The Dumbhead Wears Prada, Plus The Doctor Is Real In
I was very confused seeing only men walk into the doctor's office waiting room. Well-dressed, west side whiteys with expensive shoes and tucked-in shirts. I was used to Kaiser waiting rooms, which are like a county hospital ER most of the time, lots of babies crying just to annoy me. Also bleeding people. But when moroccomole up and left "The Advocate" last summer, I had to suddenly go out and get my own health insurance. So no more Kaiser. I am a Blue Cross sucker now.

Anyway, you have to pick your own doctor, unlike at Kaiser where they just throw a new one at you every time you have an appointment. And never having chosen a doctor on my own, I didn't know what to do. So I went to one of those find-a-doctor websites, typed in my zip code, my preference that this doctor be within five miles of my home, and that was it. There was no way to select "give me a lady doctor because they spend more time with you, statistics have shown, and they're more open to answering all your stupid questions" since that was not an option.

But I clicked on the "Find Me A Doctor" button and it shot up a four-doctor practice on Robertson and I picked the first guy on the list. No female doctors in this practice at all, but still it was 3 miles from my apartment and I'm lazier than I am anything else.

So the guy sitting across from me in the waiting room wore Prada shoes. And you can always tell those fuckin Prada men's shoes because they have that little strip of red on them as their logo. Because your shoes need a label on the OUTSIDE. Everything needs to be labeled on the outside so everyone knows how sophisticated you are. Then I realized that all the guys in the place were gym-bodied and wearing fancy clothes--or at least expensive shit with the label on the outside--and it dawned on me. Fags. I looked around at faces. All of them had Gay-Face. And I can't describe Gay-Face, really, I just know it when I see it. So I was at the favorite doctor of fags. There were no women in the waiting room at all. No fat people except me. No Not-White people. Just Fag people. I was even the only person in the room wearing a t-shirt and jeans. Boris, for the record, their name spelled in that blobby logo that Yes always used. Everyone else was dressed for their real jobs in real offices somewhere. After a minute I got bored looking at the fags, though, because none of them were bleeding. Remember that part in "Freddy Got Fingered" where Tom Green licks the part of his friend's broken leg that's jutting out through the skin? That was a funny moment in my part-time job of watching movies for money because it was the moment when the most people got up and wakled out of any movie I've ever been in, surpassing even the moment in David Cronenberg's "Crash" when James Spader and Roseanna Arquette get amorous post-Benz dealership. If you saw it then you know what part of the movie I'm talking about. Anyway you get to see stuff like that at Kaiser. Not licking of wounds, of course, but true injuries all the same.

Then it turns out that my doctor is also a fag. You walk into his examination room and the first thing you see is a notice on the wall that says, "HEY FAGS!" Okay actually it says "Attention Gay Men" and then goes on to tell you that you need an anal pap smear to test for Human Papilloma Virus and get ready for an ouchy swab.

So now I have my first homo doctor ever. He used to write medical columns for "The Advocate" too. He was nice and answered all my dumb questions (this was a check-up more or less, so I had a full year to accumulate a bunch of good stupid ones). Then he asked me how I was referred. I said, "I pulled you out of a hat on the internet. You were the closest and because your name begins with "B" you were first on the list. But you've been cool this whole time so I got lucky on that one."

Meanwhile, my preliminary results were that I am still fat. His advice was to exercise more and eat less. But his other advice was for me to make an appointment for two months from now so I can come back and prove that I've lost some of the fat. To that I said, "Fat CHANCE!" Okay lie. I said, "Yes, I will do that."