Fortress Party 2016 Retrospective, Part 7: Post-Op on Pop

The centerpiece of Post-op on Pop was a fully-functional table-sized game of Operation with a Dr. Seuss twist.

Guests would try to pull the Lorax out the thorax. If their forceps touched the sides of his chest cavity, an alarm would go off.

The O.R. was very Seussian, with irregularly-spaced fluorescent orange PVC pipe connecting random parts of the wall to each other.

Our surgeon was into wearing masks at parties before it was cool.

There was a table of bizarre surgical tools, including the Zizzer Zazzer Zuzz and Grickly Gactus. 

We decorated the walls with Dr. Seuss characters reciting lines from his most famous medical poems,

You have brains in your head

You have feet in your shoes. 

Well, at least one

(I'm not good at breaking bad news.)

Luke Luck likes fakes. 

Lukes duck likes fakes

Doc nip tucks and fakes Luke Luck has

Duck pays bucks and fakes Luke's duck has

Unless someone like you 

Cares a whole awful lot

Nothing's going to get better

If there's a clot

Who sews Crow closed?

Sue sews Crow closed

Slow Joe Crow sews whose psoas?

Sue's psoas.

This one has a little star,

This one has a little scar,

Say, what a lot of fistulas there are!

Docs with techs come

Docs with chucks come

Schmucks with pox

And bloody flux come

Six sick chicks anaphylax

Six slick cardiac quacks hack six

Cracked backs quick

My nurse is old

My scalplel's gold

I have a gauze I like to hold

My fem-pop's blocked

My foot is cold

My fem pop's blocked

My foot is cold

I have a gauze I like to hold

My nurse is old

My scalpel's gold

And now my story is all told

Today you are you

That's truer than true!

There's no one alive

Who's more sutured than you

I speak for the trees

For the trees have no tongues

We've also removed

Their gall bladders and lungs

Some have scrubs

Some have probes

The fat one has no frontal lobes

From there to here

From here to there

Bloody things are everywhere

You'll be on your way up!

You'll be seeing great sights!

You'll join the high fliers

Who soar to ascites.

A surgeon's a surgeon

No matter how small

And will you bleed?

Yes, indeed!

98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.

Between cases, the surgeons could catch up on the latest research in these medical journals. 

• Horton Attaches the Leg
• Marvin K. Moon Facies Will You Please Go Now
• One fistula, two fistula, red fistula, blue fistula
• The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Scrub-Ins
• There's a Wocket in Eye Socket
• Dr. Seuss's Airway, Breathing, Circulation
• Did I Ever Tell You How Lucky O.R.?
• Spleen, Legs, and Hand
• Fox in Shock
• What PET Scan should I Get?
• The Stitches
• McElligot's Call Pool

The Dog Side of the Aisle

Dear Friends,

This month's Hard Taco song is called, "Bezonce." For the Goth types who prefer words in unlinkable jet black, that song, again, is "Bezonce."

In regards to both politics and pets, it's a two party system. Some folks want nothing to do with domestic pets, but the rest of us are either dog people or cat people. If you claim to be anything else, you're throwing your vote away.

I am a dog person, although I'm not as hard-core dog as I used to be. I must say, as I have aged, I've trended more towards being socially dog, but fiscally cat.  I'm not one of those crazy extremists who subscribes to Cat Fancy, but let's face it... I'm not an idealistic college kid anymore. I'm a grown man with a family and a mortgage, and I'm wise to how the world works.  I never thought I would say this, but sometimes cats offer practical solutions that dogs can't.

But you can check my record... I'm definitely still more dog-leaning. A quick Command-F query confirms that I have written 18 Hard Taco Digests that mention dogs, and only 4 that mention cats.

Doggist propaganda by P.D. Eastman

My dog-leaning roots run deep. Have you ever seen "My Book About Me," by Dr. Seuss? Basically, it's boring Mad Libs for narcissistic children. Dr. Seuss wrote stems of sentences and left blanks for kids to fill in with autobiographical information. My parents bought me an off-brand version of this book when I was six. "It's just as good as a real Dr. Seuss," they probably said. "I'm sure you won't even be able to tell the difference." I may have put up a fight about this, but I filled out the book anyway. When I went back and read it years later, I noticed a subtle theme among my responses. See if you can pick it up!

  My name is: ZACH
  I have: ONE sister(s) and NONE brother(s)
  My favorite kind of animal is: DOG
  Last night I had a dream about: A DOG AND IT WAS SCOBY DOO
  I would be surprised if I looked out my window and saw: 100 DOG IN A ROW

I still feel the same way about that last point. 100 dog outside of my window would be an unusual circumstance, regardless of their configuration. 100 dog in a row? Frankly, I would find that combination of volume and alignment to be outright shocking, even after all these year. 

REEET!
A few months after I was born, my parents got a puppy so they could call someone Abby, the girl name they had picked out for me when I was still an undeclared fetus.  Abby was a stringy black and white mutt about the size of a loaf of bread. I think she was one-quarter shih tzu, one-quarter corgi, and half kangaroo rat.

Abby the Dog, enlarged to show detail.

Poor little Abby. She went to the groomers once or twice a year, and the extreme haircut they gave her would strip any visible remnants of canine ancestry, leaving her rat-like frame shamefully exposed. The groomers delighted in compounding this humiliation by tying a massive pink ribbon around her head, which only made her look like some kind of scrap-booking accident.

Abby was most notable for her self-destructive habit of darting under our feet as we walked by. Inevitably, someone would step on her, and she would let out an endearing, high-pitched, "REEET!" 

I definitely loved that dog. I know this because I feel it, not because I remember many joyous moments with her. Tiny dogs can live forever, but that just gives them more time to be old. In most of my memories, Abby was brittle, arthritic, and exhausted.  In the last decade of her 17-year life, the black patches faded to grey and her fur-shrouded eyes sunk even deeper behind filmy cataracts. When she lost control of her bladder, we relegated her to the kitchen where her messes would be easier to wipe up.

We continued to accidentally step on her from time to time, but she rarely generated a full-blown "REEET!"  It was more like...  reet. She was acknowledging the incident, but in a detached way. The lusty indignation was gone.  

Reet. Still down here, folks.
  
My friend Jeff liked to say, "All your dog does is stand in the corner and shiver and piss." It was a fair assessment, albeit a bit mean-spirited. (* see footnote.)







My kids have been asking about getting a dog. This morning, I showed my six-year-old son the above picture of Abby, and he said, "Wow. What was it like?" He didn't want to know what Abby was like, but what it was like to be that kid with a dog. I must have given him a sentimental answer, because afterwards he said, "I think my eyes are starting to have some water in them about that story."

Lauren is allergic to dogs, so his dog ownership yearnings are going to remain unfulfilled for a while. In the meantime, he'll just have to make due with writing bizarre autobiographical dog fantasies in "My Book About Me" (or its generic equivalent.)

With warmest regards,
Zach

* Muffin, Jeff's bichon frise, eventually died of neck cancer. While this was also very sad, reminding him about it cheered me up a little (and still does, if I'm having a bad day.)

Beatrix: The Original Magical Potter

Dear Friends, 

  Tradition would suggest that a downbeat piano jazz anthem could never be a Hard Taco song. Well, Tradition, if you come close I'd like to whisper something into your ear... SLAP! Oh, I'm sorry, my hand must have slipped... SLAP! There it goes again... slap, SLAP! Scroooof! 

   The Hard Taco song for August, "Only a Man," has now repeatedly beaten and humiliated Tradition. (Scroooof, by the way, is the sound of sand being kicked in the face.) If this piques your curiosity, give it a listen!  

   I have another amusing diversion to offer this month. How well do you know your dead children’s authors? One of the following passages was actually written by the named author, and the other three are imitations. See if you can figure out which one is real!

1. "Not Hungry?" 

by Shel Silverstein

I will not eat the muskrat meat 

I will not eat the stew 

I will not eat the tart, the treat 

Or candied kangaroo 

I will not eat flamingo feet 

Or camel cordon bleu 

I must forego the cookie dough 

And I know why, 

Do you? 

(Sketch of man with a dead baby duct-taped over his mouth and nose.) 

2. "The Tale of Mrs. Wiggle-Otter”

by Beatrix Potter 

  Mrs. Wiggle-Otter lived in a thatch-covered hamper pot with her husband Tobias and their four children, Stumpsy Butterwinkle, Ginny Tinsel-Moppet, Criminy She-Mouse, and Jesus Hamilton Spittlecock. Every morning she would dress them in pinafores and tuckers, box their ears, and send them to the rockery. (When they walked, it sounded like this: wap dap woodle dap, wap dap boodle dap.) 

   One day, Stumpsy Butterwinkle, who was the fattest, came upon the ewe, Pansy-Woolly thighs, alighting about the vegetable marrows. Stumpsy said, "I rather fancy your frock, Mrs. Woolly-Thighs." However, the ewe was not fine company and was so affronted by the comment that she determined to kick the young otter, who was fat. Stumpsy tried to flee through the foxgloves, but Pansy Woolly-Thighs stepped on his face and promptly ate him. It is said that if he had returned to the hamper pot, Mrs. Wiggle-Otter would have beat him soundly and put him to bed in the wickery. 

3. From "Sylvester the Jester and Other Stories" 

by Dr. Seuss 

I met an old fish on the way to Van Floomph 

Who shouted and shouted with burgeoning Vroomf, 

"Why lad," said the fish, "you look downcast and grim. 

But here's the solution... a kettle of BIM! 

This BIM is outstanding! It's one of a kind! 

The kettle's the softest and freshest you'll find!" 

I handed him seventeen splinks and a wettle 

And took home the BIM in the soft and fresh kettle. 

The very next day, the same fish was still there 

"Why lad," said the fish, "you look fraught with despair. 

Your BIM is unblotted, and lad, let me tell you 

You need a BIM-BLOTTER, and I've one to sell you! 

I handed a kwut and three wettles to him, 

And I purchased the object designed to blot BIM. 

From the soles of my feet to my common carotid 

I now felt complete, for my BIM could be blotted! 

The very next day, I could hear the fish speaking, 

"Why lad," said the fish, "Your BIM-BLOTTER is creaking! 

This creaking is irksome! You're quaking with ire! 

A BIM-BLOTTER GREASER is what you require! 

The fact is the creaking is driving you nuts!" 

But I had no more wettles, no splinks, and no kwuts. 

"No sweat," said the fish, "I will give you one wettle 

In equal exchange for some BIM in a kettle." 

I accepted this trade, but could still not afford 

The BIM-BLOTTER GREASER, which I so adored. 

I stomped and I swooned, and my mouth filled with foam 

I quimbled with rage like a short-sheeted gnome. 

"No sweat," said the fish, and in less than a wink 

I had sold my BIM BLOTTER, and made half a splink. 

And now I'm still several splinks short of the price 

Of the BIM-BLOTTER GREASER, that crucial device 

And the lesson, dear friends, is beware of the Vroomf 

Of the fish on the road between here and Van Floomph! 

4. “Untitled”

by Anonymous child signing a guest book at a rented condo in Traverse City, MI 

What a condo? I am only 10 but I have been to many condos and this is heer a great one. I am shure we will come back another day. Thank you to everybody who let us use your condo. Tennis was so fun in the camp. My cousin won because she catched up to me. We are here with Poof and Gail. P.S. If you come here it will be great. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

So, did you guess which one is the real one? I don't know how to write the answer upside-down at the bottom of the page, so I'll just write it backwards. (4 rebmuN s'tI)

With warmest regards, 

Zach