Tag Archives: fiction

fiction, funny stories, humor, ideas, silliness

A very special double repost…

I’m running short on ideas today, and I’m feeling a bit silly. I ran across this post from October 2018 on my original blog. It’s a ridiculous story idea I had back then involving Pernell Roberts, Howard Keel, and Mr. Yuk. I used to write a lot of fiction stories to pass the time, as well as to creatively express myself when people got on my nerves. I don’t write much fiction these days, but since these two posts made me laugh, I’ve decided to share them today. I doubt anyone will read them, but at least they won’t cause controversy.

An erotic story involving Pernell Roberts, Howard Keel, and Mr. Yuk… (originally written October 10, 2018)

I’m sure I could find any number of outrageous news stories to rant about today.  I will probably do just that in a little while.  It’s just that I’ve noticed my blog is not as much fun as it has been in the past.  I’ve been dealing with a little depression and anxiety lately, which has had a noticeable effect on my writing. 

Yesterday, I had a random idea of writing a fiction story about the late actor, Pernell Roberts.  I know him best from his years as Trapper John, M.D., but other people remember him from Bonanza.  I remember he also starred in a Lassie movie back in 1978.  In that film, he played a bad guy.

Sexy Pernell Roberts… there was a time when my dad could sing sort of like this.  I can appreciate it now, but didn’t so much when I was growing up.  Pernell Roberts had a lovely singing voice, though.  Many people thought my dad had a lovely voice, too.  He probably did and I just didn’t like it because of our fucked up father/daughter relationship.  Oh… and the fact that he wasn’t trained.

I think Mr. Roberts is on my mind because I somehow wound up subscribed to a YouTube channel honoring him.  Someone uploaded a bunch of episodes of Trapper John, M.D. and I started watching them last night because Bill is in Italy.  He’ll be back tonight– it was just a one night trip– but I’ll still be alone until after bedtime.  Maybe I’ll watch more Trapper John, M.D., or maybe I’ll make music.  Who knows?  Or maybe I’ll spend the day writing silly stories for those who enjoy my warped sense of humor.

Anyway, I noticed that a number of female commenters on the YouTube videos were saying they thought Pernell Roberts was “sexy”.  I have to admit, now that I am myself middle aged, I agree that he was rather sexy in those days.  Of course, Trapper John was a typically strong male character on the TV show.  He was authoritarian, particularly with his female patients.  Some women are turned on by a strong man who tells them to get in bed and stay there.  Actor Gregory Harrison, who played hospital Lothario Gonzo Gates, was probably there for the younger crowd.  Both of them were such caring dudes… and so skilled as they saved their patients from whatever devastating malady they had while romancing them under the sheets.

Then, as I started thinking about Pernell Roberts, I remembered the late actor Howard Keel and how he always reminded me of a horse peeing on a rock.  I mean, he was really tall and probably made a lot of noise because of the length his whiz had to drop.  I remember seeing him in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, which was filmed in the 1950s, when he was young and studly.  But as a child of the 70s and 80s, I remember him best when he was on Dallas, playing Clayton Farlow.  Maybe it was because all of the horses they used on that show and the fact that I’ve spent a lot of time around horses and know what they sound like when they pee… especially the geldings.

Damn… I would love to have a horse that did this!  Cleaning up horse pee is no fun, especially when it’s hot outside.

The guy who officiated at my wedding, then a Presbyterian minister and now a Certified Nurse’s Aide and Catholic, asked me if my erotic story involving Pernell Roberts would involve surgical instruments or horses.  And that just made me think of Howard Keel peeing on a rock again.

Oh my God… speaking of piss.  This is probably one of the most cornball pop songs of the 1980s.  What in the hell possessed Howard Keel to sing this over any one of the classic standards he did in his prime?  

So then, just as I was gathering ideas about other things I could put in my erotic story, I caught this clip from 1988, starring the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders.  Front and center is current Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader Director, Kelli Finglass, back when she was in her prime and still on the squad…

I was about 16 when they did this.  Look at that hair!  And those shorts look almost like granny panties compared to what they wear today.  My hair was never quite that big.  For the record, I prefer Kelli’s hair the lovely shade of red it is now.  Frosted, frizzy blonde doesn’t flatter her.

Finally, someone shared this picture of Brett Kavanaugh, who will always be a glorified frat boy to me…  

And I was reminded of this…  I wonder if Kavanaugh has ever made this face before having sex with someone.  I wonder if anyone has ever made this face before having sex with him…

Wow… they could be brothers.

Maybe I should write a story involving all of these people.  It wouldn’t even have to be erotic.  I could probably have some fun with it, kill some time, and stay out of trouble.  I do have a very strange mind sometimes, especially when I’m bored.

My latest book is about the East German police, so it’s probably just as well if I write some fiction or something, before I start having nightmares about the Stasi.  Shit… I might as well do it.  

And here it is…

Mr. Yuk gets a treatment he’ll never forget… (written later on October 10, 2018)

Let’s see where my warped imagination takes me…  This story is pure fictional nonsense, pulled straight from the bowels of my mind.  It took about an hour to write this and it probably shows.


It was an unseasonably cool, fall afternoon at San Francisco Memorial Hospital.  The year was 1982.  Dr. John McIntyre, otherwise known as Trapper, was looking dashing in his surgical scrubs, having just removed Clayton Farlow’s appendix.  He was feeling pumped up, because he’d just told Farlow to go to bed and stay there.  It gave Trapper a rush to tell people what to do, especially guys who were taller and more famous than he was.

Farlow was lying in bed, groaning because the incision where his appendix had been removed was a little itchy.  But because Trapper was both authoritarian and a little kinky, he’d had Farlow’s wrists tied to the bedrails.  It was only because Farlow was just coming out of the anesthesia and might try to monkey with the tubes and such.

“Don’t worry, Kid,” Trapper had told him as he tenderly adjusted Farlow’s oxygen mask, “we’ll untie your wrists when you have your wits more about you.  I’ll be back later.”

Farlow grimaced as he watched his sexy doctor prance away.  Farlow wasn’t into men sexually, but he’d been in show business longer than Trapper had and learned to appreciate the beauty in everything and everyone.  Besides, whatever drugs Trapper had given him were wonderful, even if his incision was a little itchy.

For all of his fame on Broadway and primetime television, Farlow had not managed to score a private room.  Lying in the bed next to his was a guy popularly known as Mr. Yuk.  His name was actually Brett, though, and he was quite the whiny brat.  Farlow cast a disapproving look at the young man– all of seventeen years old– lying in his hospital bed looking really disgruntled and bored.  He looked like this…

Farlow wanted to ask Brett why he was so yucky.  The boy had a constant scowl on his face, like he smelled something disgusting or had just walked in on his parents having sex.  But the oxygen mask prevented Farlow from saying anything intelligible and he was embarrassed about his wrists being restrained.  So Farlow remained curious while Brett clicked the remote control on the boxy TV, trying to find something interesting to watch.  He finally stopped on a channel featuring a certain female collie named Lassie.

“Yeah…” Brett snarled.  “This is more like it.  I like watching bitches on TV.”

Good entertainment for the sick…

Farlow rolled his eyes as he recognized familiar faces…  There was Mickey Rooney, Pernell Roberts, who looked a whole lot like Trapper, James Stewart, Alice Faye, and music by his old friends, Pat Boone and daughter, Debby.  Good old fashioned, wholesome, kid friendly entertainment!  It was just what the doctor ordered!

“I really could use a beer.” Brett snarled to himself.  “Fuck being stuck in the hospital.  This place sucks!”

Just then, a pretty nurse named Kelli came into the room.  She was all smiles and had a figure that could stop traffic!  Her hair was as big as her smile was, and Brett could see that her starched white nurse’s uniform was just a little shorter than it should have been.  Casting his eyes downward, he could see the nurse’s adorable knees covered by her white tights.  He looked at her shoes.  They were sensible nurse’s shoes, showing that the woman was just as intelligent as she was sexy.

“Hello Mr. Farlow.” Kelli chirped as she checked his vital signs.  She moved like a dancer, her catlike grace surprisingly apparent as she moved about the tight quarters, cleverly keeping her sweet ass away from Brett’s reach.  “You’re looking much better today.” she said, checking his temperature. “Your fever is almost gone!  Trapper will be happy to hear this!  Yea!”

Farlow looked hopefully at his wrists, but the nurse didn’t seem to notice his distress.  Instead, she adjusted the oxygen mask one last time and turned her attention to Mr. Yuk, aka Brett the brat.

“How are we feeling?” Nurse Kelli asked as she recorded Brett’s blood pressure.

“This place sucks.  I have so many calendars I need to update.  I need to get back to school.  I’m missing so many keggers it’s not funny.” Brett whined.  “I’m being held against my will.”

“I’m sure you’ll be out of here before you know it.” the nurse said.  “You know, once you’re eighteen, you can check yourself out whenever you want.  For now, we have to wait for the doctor and your parents to say it’s okay.”

Kelli turned away from Brett, who then took the opportunity to pinch her ass.

“Ouch!” Kelli yelped.  “I see why they call you Mr. Yuk now!” she scolded as Brett’s face turned into that familiar scowl.  “You really are a naughty boy.  We’ll have to see what we can do about that.”

“Stop trying to impugn my character.” Brett snapped. 

“I’ll be back later.” Kelli promised.  “Enjoy the movie.”

With a heavy sigh, Brett turned his attention back to Lassie and her young master, on the run from Pernell Roberts’ evil character, Jameson.  He was about to start singing along with Pat Boone when Trapper barged into the room.  He started checking Farlow and then untied the man’s wrists. 

“You seem ‘with it’ now.” Trapper said as he patted his patient on the head, patronizingly. 

Farlow eagerly reached up and pulled the mask off his face.  “Can we get rid of this damned thing too?  It feels like a gag.” he complained.

Trapper frowned a bit, looked concerned, and said, “Well, not so fast… let’s not rush things…  You’re going to be in here for a week.  What’s your hurry?”

He glanced up at the television and saw Pernell Roberts chasing Lassie, calling her Heatherbelle.  “Man, I hope that guy gets his dog back.” Trapper said under his breath.

Trapper moved over to Brett, who was looking really disagreeable.  “Fuck this place.” Brett muttered.  “I just want a motherfuckin’ beer.”

“Now now, young man…” Trapper said.  “Take it easy.  You’re in a hospital.  Time to rest.  Let Kelli take care of you.”

“Tell her to bring me a beer… and pizza.  This hospital food sucks.” Brett said with a scowl.

“Young man, your attitude could use some adjusting.  Perhaps it’s time I prescribed a treatment to help you with your problem.” Trapper suggested.

“Fuck that, and fuck you.  I need to get out of here and on with my life.  I have social ladders to climb and women to plumb.” Brett hissed. 

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Trapper asked incredulously.  “You don’t realize you’ve entered another dimension.”

“The only other dimension I want to enter is a beer and nurse Kelli’s vagina.” Brett snapped.

“I see…” Trapper said, his voice steady.  “Well that makes me think you really do need treatment for your problem.  I may have to introduce you to another doctor… a woman who really knows your mind.”

“I don’t need that.  I just want to party.” Brett said.  “Why is that so hard to understand?  And why do I have to stay in this Godforsaken place?  My home is on the East Coast, with all the other snot nosed brats.”

“I see.  Well, I think it would do you some good to talk to Dr. Ford.” Trapper said.  “She’s a maverick in her field, but I think she can straighten you out… maybe get that yucky look off your face.”

“I don’t want to talk to her.” Brett sniveled.

“Okay… well then maybe Nurse Kelli can give you an enema to help kill the bug up your ass.” Trapper suggested.  “You seem a bit constipated.”

“Hmmmph.” Brett huffed, sullenly turning his eyes back to the TV.

Farlow was watching this scene with interest, although he really needed to pee.  He somehow found the energy to ask Trapper for help going to the bathroom. 

“Sure pal.” Trapper said.  “Usually, I’d let the nurses handle this, but I can see you’re a man’s man.”  The bearded, distinguished doctor came over and helped Farlow out of bed.  He was grateful Nurse Kelli had already removed the man’s catheter.  They went into the bathroom and Farlow let out a long and very loud stream of piss that reverberated throughout the semi-private room.

“For God’s sake!” Brett complained.  “Do you have to be so loud?  You sound like a horse peeing on a rock!”

“Sorry… I really had to pee.” Farlow apologized. 

“Well do you have to be so fucking loud?” Brett scowled.  “No fucking class!”

Farlow gave Trapper a grateful look as he rolled his eyes. 

“That kid is such a brat.” Trapper said sympathetically.  “Sorry you have to share quarters with him.”

“No worries… I once shared a house with six brothers.” Farlow said.  “And they were all horny because they were looking for wives.”

“I think that’s Brett’s problem, too.  He’s a spoiled, horny, little bastard.” Trapper said.  “And he’s also a drunk.  He needs a good spanking to teach him some manners.  I’m tempted to let Nurse Kelli practice some procedures on him, but he’d probably enjoy that too much.”

“I’ve never seen anyone scowl so much.” Farlow admitted as he washed his hands.  “He really is very unpleasant indeed.”

“Nurse Kelli will fix him… with help from Dr. Ford.” Trapper promised as he walked his patient back to bed.

Farlow was safely tucked into bed, where he nodded off. He was right in the middle of a pleasant dream in which he was at Southfork Ranch, making mad passionate love with Miss Ellie, when he was awakened by a blood curdling scream.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” Brett was screaming.  He had climbed out of bed and was cornered by a couple of beefy orderlies who were holding a straitjacket. 

“Now, now, Mr. Yuk…” one of the orderlies soothed. Farlow blinked his eyes and realized the head orderly was a very muscular woman. She was flanked by two huge guys who looked like they could be linebackers for the Dallas Cowboys. Behind her was Nurse Kelli with a syringe at the ready. A cameraman stood in the corner, filming everything. It looked just like a dramatic scene on Trapper John, M.D.

“Get away from me! I haven’t given you CONSENT!” Brett fumed.

The head orderly advanced at her patient, and with one swift move, pinned him to the bed.  He shrieked in fear as another orderly placed his hand over the young man’s mouth and the other orderly efficiently wrapped him up in the straitjacket.  Nurse Kelli then gave him an injection that rendered him more compliant.

“Wha…” Brett stammered. “What are…”

“Shhh…” Nurse Kelli said, her Pepsodent smile radiating across her pretty features.  “It’s just part of your treatment.  Dr. Ford will be with you in a moment.  Just got to wait for you to relax a bit.  That way it won’t hurt as much.”

The orderlies tucked their patient into bed, put up the siderails, and left the room while Nurse Kelli stood by, monitoring the young man with the Mr. Yuk scowl. 

“This would go so much better if you’d just cooperate.” Nurse Kelli said.  “Take your medicine like a good boy.”

“Fucking bitch!” the young man shrieked.  “I’ll get you for this.”

“Right… I’m sure you will.  Just relax.  Dr. Ford will see you at her convenience.” Nurse Kelli said.  “If you’re lucky, she won’t make you wait for what’s coming to you.”

Brett scowled again as he glared at the nurse.  Her chirpy demeanor and perfect smile were pissing him off even more as he struggled against the rough canvas of the straitjacket.  Farlow glanced over at the spectacle, suddenly glad his own medical bondage scene had been short lived.

A minute later, the door opened and there stood a middle aged blonde woman in a very stylish business suit.  She wore glasses and sensible heels as she strode over to her unruly patient. 

“Hello Dr. Ford.” Nurse Kelli said, her voice rich with admiration.

“Nurse…” the doctor said.  “So this is the patient.  He’s permanently scowling, isn’t he?  Needs a little help with his attitude…”

“Yes, I think so.  I’ve heard you can do amazing things with the mind.” Nurse Kelli gushed.  “I would love to study under you…”

Brett and Farlow both looked at the attractive psychologist and thought the same thing.  But Farlow was smart enough to keep his mouth shut and Brett was too busy scowling to make his feelings known.

“You know…” Dr. Ford said.  “I don’t think I’m going to be able to reach him with just simple conversation.  I think it’s time we forced him to watch something other than Lassie.”  She nodded at the television.  “Change the channel… Lifetime should do it.  A nice long marathon of movies about women who have been sexually harassed and date raped ought to be a good start.”

Nurse Kelli’s eyes widened.  “Do I get to stay in the room and supervise him?” she breathed.

“I’m not opposed to it.” Dr. Ford shrugged.  “That’s just the beginning… we’ll start with Lifetime TV, then move on to Dr. Phil.  Then a steady diet of Kathie Lee Gifford…”

“What?!” Brett shouted.  “I’ve never even heard of these things!”

“Lucky for you, I’m from the future.” Dr. Ford said.  “You’re going to get a headstart on the 1990s and the 2000s.  Then I’ll go back to the future.”

“Why?” Brett asked plaintively.

“Because big things are in store for you… and if you don’t get straightened out now, you will fuck up a lot of lives.” Dr. Ford said, smoothing her blonde hair.

“I don’t have time for this.” Brett sneered.

“We’ll see that you make time.  And if you’re difficult about it, I can think of some very fun ways to make you comply.” Dr. Ford said.  “Don’t try me, young man.”

Brett sighed heavily.  “Yes Ma’am…  Let the re-education begin.”

“I’m sure you’ll be good and ready for the future after a few Lifetime movies.  Every man should watch them so they can learn proper respect.” Dr. Ford said.

END

And here is the one comment I got on this tripe…

I like it, an instant story! Write more.

Maybe I should… especially now that my former monitor is no longer monitoring me.

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bad TV, book reviews, fashion, fiction, narcissists

A review of The Wig, The Bitch, & The Meltdown, by Jay Manuel…

In a recent blog post, I mentioned that I was reading Jay Manuel’s 2020 novel, The Wig, The Bitch, & The Meltdown. In that post, I wrote that I understood and appreciated what Jay Manuel was doing with his first novel. He was processing trauma by turning it into a fun fictionalized read. I’ve done the same thing on multiple occasions, so I already had a warm feeling about Manuel’s debut into fiction.

I also can’t stand Tyra Banks, even though I watched her reality show for years. My devotion to America’s Next Top Model was less about idolizing a retired supermodel than watching a trainwreck. I don’t actually care much about fashion, and those who have seen me in person can attest to that. I just find narcissists fascinating, even if I want to keep them at an arm’s length. ANTM was chock full of narcissists, and its resident Queen Bee, Tyra Banks, was the most toxic of them all… as far as I can tell, anyway. Obviously, I’ve never met Tyra in person, but I have heard what she says and observed how she behaves. She makes my N chimes ring even louder than Meghan Markle does.

I downloaded Jay Manuel’s satirical novel about reality TV modeling competitions back in January 2022. I decided to read the book when I started watching episodes of ANTM while Bill was away in Bavaria. As I watched ANTM and cringed, I read up on Jay Manuel and his now non-existent relationship with Tyra Banks. I remembered that they once used to be friends. What happened?

Well… Jay wrote his book, and that sure didn’t help their friendship. But there was a lot that led up to the book being written, and having been around a lot of narcissists myself, I spotted all of the red flags in The Wig, The Bitch, & The Meltdown. Clearly Mr. Manuel had loads of experiences and incidents to fuel his creativity when he penned his novel. If only a fraction of the crazy in this novel has any basis in truth, Jay Manuel went through Hell to birth this book. And the price of writing the book was losing his “friends” from ANTM, as it was reported that Tyra Banks was angry about the novel. She allegedly asked people from ANTM not to interact with Jay, or help promote the book. Apparently, people from ANTM value relationships with Tyra enough to grant her request/demand.

I can understand why Tyra Banks would be upset about Jay Manuel’s novel. The novel is clearly based on Jay Manuel’s relationship with her and others from ANTM, even though the book is fiction. I’m sure she sees him as disloyal, and narcissists can’t abide disloyalty. Moreover, Jay Manuel really took the piss out of Tyra, including plots that were obviously based on things that actually happened on the show. The end result, for a reader like me, is pure entertainment and occasional laugh out loud moments. Obviously, Tyra Banks doesn’t want to be laughed at, and even though she’s made a lot of money and become very powerful in the entertainment business, she doesn’t want to be upstaged in any way.

Jay Manuel is still not as powerful as Tyra is– or was– (like Donald Trump, she seems to have lost some of her popularity). However, writing this book probably boosted his prestige. I was definitely impressed by the imagination and creativity he showed in his novel. There’s a good reason why Jay Manuel was the creative director on ANTM for so many years. On the other hand, a lot of what he writes was obviously inspired by crazy stuff that actually happened on the show.

So… on with the plot…

Pablo Michaels (Jay’s alter ego) is the silver haired, silver eyed creative director of a reality show called Model Muse. It’s a rip off of America’s Next Top Model, set in the present. I mention that the novel is set in the present because Manuel mentions a lot of technology that didn’t exist when ANTM started in 2003, or even when it finally ended in 2018. He seems particularly wedded to Apple products, as he mentions them a lot in the book.

Pablo is not naturally silver eyed or silver haired. This is a look that the supermodel he works for, Keisha Kash (Kash is perhaps a play on the last name, Banks?), wants him to look that way. Pablo and Keisha met when they were both a lot less famous, and they were friends. Over the years, they had shared a lot of pints of Dulce de Leche ice cream. Pablo had become Keisha’s rock, fixing things that went wrong, and always having Keisha’s back. She started her reality show, and he was the one person she trusted to be the creative director. She was right to trust him, though the job means that he never gets any time to himself, nor can he do things that he wants to do.

Pablo and Keisha work with other “legends” from the fashion industry. Noted British fashion photographer, Mason Hughes (modeled after Nigel Barker) is onhand, as is the world’s “first” supermodel, Sasha Barenson (Janice Dickinson). Miss Thing (J. Alexander– Miss J.) serves as a judge and a runway coach. Joe Vong (perhaps Ken Mok) is an executive producer. And De La Renta (perhaps Sutan and/or Christian Marc combined) is in charge of hair and makeup.

Sasha still wears a size four dress, even though she’s in her 60s. But she constantly nurses a sippy cup full of “water” that smells a lot like Chardonnay. Mason is “happily married” to a boyish looking Indian woman, although he seems to like men. Miss Thing is hilarious and witty, but also a bit catty and two-faced. Joe Vong has created many successful reality TV shows, but is completely dictatorial and manic. And De La Renta, like Pablo, seems to be one of the “good” guys who cares about the models somewhat. Keisha’s mother Brenda Paris (Tyra’s mom, Carolyn London) is in prison for trying to steal jewelry from a safe at the morgue where she worked as a photographer. Carolyn London, in real life, is a medical photographer. Tyra always presented her mother as wonderful, but in Jay’s novel, she’s a criminal.

Pablo Michaels is doing all he can to keep the show together, as Keisha and the rest of the cast misbehave in a multitude of ways, showing a complete lack of regard for those who aren’t narcissists. Pablo ties to be the voice of reason as Keisha does everything she can to make more money, become more famous, and expand her brand. Manuel really went to town on this– bringing up Tyra Banks’ memorable foray into the music business by making Keisha release a song, even though she’s tone deaf. In real life, Jay Manuel studied opera, and presumably, he can sing. I’ve heard Tyra’s song, and as a musician myself, it didn’t impress me.

I dunno about this… This was one of the challenges for the models, but she barely used them. The video was all about Tyra.

Manuel also covers Tyra’s attempts at writing, as he has Keisha write a novel. Tyra also famously wrote a novel for teenagers. I have it downloaded, but I can’t seem to bring myself to read it. Maybe I’ll punish myself by reading it soon.

Throughout the book Manuel skillfully illustrates the classic ways of a malignant narcissist, to include having Keisha have a huge meltdown in panel. Tyra Banks also famously screamed at a contestant in Cycle 4, angry that the young woman wasn’t “upset” enough about being cut. The circumstances of Keisha’s meltdown are somewhat different, but the behavior he describes is the same as what all ANTM fans witnessed when they watched that episode.

More outrageous behaviors are described, and if you were a viewer of ANTM during its prime years, when Mr. Jay and Miss J. were on it, you will easily recognize some of the contestants. Manuel blends some of them into new people, including some famous and memorable statements some of them uttered during the show’s run. Some of the incidents are clearly based on things that happened on the show, but others are pretty diabolical (and hilarious) mashups based on things that a malignant narcissist supermodel might do. The part about the wig, for instance, is pretty scandalous. If you’ve ever seen one of Tyra Banks’ famously crappy makeovers, you might have a good laugh… as you also cringe in horror.

Manuel’s writing is often pretty snarky, and there’s a lot of objectionable (but believable) language in this novel. Sometimes, I wish he’d hired an editor. He misspells some words and names. For instance, he repeatedly refers to Mommie Dearest (the book and movie about Joan Crawford, written by her adoptive daughter, Christina Crawford), but he spells it Mommy Dearest. He refers to “door jams”, rather than “door jambs”. He also employs some words that are what one might call “fifty cent words”. At times, he doesn’t quite use them correctly, or he uses them when a simpler word would better suffice.

I got a kick out of how Manuel describes Keisha, who is obviously based on Tyra in almost every way. He repeatedly writes about Keisha’s “creepy” little girl voice. If you’ve seen ANTM, you know what he’s referring to, as Tyra does the same thing. He describes what she looks like, and her tendency to not like contestants who look, in any way, like her. Manuel also makes Model Muse rigged– blatantly stating that the winners were chosen long before the runway show at the end of the season. I don’t know if that’s actually how it worked on ANTM, but I’ve always suspected that the winners were ringers. What’s sad to me is that a lot of the young women, who tried out for that show, legitimately thought it would open doors for them. Although some contestants went on to form careers in entertainment, only a few became legitimate working models.

Overall

I enjoyed Jay Manuel’s book, The Wig, The Bitch, & The Meltdown. I found it a fun and entertaining read. I’ve seen a lot of people saying that Manuel isn’t much better than Tyra Banks is. I don’t know if that’s true, but he does appear to have some real talents. I think it would be pretty difficult for him to have an ego larger than Tyra’s. Moreover, while I think Tyra has some talents in terms of self-promotion, I also think she totally got off on being worshiped by the contestants on the show, even when she gave bullshit advice, contradicted herself, or cut them for ridiculous reasons. Jay, at least, seemed to have some sensitivity… and he has the excuse that he wasn’t the boss of the show. Tyra was. He was working at her behest.

I found some of the elements of Jay’s personal story– which he weaved into Pablo’s story– fascinating. Jay Manuel was born in the United States and grew up in Canada. He was adopted when he was a baby, and he puts part of that story into the book. Jay also has a very interesting racial makeup; many people think he’s Hispanic, but he’s actually got Italian, Czech, and South African ancestry and thinks of himself as Black.

I think I’d give The Wig, The Bitch, and The Meltdown four stars out of five. I don’t read a lot of novels anymore, but I legitimately enjoyed Jay’s snarkfest. I laughed out loud several times, or just exclaimed in disbelief; I think that counts for a lot. I also liked the ending. I found it very satisfying.

I’m taking off a star for the editing glitches, although I am impressed by how well-written the book is, given that Jay Manuel isn’t primarily a writer. I hope he’ll write another novel, and next time, hire an editor to give it some polish. And I hope he’s as likable in real life as he is in his writing and on television… although I’m sure those who knew him on Top Model are probably no longer sending him any emails. 😉

As an Amazon Associate, I get a small commission from Amazon on sales made through my site.

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fiction, silliness

Don’t Say It’s Quiet… another kinky short story for Sara…

A few days ago, I wrote a post called “Call the COVID Coven“. Originally, I meant to write a short story for my friend, Sara, who works on the COVID-19 unit at the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota. I had written another story for her back in May, when she complained about the excessive personal protection equipment she must wear every day to take care of patients with COVID-19.

But the day I tried to write the newer story, WordPress was being wonky and wouldn’t let me post. The mood passed, and I didn’t get around to actually writing the story. I just wrote about the preliminary idea I had to write one. Well… last night, Sara posted today’s featured photo and I was blessed (or cursed) again with the urge to write something creative. So here goes. This one’s for you, Sara. Hope you’ll still want to be friends.

When last we left our heroine, Sara, the COVID-19 warrior, she was being tortured by Nurse Echo, a sadistic and kinky nursing supervisor who thought Sara needed a lesson in empathy. Day after day, marathon shift after marathon shift, Nurse Echo stood over Sara like Sergeant Blast, forcing her to wear ever more hot and oppressive PPE as she tended to patients. It would have been bad enough if the PPE were the normal kind. But Sarah’s PPE was kinky, which could be a good or a bad thing, depending on one’s tastes.

Spitting image of Nurse Echo!

Nurse Echo wasn’t big on back talk, and she had a talent for design. Because she was tired of hearing her nurses complain about typing notes with gloves and face shields, she came up with a required face mask that also served as a very effective gag. Sometimes, if she was feeling especially charitable, Nurse Echo would let the nurses choose which type of gag they preferred: ball gag, ring gag, or penis shaped. Sara hated them all, but she needed her job. Besides, Nurse Echo wouldn’t let her leave the unit until every task was done to her satisfaction. And it seemed that Nurse Echo was never satisfied. She always felt things could be done better, and she would not back down when her nurses protested her slave driving style of management.

They had a strict rule on the COVID-19 floor at Kaputnik Hospital. “Don’t say it’s quiet.” The minute anyone ever said that, all hell would break loose. The craziest people would come in, their eyeballs hanging out of their sockets, or their noses bleeding incessantly, or vomit and diarrhea spewing from both ends… The nurses at the hospital knew. If things were slow, just enjoy it and eat bean dip and bon-bons. Things would inevitably pick up again, but maybe no one would be splattered with piss or pus or any of the other body fluids that show up on a busy hospital ward.

It was actually pretty quiet on the ward that night, as a trickle of sweat ran down Sara’s back under the rubbery gown she was forced to wear. She did feel confident that she would be able to finish her scut work earlier than usual. Maybe there would be time for a Gatorade and some Fritos before the next shift. But Sara was afraid to even think too long about how quiet it was. She had to get things done on time, or Nurse Echo would penalize her with extra thick gloves or an extra heavy visor on her helmet.

Shifting in her seat, Sara stole a glance at Nurse Echo. No one knew much about her. Where had she come from? Why was she so sadistic? She was an excellent nurse with meticulous skills, but she had the personality of a pissed off porcupine. Patients were lucky if she grunted “good morning” at them as she adjusted the tubes and wires that kept them connected to this life. Some of the patients who weren’t so sick whispered to Sara that Nurse Echo was scary. All Sara could do was nod in acknowledgment. She didn’t dare confirm the patient’s suspicions.

“Nurse!” Sara was jarred out of her reverie by the sound of Nurse Echo’s clipped British accent and the sound of her rubber pantaloons rubbing together as her thighs collided with each hobbled step.

Sara looked up at her boss, who was frowning, as usual. “Yes, Nurse Echo?” Sara responded, keeping her voice professional but betraying a certain timidness.

Nurse Echo scowled at her underling. She hated it when they sniveled. She hated it more when they were assertive.

“Are you finished with those notes yet? Mr. Trump has just made a huge mess in his bed and I expect you to clean it up promptly.” Nurse Echo snarled.

Sara rolled her eyes, thankful that the visor hid some of her deep resentment toward the orange haired cretin in room 432. He had recently been evicted from his housing and kicked out of his luxury hotel by his wife. After consorting with one too many Russian prostitutes, he had come down with the dreaded bug for the second time! But this time, no one at Walter Reed wanted to give him care.

“I’m almost finished Nurse Echo. It’s been a blessing tonight that things are so–” Sara said.

“Don’t you DARE say it!” Nurse Echo boomed. “Just for that, I think you need another layer of protection. Trade in that N95 for one of my special masks. NOW!”

“Aw… do I have to?” Sara whined. “I hate the taste of them.”

“You KNOW the rules! And clearly I can’t trust you to protect yourself by keeping quiet about–” Nurse Echo stopped herself just in time. There was one thing Sara did like about her boss. Nurse Echo never asked anyone to do anything she wouldn’t do herself. And if she had violated the rules, she too would need to “mask up”… and thensome.

Sara went into the medical supply room and found Nurse Echo’s special gag masks. She chose one that was shaped like a ring, covered it in bean dip, and was about to strap it on when she noticed the bottle of tequila in the corner. Feeling a little cheeky and more than a bit over Nurse Echo’s oppressive overbearingness, Sara quickly did a shot. Then she dutifully “protected herself” from more potentially ruinous outbursts, fastening the thick rubber straps around her head.

Nurse Echo smiled with satisfaction as she watched Sara stride resolutely toward Mr. Trump’s room. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door, gave herself a moment to recover from the bowling ball like way the stench hit her, and went into the room to deal with Mr. Trump’s trauma.

“Sorry…” Trump mumbled as Sara took in the mess. He wasn’t yet on a respirator, but his orange hair was complimented weirdly by the slightly bluish tinge to his skin. Sara smiled to herself as she realized that orange and blue are complementary colors. The mumbled apology didn’t sound the slightest bit sincere. She was surprised he’d said it. But then, he wasn’t very popular these days…

Unable to verbally respond to Trump’s “apology”, Sara willed herself to look kind as she nodded acknowledgment and cleaned up the mess. The many Big Macs and Whoppers Trump had enjoyed had really done a number. But Sara was a professional, and she had him clean and dry in no time.

She went back to her charting as Nurse Echo wandered the hall, looking in on patients, disciplining Sara’s co-workers, and tapping her ever present riding crop against her meaty hands. Nurse Echo was in a good mood, for once. She hadn’t yet made Sara wear the helmet, which was one of her favorite punitive garments for her nurses.

As she was typing the last notes into the computer, the doors to the COVID-19 unit burst open. Sara’s colleague, a young male nurse named Leon, came bursting on duty. Sara usually liked Leon. He was funny and energetic, and he worked very hard and at a high level of professionalism. But today, he said the dreaded words…

“Man! Why is it so quiet on the ward today?!” he boomed.

“On no…” Sara’s co-worker, Holly, moaned.

“What did I hear you say?” Nurse Echo growled.

“I didn’t mean it. Honest!” Leon moaned.

“You know what to do…” Nurse Echo hissed. Her eyes cast at the supply closet, and Sara knew that if Leon fucked up again, he’d be spending the night in the restraint wrap.

“Man, I wish I could quit this job…” Sara muttered behind the gag. “The money and hours are just too good to quit.”

“Move it!” Nurse Echo boomed as Leon scuttled away.

And just like that, the phones lit up and the first of many new patients arrived at the door. It was going to be a very long night. As Nurse Echo attended to the gasping young man who had just arrived on the hall, Sara noticed Mr. Trump’s call light blinking. She cast a furtive look at the private parts protector (PPP) Nurse Echo had designed expressly for patients like Mr. Trump, who wasn’t sick enough to stop grabbing women by the pussy. But Sara didn’t feel like suiting up…

She would come to regret that decision…

To be continued? Probably… but maybe not today.

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memories, nostalgia

Call the COVID Coven!

My friend Sara works as a nurse on the COVID ward at the Mayo Clinic. Back in May, she was complaining about how hot and uncomfortable her extreme personal protection equipment is. I thought her descriptions of it sounded kind of kinky, so I wrote a short story for her. I was mainly blowing off steam.

A couple of nights ago, she said I should write another short story. I was kind of surprised about that, because I wondered if maybe she didn’t think the first one was too bizarre. She said it was definitely “weird”, but also hilarious.

I used to love to write fiction. It was a great way of escaping the world, especially when I was in graduate school. But now, when I write short stories, they tend to be inspired by real life events rather than my imagination. But anyway, just to indulge Sara, I came up with a story proposal on the fly. I asked her what she thought of a story about a “coven” of 19 nurses, living in a dormitory as they tend to the COVID-19 patients.

There could be a core of nurse characters who live with each other in one unit, ruled by a cranky head nurse named Hilda who refuses to watch anything but medical dramas from the 1970s and 80s and has sexual fantasies about Pernell Roberts and Howard Keel. They could wear the same barbaric PPE and develop friendships as they eat bean dip and drink tequila shots on their nights off work.

Can you tell I recently overdosed on Call the Midwife? Now that’s a great show! Unlike Doctor Foster, the laughable drama I watched on Netflix this week, Call the Midwife has excellent and believable writing, likable characters, and fascinating storylines. I’m also a big fan of Doc Martin, another British medical show with elements of quirky comedy. No, I’m not a Brit, but my earliest years were in Britain and I’ve always had a fondness for the original motherland. Too bad all my ancestors migrated to the United States.

I was trying to post something yesterday, but WordPress was all weird and wouldn’t let me publish. I tried several different browsers and nothing worked, so I decided to just take the day off. It was rainy and depressing outside, so I watched the Netflix documentary about the Challenger disaster. I remember when that happened. I was only 13 years old, and living in Virginia, where we were dealing with a severe ice storm. I was not in school the day the space shuttle blew up because of the storm. The extreme cold was also one reason why the disaster happened.

Watching that series made me remember when I was 12, back in 1984. I had a really cool social studies teacher named Mary Kaylor who made class fun. She used games and “munchie days”, as well as videos… and I distinctly remember that before we’d start talking about the Revolutionary War, she’d discuss current events with us. I remember the fall of that year, Baby Faye was born with a rare heart defect. She was given a baboon’s heart in an effort to keep her alive until a human donor could be found. She died having lived a month. We talked about Baby Faye a lot in that class.

I also remember this teacher talking a lot about the Soviet Union and its leader, Konstantin Chernenko, who only lasted a few months before ill health sent him to the grave. He was a forgettable leader, but I remember him well because of that class. I don’t remember that much else about what we learned that year. She was a really good teacher, though. When I had her, she was very young and just starting her career. I wonder where she is now and if she’s still teaching.

It just goes to show you that you never know how you’ll touch someone. I mostly had very good teachers when I was growing up. They were all decent people, at least, but many of them were also good teachers. Some of them went on to do big things, too. My former homeroom teacher from tenth grade is now president of North Greenville University in South Carolina. I knew him when he was just starting his career, and it’s so cool to see where he is today. We keep in touch on Facebook.

I also had the privilege of attending a small college in Virginia (now a medium sized college). Twenty-six years after graduation, I still know some of the professors there, and they know me. My husband, who went to a much larger and more prestigious university, is flabbergasted by that. Of course, he finished college in 1986.

Anyway… lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the “good old days”. I didn’t realize how good they were back then. I wouldn’t want to relive them, but they are fun to revisit sometimes. And I like to post stuff like this on occasion so people don’t think I’m a total nut.

I’m glad it’s Friday, even though I doubt we’ll do anything special this weekend. COVID-19 is ramping up again over here, so restrictions have been renewed. I would rather stay home than deal with them. Fortunately, I’ve got things I can do, like work with the new dog and practice guitar… and write weird kinky stories for Sara. Maybe I’ll do that tomorrow. As for today, we have the heating oil delivery to look forward to… something else that doesn’t happen that much in the United States.

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fiction, silliness

When will this shift end? A kinky short story for Sara…

Now for something completely different…

Given what’s going on in the United States right now, it’s only natural that people feel the need to repeatedly comment on it. However, because so many people are commenting, it’s kind of like Facebook has turned into a tsunami of comments about COVID-19, racism, and riots… and just because I’m kind of a goofball with an odd sense of humor, I’ve decided that today’s post will be another one of my nonsensical short stories. This one is kind of by request. My friend Sara is a nurse who is working on the frontlines of COVID-19. She also happens to live in Minnesota. She was recently describing what it was like to have to wear PPE all day every day while on the job. I said it sounded kind of kinky. So Sara, this kinky story about PPE is for you. I hope it makes you chuckle. It’s completely tasteless and made up on the fly, so don’t blame me if it’s lame.

Sara sat at the nurse’s desk, head sheltered in plastic protective gear. She gazed tiredly at the computer screen, where her gloved fingers typed away at her notes on the latest patient to enter the unit. The man had been found wandering the streets of Minneapolis completely naked, except for his face mask, a long, blonde wig, and a cock ring. The mask he wore, made of orange naugahyde, bore an image of a gigantic large intestine on it. It clashed garishly with the pink cock ring encircled with feathers. The wig was platinum blonde, kind of akin to Barbie doll hair. But the man’s bushy black eyebrows and dark pubic hair gave away his secret.

Besides being a bit chilled by the nippy Minneapolis weather, the man got into trouble because the cock ring was cutting off his circulation. He was screaming in pain when someone finally called the paramedics to bring him to the emergency room. After a cursory check by the ER doctor who determined that the guy was not well mentally or physically, he landed on Sara’s unit to get help for his “unit”. Early the next morning, a microsurgeon would work his magic on the man’s magic wand.

Wearily, she typed his name on the record. It was Goat McCall. Yes, a naked man named Goat was admitted to a room on Sara’s unit. And now that the blood was flowing again, the man named Goat seemed only slightly less perturbed about being confined to a hospital bed. She had managed to get Mr. McCall into a gown… a special one that defied escape. It wasn’t unlike a straitjacket. She confiscated the platinum blonde wig. Mr. McCall refused to let Sara take his orange, naugahyde face mask, though. He claimed he didn’t feel safe without it. Not wanting to get into a fight with her latest patient, Sara shrugged and let him have his way.

Stealing a look at the clock, Sara typed faster. She had to have the record done in five minutes, or else she’d be penalized with another layer of personal protection equipment. Her supervisor, Nurse Ethel Echo, was a stickler about the rules. Sara had arrived to work that morning in just her usual scrubs, but every time she missed a deadline or made a mistake, Nurse Echo would levy another fine by way of forcing her to wear more oppressive PPE.

So far, Sara wore booties on her shoes, gloves on her hands, and a cumbersome face shield. She wasn’t yet wearing a face mask. That would come next if she missed her next deadline. But the face masks at Sara’s workplace weren’t your every day, average masks. Nurse Echo was sadistic and looked for ways to make the gear less comfortable and more kinky. Sara had never had to wear one of Nurse Echo’s kinky masks yet, but she’d heard from her colleagues that Nurse Echo had designed them to include penis like knobs. On the face, they looked very munch like your usual surgical masks, except for the sturdy rubber straps that caught in the nurses’ hair. Underneath, they were very effective gags.

Since Sara liked to talk and needed to be able to speak to do her job effectively, she wanted to avoid the mask. She knew that if she had to wear the mask, the rest of her night would be completely fucked. She’d never get her work done and would probably wind up spending the night in a “humane” restraint wrap. Nurse Echo liked to sentence her nurses to occasional nights in the restraint wraps to make them more empathetic to their patients.

She could have been Nurse Echo’s twin sister…

“Almost done…” Sara muttered as she finished up the last part of her SOAP. As she tapped the last key, she looked up to see the stern, stodgy, elderly supervisor standing there. Nurse Echo held a riding crop in her meaty hand and shook her long, scraggly red hair. Sara giggled to herself. Her boss always reminded her of Sergeant Bertha Blast from the 80s era Popeye cartoons Sara had watched as a child. Sometimes, she wondered if Nurse Echo had a twin who had inspired the character.

“That was very close, Sara.” Nurse Echo said as she slapped the riding crop in her palm. She had a clipped British accent. “You need to work on your efficiency. I won’t tolerate any slackers on my unit.”

Resisting the urge to roll eyes, Sara smiled weakly at her boss and smoothed her plastic smock. A bead of sweat rolled down her face under the face shield. She took a deep breath, grateful that she could still do that unfettered. How in the hell had she wound up working at the kinkiest hospital in Minnesota, anyway? Oh yeah. She’d answered an ad in the newspaper. I’ll never make that mistake again, Sara thought to herself as she slammed a drawer shut and prepared to take Goat McCall’s vitals. So many times, she’d considered quitting this job and working somewhere else. But she had to admit, the money was good and the hours were decent, even if her bosses were a bit unconventional.

“Have you checked the bedpan in room 435?” Nurse Echo nagged as Sara picked up her stethoscope. “I notice a strange smell coming from there. You remember what I told you about shunting the less pleasant work to your colleagues.”

“I haven’t had time yet, Nurse Echo.” Sara said crossly. Man, that woman got on her fucking nerves.

“You know what that means.” Nurse Echo chided as she headed for the dreaded PPE cabinet.

“Oh man… can’t you give me a break? I’ve been working like a dog today.” Sara whined.

“You know the rules.” Nurse Echo said sternly. “I suggest you cooperate or else I’ll throw in a helmet.”

“Dammit!” Sara snapped as her boss handed her a mask. Unlike the usual medical style masks people were wearing, Nurse Echo’s masks had two thick rubber straps that made the mask less comfortable, but much more secure.

“You have thirty seconds to put on the mask, Sara.” Nurse Echo said, her eyes steely.

She’s such a bitch… Sara thought to herself as she expertly put on the face mask gag. The heavy rubber gloves she wore made it difficult to fasten the straps, but the boss was still standing there, tapping her foot and looking at her watch.

“Ten seconds.” Nurse Echo warned as Sara fumbled with the buckles.

“Mmmmph.” Sara grunted.

“Excellent. Now see to that bedpan immediately.” Nurse Echo snapped. “I’ll check on Mr. McCall.”

Sara trudged off into the room where the funky bedpan was. The patient who had befouled the bedpan was not in the room. Mrs. Milton, whose bowels could put a bovine to shame, had been transferred to a specialty unit. But the remnants of her brief stay on Sara’s unit had definitely left a memorable impression. Sara considered putting a bit of ammonia in her nostrils just to neutralize the stench a bit. But then she decided she just wanted to get the job done and hope she didn’t pass out from the smell.

It took a few minutes to take care of the bedpan. After she was finished cleaning it, Sara felt a lot better. Yes, the face mask was a bit oppressive and the penis like knob tasted terrible, but she found that not being able to speak made her more efficient. Besides, she was now in such a mood that she doubted anyone would want to hear what she had to say, anyway.

If I can just get through the last hour of this shift, I’ll be home free… Sara thought to herself.

“SARA!” Nurse Echo barked. “Get over here this instant!”

“Mmmmph.” Sara grunted as she rushed to her boss’s side.

“Mr. McCall’s medications are late.” Nurse Echo said. “You know what that means.”

Oh no… Sara silently groaned.

“Go get the helmet.” Nurse Echo ordered.

Sara hated the helmet. It was hot, heavy, and obstructed her hearing and peripheral vision. The nurses were only supposed to wear them in unusual cases when they were dealing with highly infectious patients, but Nurse Echo liked to use them as punishment. She’d force her nurses to wear them when they were having bad days.

Man… I wish I could quit this job. Sara thought, chewing on the gag as she slipped the heavy helmet on her head and fastened the strap. But even if the money and hours weren’t excellent, Sara couldn’t quit her job. Working at this hospital was kind of like checking into the Hotel California. She could never leave, no matter how many times she quit working.

“Keep it up, Sara, and I’ll add the music.” Nurse Echo warned.

Oh gawd, no… Sarah moaned. The helmet had a built in music function that would play elevator Muzak. It would effectively cut off Sara’s ability to hear as it also drove her crazy. The Muzak used was the worst kind– softened versions of pop acts from the 70s and 80s played by cheap, tacky orchestras. It was enough to drive a person mad! She knew that if Nurse Echo tortured her with the music, she’d finish her shift with a four alarm headache and a need for a stiff cocktail.

“Mr. McCall is still waiting for his meds. See if you can get him to take off that mask. It’s filthy and clashes.” Nurse Echo said, her voice even louder within the confines of the padded helmet. The helmet had an annoying intercom feature making it impossible to tune out her boss, but canceling out most other sounds… except of course, the Muzak, which her boss hadn’t yet turned on. She knew it was only a matter of time, though. Nurse Echo loved to harass people who were under her command.

Sara got the medications for Mr. McCall. He was looking forlorn in his hospital gown, mouth still covered by the orange naugahyde mask. She couldn’t speak to the man, so she simply nodded at him and handed him the pills and some water.

Mr. McCall sighed as he peeled off the mask. Sara went to take the mask from his hand, but he had it in a death grip. Unable to explain why she needed to take the mask away, Sara watched as he took the pills, satisfied in knowing that one of them was a sleep aid. When he dropped off to sleep, then she could steal the mask and throw it into the incinerator. Sara took a perverse delight in throwing away things that were gross, like old, grimy face masks. But she also knew Nurse Echo would be angry at her for not removing the mask when she’d asked her to… and that would mean the dreaded Muzak therapy.

“Where is my cock ring?” Goat McCall asked.

Unable to answer, Sara simply shrugged and gave the man a little wave. In about ten minutes, she was sure he’d be sleeping and she could take away his mask. Meanwhile, the first annoying strains of the canned music were flooding the helmet. Obviously, Nurse Echo had been watching Sara on the closed circuit camera.

This last hour can’t end soon enough, Sara thought to herself. She cringed as a Muzak version of “Muskrat Love” started playing. (side note: I searched YouTube to see if I could find a Muzak version of “Muskrat Love” and was shocked to find that someone else must have also searched for it. Unfortunately, my search was fruitless.) So here’s a Muzak version of “Beat It”, followed by a horribly cringeworthy version of “Every Breath You Take”.

This actually reminds me a little of the original Beverly Hills 90210 theme…

When will this shift end… Sara groaned. Nurse Echo would probably break out the HAZMAT suit next, only it was made of latex. Sara had a latex allergy, but that didn’t matter to her sadistic boss, who was already dreaming up new ways to make life worse for her.

But Nurse Echo had a surprise for Sara. “I’ve got good news, Sara.” Nurse Echo said. “You’re getting off early today.”

“Mmmmph?” Sara mewled as saliva ran down her face.

“Yes… because I think you need a rest.” Nurse Echo said with a smile. “A little empathy lesson.”

Oh no… Sara thought to herself, casting her eyes at the on call room. That was where the restraint wrap was. But at least she could take off the rest of the PPE, right?

Nope.

To be continued? Maybe…

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