I stagger into physical therapist Lyn Paul Taylor‘s office this afternoon.
Jo the Hot Filipina shows me to my room.
Lyn (join me on his Facebook Fan group) comes in and I wail: "You gotta help me. I’m a wreck. I’m a shell of my former self.
"This weekend, I was fooling around at the beach."
I act out what I was doing when I incurred the savage injury to my back.
Lyn calls in his partner Tim Hui, the chiropractor.
I take off my shirt. Tim checks out my back. He sees two vertebrate in a weird place.
"Can I see?" asks Jo.
Practically the whole office staff gathers around my back and pays obeisance to the vicious injury I did to myself in pursuit of transcendent values.
Then I have Lyn traverse my body with his buzzer machine to check for inflammation.
My whole body is vibrating ball of pain — not that you will ever hear me complain!
When the girls leave, I whisper to Tim and Lyn: "Shouldn’t we put some vibration and ultrasound on that one organ of mine that has received the biggest workout over the past month?"
Lyn responds: "We don’t do the tongue."
The girls come back in and pay exclusive attention to me for 90 minutes, vibrating my back, knees, shins and feet. Then they lather on the white ibuprofen cream and ultrasound me within an inch of my life.
If I am to die, then let it be with chicks slavering attention on me and salving my pains with whipped cream.
Rabbi Akiva got skinned alive by the Romans. Let me be skinned alive by hot chix!
Tim’s got the delicate Oriental fingers just perfect for lacing into my damaged knees and unstitching the adhesions that have developed from my athletic life. As I scream in pain saying words not countenanced by the RCC, Tim says, "Tell me where your military base is."
Never! Nothing but name, rank and serial number!
I’m handed a sheet of paper:
The Mexican maid asked for a pay increase.
The wife was very upset about this and asked:
‘Now Maria, why do you want a pay increase?’
Maria: ‘Well, Senora, there are three reasons why I want an increase.
The first is that I iron better than you.’
Wife: ‘Who said you iron better than me?’
Maria: ‘Your husband said so.’
Maria: ‘The second reason is that I am a better cook than you.’
Wife: ‘Nonsense, who said you were a better cook than me?’
Maria: ‘Your husband did.’
Maria: ‘My third reason is that I am a better lover than you..’
Wife (really furious now): ‘Did my husband say that as well?’
Maria: ‘No Senora, the gardener and the poolman did.’
Wife: “So how much do you want?”
It takes me five seconds to read.
Jo, who majored in bio-chem at UCLA, asks: "How did you read it so quickly?"
Lyn: "He didn’t go to UCLA."
Luke: "I did go to UCLA. I majored in Econ."
After the guys leave, Jo, Bri the Black Girl, and I have a girly chat.
Bri’s not down with white bitches touching her pregnancy.
Jo (have I remarked in sufficient depth on these hallowed pages about the special way that Filipinas are built for love?) reaches out to touch it but Bri slaps her down.
Jo’s entranced by the prospect of a "free hugs day." She wants to walk around with a sign advertising "Free Hugs!"
Bri says she’s crazy.
I say Jo will be popular with teenage boys and aging Jewish bloggers.
Bri points out that Jo only likes young children and old people.
Jo’s an early adapter. She’s been twittering for two years. She says her friends in the Philippines are finally leaving Friendster for Facebook.