Post by Dr. Karate on Jul 17, 2007 17:44:39 GMT -5
"What do you mean you don't think you can get it? Jason, if I, Dr. Karate, ask for a mountain lion, then I, Dr. Karate, expect you to show up on my front door with a giant damn mountain lion. Do you understand?"
Karate winced with pain, but went on talking into his brand new iPhone.
"No, I don't care what color it is, and I don't care where you get it. Steal the damn thing from a zoo if you have to. This is Canada afterall, they should have mountain lions wandering the streets. Yes, a puma will do. I just want a wild cat big enough to eat a goat whole, you got me? No, a crocodile is too slow. This thing moves like the wind. What? Sure, they'd do the job, but how am I supposed to handle a half dozen crocodiles? Use your head, Jason. Get me one animal, I don't care what, big enough to do the job. Are you hearing me, Jason? Good, now get to it."
He winced again as he hung up the iPhone and looked back over his shoulder. "What are you stitching with, a shrimp fork?"
The man behind Dr. Karate was dressed in, curiously enough, medical scrubs. He was currently attending to the bare posterior of the good doctor, as Karate slumped over the examination table.
"Calm down, DK. Don't forget I came down here on my day off to stitch up your ass. But, I'm pretty sure I've got some rusty tools left over from the 70s around here somewhere if you want to keep your whining."
Karate folded his arms and looked like a petulant child. After a few minutes, there was the slap of a hand on bare flesh.
"Ok, you're done. Put 'em away."
Hiking up his boxers and tailored dress pants, Karate stood up, tucked in his white dress shirt and began working the kinks out of his back.
"Thanks."
The words came out of him with difficulty and still lacked credibility. The second doctor pulled off his rubber gloves and began washing his hands in a nearby basin.
"Real wild girl, was she?"
Karate was in the process of donning a labcoat over his business attire and looked up, confused. "Huh?"
As if to anser, he just pointed in the direction of Dr. Karate's rear quarters.
"No," Karate shouted, "it wasn't a girl, it was a friggin' goat."
The other doctor simply raised his eyebrows and went back to washing his hands. "To each his own, I guess."
"No, it wasn't... oh, forget it. Is this my stethoscope, or yours?"
The other doc looked over his shoulder to confirm, then said, "yours."
"Good, I better get going. I'll see you at poker on Saturday." Karate hooked the stethoscope around his neck and moved to the door before pausing. "Um, listen, Keith..."
"Don't worry, I won't say a word. As a proctologist I've seen way worse than a few bite marks on the hiney."
"'Preciate it," Karate mumbled as he hurled himself through the door.
"A goat on the other hand," Keith said, after he had left, "is a new one."
---
Twenty minutes later, Karate was sitting in his red ferrari, stuck in traffic and talking on his iPhone. On the seat next to him were a dozen glossy photos of women in various states of undress.
"Jason, it's DK. What? DK, Dr. Karate, you boob! It's my new nickname, I just thought of it. Print up some classy shirts with that stenciled in the corner. Who? Well, I don't care about some Donna chick, just print them up. No... no, Jason, shut up. I don't want to talk about the mountain lion right now, I'm on a different page. Well, can't you just forget about that for a second? My new phone multi-tasks Jason, why can't you? Good, now listen, and make sure you're writing all this down."
Despite no movement at all in the traffic, someone behind Karate began leaning on their horn. Karate raised his middle finger without looking back.
"Did you fire Candice? Good, now I'm booked for a match this week, so I need a new valet, ASAP. Now, I'm looking at the shots from the agency, and I've got it narrowed down to three. The skinny blonde with the huge rack. Huh? Oh, her agency number is 12861. Also, I'm looking at 11420, the tall brunette who looks like an attractive Reba McEntire. And the third one is number 14009, the sassy-looking negroid. What? We're in Canada, how can she be an African American? Jesus, Jason, think before you speak, would you please? Black, colored, super-tanned, I don't care what she calls herself, get her and the other two in for interviews."
Karate opened the glove compartment, took out a pair of black shades and slipped them on before organising the photos with his free hand while listening to Jason on the other end of the phone. While he did, there was another honk from behind, and Karate flipped his middle finger up once again.
"Good, now as much as I'm not looking forward to it, you're going to have to find me an apartment in Fort McMurray. It seems like they're asking me to come out every other day to sign some forms or something, and the commute from Edmonton is doing a number on ole Red here." He patted the dashboard as he spoke. "Not to mention me having to drive all the way back on a throbbing ass. No, I'm keeping the place in Edmonton, I just need somewhere in town to crash if it's too late to drive back. Ok, have you got all that, Jason? Good, now get to work. One more--"
A third horn honk interrupted him in mid sentence and he shook his head in annoyance.
"I've got to go, Jason. I've got someone who's begging for a beatdown."
Karate hung up the iPhone and reached over to the glove compartment. He pulled out a pair of black nunchucks and reached for the door handle. Just then, a large black man stepped up to the driver side door and kneed it closed on him. Before Karate could react, the man pulled out a leather wallet and flashed his RCMP badge. The sneer on Karate's face drained off as he dared a glance over his shoulder and saw the empty car behind him: a beige police ghost car, with lights flashing.
The man stared at Dr. Karate, and then to the nunchucks still held in his hand.
"Um... I can explain everything."
Karate winced with pain, but went on talking into his brand new iPhone.
"No, I don't care what color it is, and I don't care where you get it. Steal the damn thing from a zoo if you have to. This is Canada afterall, they should have mountain lions wandering the streets. Yes, a puma will do. I just want a wild cat big enough to eat a goat whole, you got me? No, a crocodile is too slow. This thing moves like the wind. What? Sure, they'd do the job, but how am I supposed to handle a half dozen crocodiles? Use your head, Jason. Get me one animal, I don't care what, big enough to do the job. Are you hearing me, Jason? Good, now get to it."
He winced again as he hung up the iPhone and looked back over his shoulder. "What are you stitching with, a shrimp fork?"
The man behind Dr. Karate was dressed in, curiously enough, medical scrubs. He was currently attending to the bare posterior of the good doctor, as Karate slumped over the examination table.
"Calm down, DK. Don't forget I came down here on my day off to stitch up your ass. But, I'm pretty sure I've got some rusty tools left over from the 70s around here somewhere if you want to keep your whining."
Karate folded his arms and looked like a petulant child. After a few minutes, there was the slap of a hand on bare flesh.
"Ok, you're done. Put 'em away."
Hiking up his boxers and tailored dress pants, Karate stood up, tucked in his white dress shirt and began working the kinks out of his back.
"Thanks."
The words came out of him with difficulty and still lacked credibility. The second doctor pulled off his rubber gloves and began washing his hands in a nearby basin.
"Real wild girl, was she?"
Karate was in the process of donning a labcoat over his business attire and looked up, confused. "Huh?"
As if to anser, he just pointed in the direction of Dr. Karate's rear quarters.
"No," Karate shouted, "it wasn't a girl, it was a friggin' goat."
The other doctor simply raised his eyebrows and went back to washing his hands. "To each his own, I guess."
"No, it wasn't... oh, forget it. Is this my stethoscope, or yours?"
The other doc looked over his shoulder to confirm, then said, "yours."
"Good, I better get going. I'll see you at poker on Saturday." Karate hooked the stethoscope around his neck and moved to the door before pausing. "Um, listen, Keith..."
"Don't worry, I won't say a word. As a proctologist I've seen way worse than a few bite marks on the hiney."
"'Preciate it," Karate mumbled as he hurled himself through the door.
"A goat on the other hand," Keith said, after he had left, "is a new one."
---
Twenty minutes later, Karate was sitting in his red ferrari, stuck in traffic and talking on his iPhone. On the seat next to him were a dozen glossy photos of women in various states of undress.
"Jason, it's DK. What? DK, Dr. Karate, you boob! It's my new nickname, I just thought of it. Print up some classy shirts with that stenciled in the corner. Who? Well, I don't care about some Donna chick, just print them up. No... no, Jason, shut up. I don't want to talk about the mountain lion right now, I'm on a different page. Well, can't you just forget about that for a second? My new phone multi-tasks Jason, why can't you? Good, now listen, and make sure you're writing all this down."
Despite no movement at all in the traffic, someone behind Karate began leaning on their horn. Karate raised his middle finger without looking back.
"Did you fire Candice? Good, now I'm booked for a match this week, so I need a new valet, ASAP. Now, I'm looking at the shots from the agency, and I've got it narrowed down to three. The skinny blonde with the huge rack. Huh? Oh, her agency number is 12861. Also, I'm looking at 11420, the tall brunette who looks like an attractive Reba McEntire. And the third one is number 14009, the sassy-looking negroid. What? We're in Canada, how can she be an African American? Jesus, Jason, think before you speak, would you please? Black, colored, super-tanned, I don't care what she calls herself, get her and the other two in for interviews."
Karate opened the glove compartment, took out a pair of black shades and slipped them on before organising the photos with his free hand while listening to Jason on the other end of the phone. While he did, there was another honk from behind, and Karate flipped his middle finger up once again.
"Good, now as much as I'm not looking forward to it, you're going to have to find me an apartment in Fort McMurray. It seems like they're asking me to come out every other day to sign some forms or something, and the commute from Edmonton is doing a number on ole Red here." He patted the dashboard as he spoke. "Not to mention me having to drive all the way back on a throbbing ass. No, I'm keeping the place in Edmonton, I just need somewhere in town to crash if it's too late to drive back. Ok, have you got all that, Jason? Good, now get to work. One more--"
A third horn honk interrupted him in mid sentence and he shook his head in annoyance.
"I've got to go, Jason. I've got someone who's begging for a beatdown."
Karate hung up the iPhone and reached over to the glove compartment. He pulled out a pair of black nunchucks and reached for the door handle. Just then, a large black man stepped up to the driver side door and kneed it closed on him. Before Karate could react, the man pulled out a leather wallet and flashed his RCMP badge. The sneer on Karate's face drained off as he dared a glance over his shoulder and saw the empty car behind him: a beige police ghost car, with lights flashing.
The man stared at Dr. Karate, and then to the nunchucks still held in his hand.
"Um... I can explain everything."