Amoeba’s Lorica: Cold Comfort

Patient: “So what’s up, doc?”

Physician: “Bugs.”

Patient: “Very funny.”

Physician: “Sorry. It is the day after Easter, I’ve got bunnies on the brain. And, begging your pardon, but I wasn’t the first to quote Looney Tunes.”

Patient:Touché. And yes, he was a turtle. I’d laugh, but it hurts when I laugh. So what’s buggin’ me?”

Physician: “Just a cold.”

Patient:Just, he says. I’m sitting here drowning in my own sweat, I’ve got so many sharp pains shooting through me, I feel like a dart board at the national championships, and he says ‘just a cold.’ I don’t suppose you have ‘just’ the medicine for it?”

Physician: “Believe me, I’d love it if we did. But the rhinoviruses that cause colds mutate too quickly …”

Patient: “The what?

Physician (under his breath): “Not again …”

Patient:Rhinoviruses? Are you telling me that I’ve got all these miniature pachyderms running through my body? So every time I feel a twinge, they’re sticking their big hard pointy snouts into me? Huh?”

Physician: “Calm down …”

Patient: “And they’re mutating?!? Are they going to turn me into a rhino??

Physician: “Well, then, I suppose your girlfriend would be right to call you hor …”

Patient (crashing his way out of the office): “AAAAAAAAHHH!!!”

Nurse (pokes head in office, surveys damage):Another cold?”

Physician (shaking head ruefully): “‘Fraid so.”

Nurse: “Doc, I wish you’d learn to just say germs. This is costing us a fortune in furniture.”


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He and She: Concert Preparation

She: “All set for the gig this evening?”

He: “Well, the horns are cleaned and ready, the music’s in order, I have a stand …”

She: “You’re taking a stand?”

He: “Of course. Taking a stand will do me some good for once. It will let me do the show sitting up. Instead of sitting down and staring at the music on the floor.”

She: “And here I thought you were a stand-up kind of guy.”

He: “Not this time. Especially not with the head cold I brought home from our trip. Not to mention the hard blowing at last night’s performance. I hope I can play a note without sneezing – or splatting.”

She: “Well, I’ve got your costume ready. And for lunch, I’ll make you a chicken sandwich.”

He: “Um …”

She: “And then you can explain to your bandmates how come you can’t blow on the trumpet!”

He: “That would be a better excuse than the ones I’ve … Hey!! So you want them to think I’m too chicken to play?!?”

She: “You’re going to be playing the ‘Chicken Dance’ all night long, right? What’s wrong with me trying to help you look the part?”

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Amoeba’s Lorica: Out of the Mouths of Babies

Does anybody know of a place that does trick-or-treating for adults? I’m looking for a place that hands out tacos and margaritas. – Facebook post

Boy, age 10: “Dad?”

His father: “Yes, son?”

Son: “What’s an adult?”

Father: “Someone that you soon will be.”

Son: “Yeah, but what does that mean?”

Father: “Well, for one thing, it means that you’re old enough to make babies and bring them into the world.”

Son: “And to watch other people while they’re trying to make them?”

Father (aghast): How did you find out about that?

Son: “Ah, c’mon, Dad, get real. As if this stuff wasn’t all over the Internet. Besides, the lead story on network news this morning was about this football player masturbating in front of his trainer – a girl. How do you work it so you don’t find out about it? Near as I can make out, adult means being able to pull off all kinds of rude kid tricks without being sent to your room.”

Father: “Um …”

Son:Alone. You got anything else for me to look forward to?”

Father: “Well, if you’re going to make babies, you have to pay for them. Which means going to work. Getting a job. You know, scientist, carpenter, plumber, police officer …”

Son: “Soldier?”

Father: “Yes, that’s a job.”

Son: “How can that be for adults?”

Father: “Trust me, you don’t want to be doing it.”

Son: “Yeah, but it doesn’t add up! Soldiers don’t make people, they kill people. So shouldn’t that job be for subtractults?”

Father: “Son …”


Father: “Do I know you?”

Son: “Sorry, Dad, you don’t get off that easy. At the rate you’re going, you’re going to have me as a kid forever!”

Father: “Yeah, good luck with that. Especially if you ever want to vote!”

Son: “Vote?”

Father: “Until you’re an adult, you won’t be able to vote for the people who make the rules. Adults get to choose the people who decide what the laws and rules are going to be, how they’re going to be enforced, and by whom.”

Son: “You mean, they get to choose, like, the President?”

Father: “Yes, like the President.”

Son: “The one everybody’s yelling about?”

Father: “Yes, um …”

Son: “You voted for him?!?”

Father: “Well, not all of us …”

Son: “Just enough of you. So let me get this straight. All the rules that I gotta follow, and all the people that make the rules that I gotta follow … they’re all adulterated?!?”

Father: “Son?”


Father: “Go to your room.”

Son: “Yes, dad …”

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