Relay-Version: version B 2.10 5/3/83; site utzoo.UUCP Posting-Version: version B 2.10.1 6/24/83; site ucsbcsl.UUCP Path: utzoo!watmath!clyde!bonnie!akgua!sdcsvax!sdcrdcf!trwrb!trwrba!cepu!ucsbcsl!brent From: brent@ucsbcsl.UUCP ( ) Newsgroups: net.jokes Subject: PLAID -- Dave Barry Message-ID: <264@ucsbcsl.UUCP> Date: Wed, 3-Apr-85 22:51:05 EST Article-I.D.: ucsbcsl.264 Posted: Wed Apr 3 22:51:05 1985 Date-Received: Wed, 10-Apr-85 03:23:30 EST Organization: U.C. Santa Barbara Lines: 93 Taken from The Fresno Bee ... reprinted without permission ... BAD, BAD PLAID by Dave Barry A recent consumer near-tragedy has demonstrated once again, as if we neded any more demonstrations, why the federal governement must act immediately to prohibit the sale and possessiom of plaid carpeting. I feel especially strong about the issue, because the near-tragedy in question involved an 8-year-old girl named Natalie who happens to be the daughter of two friends of mine, Debbie and Bill. They have agreed to let me tell their story in exchange for a promise that I would not reveal their last name is Ordine (pronounced "Ordean"). Our story begins a few months ago, when Bill bought Natalie two birthday presents, one of which was a gumball machine. Natalie of course immediately got a major wad of gum stuck in her hair and chose to correct the problem personally, without any discussion with a parent or guardian, by getting some scissors and whacking off a large segment of the right side of her hair, but that is not the near-tragedy in question. I mention it only so you'll grasp that when it comes to buying birthday presnts for an 8-year-old, Bill has no more sense than a cinder block. This is why, as the other present, he bought Natalie a popular children's dexterity game called "Operation", in which you attempt to put humorous simulated organs into a humorous simulated person without setting off a buzzer. Ordinarily, there would be nothing wrong with this, but it happens that Bill and Debbie have a carpet with large plaid squares on it. So as most of you have no doubt already guessed, on the afternoon of her class Christmas play, Natalie invented a game whereby she would put the little plastic heart from the "Operation" game into her nose to see how many squares of carperting she could blow it accross. Which is fine, provided it is done in the context of an organized league with uniforms, coaches, etc., but Natalie was doing this all on her own, and the result is that she got the heart stuck up her nose. You hate to have this kind of thing happen, because it's not the kind of problem that will just go away by itself, like, say, a broken leg. No, if you want to dal with a heart stuck up your nose, you pretty much have to expose yourself to an assault by Modern Medicine. So Debbie calld the Emergency Room, hich has of course heard of every conceivable thing being stuck in every conceivable orfice and consequently told Debbie that this was nothig to worry about, plus they were busy ith some real emergencies, so Natalie should just go ahead and be in her class play and come in later that evening. So Natalie performed with the heart in her nose - she was one of the "Rough Kids Who Wouldn't Go To Sleep on Christmas Eve" - then went to the hospital, where the doctor tried to get the heart out with forceps, but of course couldn't reach it. So he decided to keep Natalie overnight and operate the next day, whch he did, and of course he couldn't find the heart. "What do yo mean, you can't find the (bad swear word) heart?" is the parental concern Bill recalls voicing to the doctor before he (Bill) stomped off in search of a small helpless furry animal to kick in the ribs. Meanwhile, the doctor ordered a CAT scan, which is a medical procedure that evidentaly requires the destruction of rare porcelain figurines because it cost $810, and which of course showed no trace of the heart. So the doctor concluded that the heart must have gotten into Natalie's digestive system, and everything would be fine and nobody should worry about it. The bill for this medical treatment was of course $3,200. Bill and Debbie, when they are not whimpering softly like the radiation victims in "The Day After", admit they find the whole episode somewhat ironic, seeing as how it began with a game that has a medical theme. But as Bill points out, the difference is that "in real life, the doctor gets the bucks no matter what happens. In the game, you actually have to do it right". I should point out that the heart was, in fact, in Natalie's digestive system. We know this because Debbie conducted a Stool Search, which I will not discuss in detail here except to say that if anyone should have been paid $3,200, it is Debbie. Natalie, the victim, is fine now, and will never ever ever ever put a heart of any kind in her nose again for at least several months. Bill says she took the heart to school in a zip-lock bag so she could tell her classmates the whole story. "She really spread the word about the dangers of putting pieces of games in your nose", said Bill. "She became real evangelistic, sort of like a reformed alcoholic, or Chuck Colson". None of this would have ever happened, of course, if Bill and Debbie, who are not bad parents, really, did not have plaid carpeting. And who knows how many other unsuspecting parents have excactly the same consumer menace lurking in their family rooms? How do we know that some child is not at this very moment inserting a pretend organ into his or her nose to see how far he or she can shoot it? This child might bear in mind that the current record, held by 8-year-old Natalie Ordine, who got her name in the newspaper and everything, is only two big squares, which should be easy to beat.