Thursday, July 5, 2012
Raise the Gipper! Chapter 13: Conspiracies against the laity, is up. Three entangled little love stories
Joe and Aura are having a very satisfactory lunch date, demonstrating a message for all young men: always take her someplace where the waiter is on your side.
Reagan can't get Nancy on the phone:
The tears of a zombie,
When he can't get his Mommy.
And things are very difficult in the Santorum household because, well, there's this medical discovery ... the denial phasebegins the chapter:
The doctor had huge white teeth, which he was using to smile like an exceptionally stupid skull, an impression reinforced by his shiny shaved head. “Well,” he said, “It’s no bad news at all. Right there in the blood test and the vitals, Mrs. Santorum. You and the Senator—and of course, we all hope and pray, the Vice President, soon—are about to be parents again. I’m sure you’ve been through all the drill before. I’ll want to get an ultrasound, but you can stop worrying—”
“You’re saying the blood work came up positive for pregnancy?” Santorum asked.
Something in his tone must have shaken the doctor out of his too-cool-to-treat-celebs-differently-from-anyone-else heartiness. “Is something wrong?”
“You might say that,” Santorum said. “Yes, you just might say that. That blood sample was from me.”
“Yeah.” Santorum rolled up his sleeve. “Better get someone in here to take another one, and this time, don’t get it mixed up with someone else’s. For your information, if this one comes up pregnant, or if it says I have Dutch elm disease, that won’t be right either.”
“Right away, yeah,” the doctor said, and hurried out without meeting Santorum’s eyes.
“It’s all Obamacare,” Santorum muttered. “If he hadn’t totally socialized medicine in this country, doctors like this guy wouldn’t be able to get a veterinarian license.”