Don't even get me started on the whole chiropractor bent. Now that's one powerful lobby if I've ever seen one. The last time I so much as thought bad things about chiropractors, there were mysterious bumps in the night. Threats of serious harm made to me. Like a neck adjustment.
But really, I don't even know where to begin about this poster I saw in a chiropractor's office yesterday. Are you kidding me? You want me to take you seriously? The fake Muppets? Jim Hensen must be rolling in his grave (which he could probably still do without chiropractic care, thank you very much). Faux Muppets. Blatant, inferior phonies. Perhaps they're appropriate after all. And their look of stupified shock. Really, wouldn't you think that marketing for this field would maybe not feature people made of foam? At least they can honestly say that "Nobody was hurt in the creation of this campaign". Honestly, please re-align my foam. I'm feeling a bit spongy today. Interestingly, they're all immobile. Especially the dinosaur. Appropriate enough. Let's market chiropractic care to children: "Yay! Mommy, can we play with the ky-o-packer?" Yikes.
That's not even addressing the whole legitimizing ego-stroke of chiropractors calling themselves 'Doctors'. I will now begin a quest to find myself something I can just call myself a doctor of. Qualifications (quackifications?) have obviously slipped. Doctor of the grilled cheese sandwich, perhaps? Doctor of video pinball? Ahh, Doctor of sarcasm. That might be the one. Chiropractors. Oh wait, sorry, there's the doorbell. It seems there's a powerful lobby unhappy with me in, well, the lobby. Terse words and lawsuits. And a handful of business cards covered in faux-Muppets.
UM, MINE'S BIGGER THAN YOURS.Something about the shame of being pulled over by a snarling Harley. Especially when you're on a Vespa. "But Officer, my little two-stroke lawnmower engine couldn't possibly exceed the speed limit. And my panniers are firmly attached. Yes, the courier on the ten-speed just passed me but I was being, well, you know, cautious." It turns out this guy wasn't really riding a scooter (though it initially looked like it), but his bike was certainly tinier than the one flashing at him from behind like it was a red light district. In this city, slow and steady doesn't win the race. It gets you killed.
URINE TROUBLE.Watch out for knee splatter! This was, by far, the most disturbing event of the day. Southbound on the DVPee at rush hour and this guy's on his knees at the side of the road, praying for relief. Pee, pee, pee, pee, pee. Really? Hold up, yield -- yellow light. You know how many exits with gas stations are just up ahead (and just behind)? Many. Many. Many. Many urinals that would save you from having to kneel awkwardly facing transport trucks whizzing by your head in the opposite direction at 130 clicks an hour. And from snickers from camera-toting morons like me.
Embarassed? Well, I guess your face was the only thing flushed this time. Bladder late than never. I particularly like that the sign in the background says: "Movie big". Um, yeah, about that. No. At least you saved yourself the indecent exposure charge, but if you really couldn't wait the twelve seconds it would have taken to get off the highway, you might've at least contemplated pulling off to the right shoulder rather than into the centre median. Then you could have even hidden somewhat behind your car. Just wait until that news leaks. I can just picture the traffic 'copter report now: "Despite intermittent showers, traffic has slowed to a trickle on the DVP because some dink has decided he's number one." If arrested, hopefully he'd at least go pee-cefully. Because I certainly wouldn't want to have to be the one to put on the handcuffs.
No comments:
Post a Comment