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Watch Your Cornhole. To The Tune of $6,000 PER HOUR.

Last Tuesday morning I checked in at the out-patient surgical center right at 8:30am. My wait was short and by 8:45 the nurses called me back to a small three sided room with a bed and slide across curtain for privacy. Here I changed into my surgical gown, bagged up my street clothes, and put on some sweet compression stockings. A few minutes later a young nurse came in and with her sitting at a computer terminal, confirmed all of the information I had already given my doc in regards to medical history. One question she asked that really threw me off was, "Do you want anesthetia?" I didn't answer her at first, because I thought she was fucking joking. So after a few seconds of awkward silence, "Uh, yes?" Why the fuck would you ask that? She then inserted IV -- the first attempt seemed to have gone through my vein, the bone in my arm, out the other side and into the bed -- but she got me on the second stick and then gave me three shots: Heparin (a blood thinner to prevent clots), Valium (to calm ye olde nerves), and (something to induce amnesia).

A really quick tangent there. "And this shot gives you amnesia during the surgery." "Wait, what?" "Well the doctor will use a local anesthetic at the surgical location, but we don't want you remembering any moments pain from the procedure, as that could be too traumatic." Wait, what the fuck? Yeah I always thought that you went under general anesthesia and that was it; the doc could cut you up into tiny pieces and you'd be blissfully unaware. Turns out that's not so true. Turns out the general anesthesia sedates your happy ass so you can't move, but all the while your brain is completely capable of receiving signals from the rest of your body. So if during the process of cutting and rooting around in my innards, the surgeon's work happens to go beyond the area that's actually numbed by the local anesthesia, my brain could receive loud and clear, "HOLY JESUS FUCKING CHRIST HE'S CUTTING INTO ME WITH A FUCKING SCALPEL." The anesthesia just keeps you from ape shit and this [whatever amnesia inducing drug they gave me] simply prevents me from remembering the fucking agony of being cut open. How fucking freaky is that?

Anyway, a quick chat with the anesthesiologist and the doc performing ths surgery and a few minutes later I'm wheeled into the operating room about 9:20 in the morning. There were about half a dozen people in there already, all donned in surgical garb and I make a half hearted effort to climb from the wheeled bed to the surgical table without letting my cock fall out. Odds are it did, but I can't really remember. "Here have some oxygen," someone over my head says, and slips a big rubber mask over my face. A few seconds later, it's good night Irene.

I wake up about 45 minutes later, a hair after 10am, in a recovery room. Truth be told I thought it was the same room they wheeled me into earlier, but I'm told it was a different one. There a different nurse is asking me a metric shit ton of questions that I really don't comprehend, or want to fucking answer even if I did. One of them was, "Am I in pain?" Again with the dumb fucking questions, I think. I nod my head. She sends of shot of (demerol?) into my IV and almost instantly the burning sensation beneath my bellybutton begins to subside. She removed the IV from my hand and points to my bag of clothes on a nearby chair, "You can get dressed when you feel up to it." I was anxious to get the fuck out of Dodge so it didn't take me long to swing my legs off the bed and try and stand. Important note here: if I knew how much money I was being charged for the use of the recovery room, not only would I have stayed longer but I would had a pizza delivered. But once I get my feet under me, The Boss Lady helps me change and the nurse hands her an orange pill bottle of little white percocets. The nurse says a shit ton more but I didn't pay any attention. Into a wheel chair I go while TBL pulls the car around and I'm out the door on the way home by 11am. At least I think it was 11am, shit's still a little fuzzy.

So there's my story. Simple hernia surgery, everything went great, great doctor, top notch staff, spotless facility, nothing but good things to say all the way around. Yesterday, a week later to the day, I get the bill from the surgical center -- and that does NOT include the fee for the anesthesiologist OR the surgeon, their bills come separately. That $15k is just for the surgical center. Anyway here's an idea, instead of forcing people to buy insurance to pay for astronomical medical costs, why don't we try and figure out why it costs $2,002 to sit in a recovery room bed for a fucking hour.

And am I the only person who thinks that if you're 6'5" and weigh 312lbs and you let someone bully you, then perhaps you're just a big pussy?

Because it's all fun and games until Chuck Norris campaigns against porn.

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Europe, 1946. World War II rages across Europe. Where once the Allies pressed advantage, the Nazi forces have turned the tide in dramatic fashion behind the technologically advanced war machine of General Wilhelm Strasse -- Deathshead. When a final Allied assault on Deathshead's compound fails, the Allies' greatest hope falls with it. Europe, 1960. The war is over. And the Nazis are triumphant victors. Using unrelenting force and brutal intimidation, the Nazis have brought even the most powerful nations to their knees. The Nazi regime now rules the globe with an iron fist. You are Captain B.J. Blazkowicz, the American War Hero. After emerging into this world of darkness, you must launch an impossible counter-offensive against the monstrous Nazi regime. Only you dare stand up against an unstoppable army of Nazi robots and hulking Super Soldiers. Only you can stop Deathshead. Only you can rewrite history. That's right, motherfuckers, Wolfenstein: The New Order is coming in 2014. Mein Leben!

Admiral Motti: Don't try to frighten us with your sorcerer's ways, Lord Vader. Your sad devotion to that ancient Jedi religion has not helped you conjure up the stolen data tapes, or given you enough clairvoyance to find the rebels' hidden fortress... ... Darth Vader: I find your lack of faith disturbing.

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