First Do No Harm
An obscure Congressman wakes up in the hospital bandaged from head to foot. The doctor enters and says, "Aha! I see you've regained consciousness, Senator. That's excellent. Now, you probably won't remember, but you were in a head-on collision with a trailer tractor driven by a Democrat on the Santa Monica freeway. Don't worry--you're going to be alright, you'll walk again, you may even play the violin again, even though you couldn't before...."
"But something else happened...and I'm trying to break this to you gently, your excellency. But the fact is, your willy was severed in the wreck. And we were unable to find it."
The patient lets out a groan of existential despair that continues for a full minute while one Congressional intern after another flashes before his eyes like a bad Power-Point presentation on Demerol. But the physician simply waits until the people's representative regains his self-control; and then continues: "Naturally, as a member of Congress you've got so much insurance coverage, we frankly don't quite know how to piss it all away. Yet. Let me rephrase that--'pissing it all away' may be an unfortunate locution in this context.... In any case, the good news is that we are now in a position to make our new incredibly overpriced nanotechnological procedure available to you to build you a new love tricep that will work as well as your old one did--only better! But the problem is, the procedure is implemented on an inch-by-inch basis only. No fractions. Just inches."
At this, the solon revives a bit, then definitely perks up.
"So", says the physician, "it's for you to decide how many inches you want. But it's something you'll need to discuss with your wife. I mean, if you had a five-inch tallywhacker before and you go for the nine-inch, the wife might be a bit put off. On the other hand, if you had a nine-inch pile-driver before and you go for the five-inch now, she might be rather disappointed. So, professionally speaking and with an eye out for possible malpractice action at any given moment, it's an important decision that you and your wife should seriously talk over."
"Yes, I see what you mean, doctor. I'll talk it over with my lovely Francine and get back to you."
The next afternoon, the sawbones re-enters the deluxe, no expense spared single room and says, "Well, feeling slightly better today, are we? So--did you have a chance to discuss the matter we went over yesterday with the little woman?"
"I have," says the patient.
"And she has helped you in making the decision?"
"Yes she has," replies the legislator in the body cast.
"And what have you decided, then?" the doctor inquires.
"We're gonna go with the new 12-bedroom bungalow in Brentwood."
.
Take That. In Remembrance of Me.
An otherwise fine, upstanding chain-smoking alcoholic geriatric falls prey to the usual Myocardial Infarction and requires immediate heart-bypass surgery.
He awakens in the ICU to find himself in the care of nuns at Our Lady of the Evening Hospital.
As he lays there exhausted, a nun approaches and, in the spirit of Love and Forgiveness inherent to her creed, inquires kindly: "Do you have health insurance?"
"Not yet," replies the ancient reprobate. "I got kicked outta Medicare for fraud in connection with an allegedly unnecessary hysterectomy. Health insurance that's normal everywhere else came 60 years late to this country and won't cover me for another four years. God Bless America."
"Hrrrumph," grunts the nun. "Do you have any money in the bank?"
"No. Do you?"
The nun perseveres: "Do you have any relatives who could assist with paying off this very expensive procedure?"
He says, "Just one. I outlived all the rest, drinking, smoking, running after women. I just have the one spinster sister left. She's a nun."
Apoplectic, the bride of Christ raises her voice unto heaven and shrieks: "NUNS ARE NOT SPINSTERS, SIR! NUNS ARE MARRIED TO GOD!"
"Fine," replies the ancient reprobate. "Send the bill to my brother-in-law."
.
Dear Ed Zachary, Part IV
Dear Ed
I am so confused. Every time I open the newspaper, watch the news on TV or check out the Drudge Report, it seems I am dying from a new disease recently diagnosed by the medical community.
I can barely concentrate on my work, my kids, my pathetic schmendrick of a husband.
Is this insanity? Hydrophobia?
What should I do?
Yenta in Yangon
Dear Yenta,
By all means, continue paying the closest attention possible to every breaking news story out of the medical community, your life may depend on it. 
It is no secret that, over the past decades, the medical community has saved billions of lives and improved the well-being of countless souls across the globe.
You can expect this trend to continue into the foreseeable future as the physicianals selflessly strive to rid the planet of disease and death without regard to personal aggrandizement or financial reward whatsoever.
As for any insane doubts you may harbor with regard to the tried and true veracity of the pure altruistics comprising our medical establishment, simply ask yourself the following question:
If they didn’t know what they were talking about, would they be in the positions they occupy?
Ed
Your Asshole
A professor was giving a lecture on "Involuntary Muscular Contractions" to
his first year medical students.
Realizing that this was not the most riveting subject, the professor decided to lighten the mood slightly.
He pointed to a young woman in the front row and said, "Do you know what your asshole is doing while you're having an orgasm?"
She replied, "Probably deer hunting with his buddies."
First Do No Harm
Three medicos were playing golf on the most exclusive of all Hot Springs Village courses, discussing the apexes of their respective surgical careers.
The first said, "No doubt about it, I am the best fucking surgeon in Arkansas. In my favorite case, a concert pianist lost seven fingers in a cucumber slicing accident. I reattached them and eight months later he performed a private concert for the Queen of England."
The second surgeon immediately rejoined: "That's pathetic, you lummox. Why, in my practice I had a young man who lost an arm and both legs in an encounter with a wood chipper. I reattached them and two years later he won a gold medal in the 100 yard dash at the Olympics."
The third surgeon smiled then shook his head.
"You people are meshuggah, not to mention deluded and I'll tell you why. In my practice, quite a few years ago now, I had a woman who'd been so ripped on coke and hash that she rode her horse head-on into a train traveling 80 miles an hour."
"All I had left to work with," he continued, "was the woman's blonde hair and the horse's ass."
"You may find it difficult to believe--and I was sworn to secrecy by a couple of gorillas--but I was able to put them together."
"And now she's running for President."
The JOCOP Guide to Wellness, Part I
In line with work by seminal healers including Doctors Salk, Kevorkian, Zhivago, Feelgood and Mengele, together with the entirety of the medico-evangelico-ecoindustrial conspiracy, The Journal kicks off the first in a series of occasional articles on Wellness aimed at the Readership's unique health concerns centered around two (5) main issues, viz., Dynamic Eugenics™, Autodidactic Dipsomania (AD) and Transpastic Satyriasis (TS). With a side order of SSRI's (Selective Service Reuptake Inhibitors), hold the mayo.
In a number of carefully controlled trials, Creation Theorists at Bob Jones University have demonstrated that if sampler-erroniacs drink one litre of water each day, at the end of the year the cubistic concrescence would have absorbed more than one kilo of E. Coli (Escherichia coli)--fecal bacteria.
Without adjustment for additional variables, we are consuming approximately one kilo of shit per year.
Notwithstanding all the above, the RQ (risk quotient) is not verifiably present in the case of alcohol ingestion wherein the bibulocity is rendered pure via boiling, fermentation, filtering and/or waterboarding.
Aide Memoir:
Water = Shit
Alcohol = Health
As anticipated by our forebears who intuitively factored the above into their daily regimen of bibulous frontier prophylaxis, it's one thing to drink wine and talk stupid. It's another to drink water and be full of shit.
Chicom Sonsabitches, Part I
The Journal likes to think of David Marvin Mailer, our Far East Bureau Chief, as its own pre-pubescential post-prandial president of prurient pathology. He was born DOA at the county lockup just a mile east of Patsy's Prostate Parlour in Pierre, ND. He majored in Haute Aluminical Couture and Home Economics at Columbia University. His hobbies are IED volleyball and the horizontal transpastic tango.
While in China, an enterprising entrepreneur is sexually promiscuous in the extreme and does not necessarily use a condom on a regular basis. In fact he doesn't use one ever.
A week after arriving back home in the States, he wakes one morning to find his schwanz in the state pictured above right.
He lays rubber all the way to the doctor's office.
The doctor, never having seen anything like this before, orders every test he's ever heard of. He tells the man to return in two days for the results.
The man returns a couple of days later and the doctor says: "I've got bad news for you--you've contracted DMV."
"DMV?"
"Yes," intones the medico gravely. "Dissociative Mongolian VD. It's very rare and almost unheard of here. We know very little about it."
The man looks as if the world has fallen out of his bottom. However, he pulls himself together and says: "Well, Jesus, Doc, don't just stand there. Gimme a shot and fix me up--"
The doctor shakes his head. "I'm sorry, there's no known cure. We're going to have to amputate."
The man recoils in horror. "Absolutely not! I demand a second opinion!"
The doctor replies: "Well, that's your right. Go ahead if you want. But surgery is your only option."
The next day, the man seeks out a Chinese doctor, figuring he'll be much more conversant with the epidemiology.
The Chinese doctor has the man drop trou and forthwith examines his tallywhacker.
"Ah yes!" proclaims the acupuncturist-diagnostician. "DMV--Dissociative Mongorian VD! Vely rare!"
The guy says to the doctor: "Yeah, yeah, Doc, I already know. But what can we do? My American doctor wants to operate and amputate my Johnson!"
The Chinese doctor shakes his head, then laughs.
"Stupid Amelican docta, always want to opelate! Make more money that way! No need to opelate!"
"Oh, thank you, doctor!" the man blurts in abject gratitude.
"Oh, yes!" says the Chinese doctor, "You no worry! Wait two weeks! Faw off by itself!"
If it ain't broke
Dr Calvin Rickson, a scientist from Ohio State University, has invented a bra that keeps wo- men's breasts from jiggling and prevents the nipples from pushing through the fabric when cold weather sets in.
At a news conference, after announcement of the invention, a large group of men took Dr Rickson outside and kicked the shit out of him.
Stress Hyperindicated Image-based Technology
The Editorial Board prefers to think of S Revitz, our Senior Wholistic Quantum Mechanics Correspondent, as The Journal's answer to Dr Sanjay Gupta.
Revitz, pictured right, brought the extract appearing below to our attention in connection with his impending Hard Rock Colonic Lavage Tour™.
The article is redacted from our sister publication, "The Journal of Contemporary Pharmaceuticals."
The Rorschack-derivated image-based diagnostic set forth below was the result of a controlled clinical investigation into 4,267 test cases performed on the basis of blind studies with placebo-centered subliminals at the John Hopkins Simbiotic Medical Center.
The test image consists of a photograph of two (2) identical 'dolphins.'
Adjusted for statistical aberrationals, test subjects were determined to perceive anomalies between the two 'dolphins' in direct proportion to respective stress levels indicated by the adjusted questionnaire results.
The perception of more than three (3) 'anomalies' between the two (2)'dolphins' indicated the requirement for immediate intravenous drug therapeutics under conditions of physical restraint in a strictly controlled environment.
[To see diagnostic image, left-click on X. --Ed.]
Now. What Seems To Be The Problem?
A woman went to the doctor's office where she was seen by a young new doctor. After about four minutes in the examination room, the doctor told her she was pregnant.
She burst out screaming and ran down the hallway. An older doctor stopped her and asked what the problem was. She told him her story.
After listening, he had her sit down and relax in another room.
The doctor marched down the hallway to the first doctor and demanded,"What's the matter with you? Mrs. Smith is 64 years old, she has four grown children, seven grandchildren and you told her she was pregnant?"
The new doctor continued writing in the medical file without looking up.
"Does she still have the hiccups?"
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