreciate that, thank you, man. Feels great.
Thank you.
*More clapping and cheering*
Wow. Feels good.
That’s all the time I needed to fill. I appreciate that, thank you, man. Feels great.
I’m feeling good. I actually just recently had to go to the Emergency Room, though and… I had some stomach virus thing. I almost called an ambulance. It’s weird if you’re considering calling an ambulance for yourself. You know? You call ambulances for other people, right? What are you supposed to say for yourself? Can you come get me? Yeah, I don’t feel so good. Just come on in, and I’ll be lying on the floor.
I was looking at the phone thinking, “I don’t know how to do this.” I didn’t know what to do. It was at night, so I drove myself to the Emergency Room. That’s a nice relaxing drive. *whistles a tune* Noooo, after you. Merge, everybody merge. I’m only imploding.
So I pull up at the entrance to the Emergency Room. No valet parking. I mean, if that’s not the biggest oversight in our solar system… if there’s ever a time when you want to go, “can you park this because I need to collapse immediately?” But no, I’m circling around the parking lot trying to find a spot. “Can I park there, I think I’m gonna die?” “I’m dying too.” “OK, go ahead. I’ll go up a couple levels.” Unbelievable. I don’t care if you’re driving yourself or someone else to the Emergency Room, you still want to get out and run in with them. Are you supposed to drop somebody off and go park the car? “OK, you go in! Tell them you’re SHOT! Ask them if they validate!” Unbelievable.
So I finally park, you know. I go in to check in. They ask the most insulting question when you check into a hospital. “What seems to be the problem?” “What seems.. ? Well it seems… it seems like everything in all my inside wants to be on my outside. But I’m no doctor.” What kind of condescending question…
So they check me in to my luxurious half room. There’s a curtain down the middle with a mystery patient on the other side. And he’s moaning over there. *Moans* I’m thinking, “man, they’re never going to help me with him moaning like that.” So I gotta out-moan him, you know? *moans louder* *answers with a louder moan* *moans even louder* *screams out a moan* “Quit moaning! We’re all hurting!” The whole floor is like a haunted choir. *moans again* It’s gotta be hell to work in this environment.
So I’m killing time writhing. The nurse finally comes in. “How are you doing tonight?” “I’m on a gurney. Do you have a pain killer or something? This is killing me.” So she goes, “how would you describe your pain?” *pause* “It’s killing me. I don’t know if you remember that part. Ouch.” What, are we playing that pyramid game? “Um. Excruciating. Horrific. Would rather have shards of glass in my eye. How do I convey this to you?” So she asks, “how would you rate your pain?” “Four stars. Two enthusiastic thumbs up!” She goes, “how would you rate it on a scale of one to ten with ten being the worst?” Well, you know saying a low number isn’t going to help you. “Oh, I’m a two… maybe the high one’s. If you could get me a baby aspirin and cut it in half, maybe a Flinstone vitamin and I’ll be out of your hair. You can go tend to all the threes and fours and such, if anyone’s saying such ridiculous numbers.” I couldn’t bring myself to say ten though, because I had heard that the worst pain a human can endure is getting the femur bone cracked in half. I don’t know if that’s true, but, I thought, if it is, they have exclusive rights to ten. And now I’m thinking, “what was I worried about? Is there like a femur ward in the hospital. They would have heard about me and hobbled into my room.” “Who the hell… had the AUDACITY… to say he was at a level ten?!? You know nothing about ten. Give me a sledgehammer, and let me show you what ten is all about, Mr. Tummy-ache!” How could I possibly… I can’t. So I thought, “I’ll say nine. Then I thought, no, childbirth. I better not try to compete with that.” And then I’m thinking, “you know what must be hell? Giving childbirth when your femur bone’s cracked in half.”
So I said, “I guess I’m an eight.” She goes, “OK, I’ll be back.” I’m like, “aw, I blew it. I ain’t getting nothing with eight.” But she surprised me, she comes in, she goes me, “the doctor told me to give you morphine immediately.” So then I’m like, “morphine?? That’s the stuff they gave the guy in Saving Private Ryan just before he died… OK, I’m a four… I’m a zero, I’m a negative eleventeen.” Morphine. So they gave me morphine. Wow, all I know is about fifteen minutes later, just for the hell of it, I was like, “I’m an eight again! Guess who’s an eight?” When they finally check me out, I’m walking down the hall, I’m going “Say eight! Say eight! Say eight! Say eight! Happy eight day! Did you get some eight? Did you get any eight?” What am I throwing? I can’t throw a number… like Johny Appleseed, “did you get any eight over there?” I don’t understand my own visuals. I’m here throwing numbers around. I’m fine now, I think, I dunno.
Brian Regan's jokes are hilarious, humorous, amusing, comical, entertaining, witty, laughable, side-splitting and just killing! LOL
I was looking at the phone thinking, “I don’t know how to do this.” I didn’t know what to do. It was at night, so I drove myself to the Emergency Room. That’s a nice relaxing drive. *whistles a tune* Noooo, after you. Merge, everybody merge. I’m only imploding.
So I pull up at the entrance to the Emergency Room. No valet parking. I mean, if that’s not the biggest oversight in our solar system… if there’s ever a time when you want to go, “can you park this because I need to collapse immediately?” But no, I’m circling around the parking lot trying to find a spot. “Can I park there, I think I’m gonna die?” “I’m dying too.” “OK, go ahead. I’ll go up a couple levels.” Unbelievable. I don’t care if you’re driving yourself or someone else to the Emergency Room, you still want to get out and run in with them. Are you supposed to drop somebody off and go park the car? “OK, you go in! Tell them you’re SHOT! Ask them if they validate!” Unbelievable.
So I finally park, you know. I go in to check in. They ask the most insulting question when you check into a hospital. “What seems to be the problem?” “What seems.. ? Well it seems… it seems like everything in all my inside wants to be on my outside. But I’m no doctor.” What kind of condescending question…
So they check me in to my luxurious half room. There’s a curtain down the middle with a mystery patient on the other side. And he’s moaning over there. *Moans* I’m thinking, “man, they’re never going to help me with him moaning like that.” So I gotta out-moan him, you know? *moans louder* *answers with a louder moan* *moans even louder* *screams out a moan* “Quit moaning! We’re all hurting!” The whole floor is like a haunted choir. *moans again* It’s gotta be hell to work in this environment.
So I’m killing time writhing. The nurse finally comes in. “How are you doing tonight?” “I’m on a gurney. Do you have a pain killer or something? This is killing me.” So she goes, “how would you describe your pain?” *pause* “It’s killing me. I don’t know if you remember that part. Ouch.” What, are we playing that pyramid game? “Um. Excruciating. Horrific. Would rather have shards of glass in my eye. How do I convey this to you?” So she asks, “how would you rate your pain?” “Four stars. Two enthusiastic thumbs up!” She goes, “how would you rate it on a scale of one to ten with ten being the worst?” Well, you know saying a low number isn’t going to help you. “Oh, I’m a two… maybe the high one’s. If you could get me a baby aspirin and cut it in half, maybe a Flinstone vitamin and I’ll be out of your hair. You can go tend to all the threes and fours and such, if anyone’s saying such ridiculous numbers.” I couldn’t bring myself to say ten though, because I had heard that the worst pain a human can endure is getting the femur bone cracked in half. I don’t know if that’s true, but, I thought, if it is, they have exclusive rights to ten. And now I’m thinking, “what was I worried about? Is there like a femur ward in the hospital. They would have heard about me and hobbled into my room.” “Who the hell… had the AUDACITY… to say he was at a level ten?!? You know nothing about ten. Give me a sledgehammer, and let me show you what ten is all about, Mr. Tummy-ache!” How could I possibly… I can’t. So I thought, “I’ll say nine. Then I thought, no, childbirth. I better not try to compete with that.” And then I’m thinking, “you know what must be hell? Giving childbirth when your femur bone’s cracked in half.”
So I said, “I guess I’m an eight.” She goes, “OK, I’ll be back.” I’m like, “aw, I blew it. I ain’t getting nothing with eight.” But she surprised me, she comes in, she goes me, “the doctor told me to give you morphine immediately.” So then I’m like, “morphine?? That’s the stuff they gave the guy in Saving Private Ryan just before he died… OK, I’m a four… I’m a zero, I’m a negative eleventeen.” Morphine. So they gave me morphine. Wow, all I know is about fifteen minutes later, just for the hell of it, I was like, “I’m an eight again! Guess who’s an eight?” When they finally check me out, I’m walking down the hall, I’m going “Say eight! Say eight! Say eight! Say eight! Happy eight day! Did you get some eight? Did you get any eight?” What am I throwing? I can’t throw a number… like Johny Appleseed, “did you get any eight over there?” I don’t understand my own visuals. I’m here throwing numbers around. I’m fine now, I think, I dunno.
Brian Regan's jokes are hilarious, humorous, amusing, comical, entertaining, witty, laughable, side-splitting and just killing! LOL
If you've enjoyed "Stupid in School", you'll love watching the whole show called "I Walked on the Moon".
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