Wednesday, October 01, 2014


We have all lived through it, you take a loved one to the hospital, or you even see it on some drama show, in the hospital waiting room. You’ve just rushed Fronte Brutto your third cousin to the hospital, it might be a fall, or stomach pain, or severe case of the runs, and with your family you gather together waiting to hear what the verdict is, Fronte Brutto is at death’s door, and you can only hope, the doctor can pull him through.

Finally the doctor comes into the room after 4 hours, you all rush up to him and gather around, to hear his words first-hand, will Fronte Brutto make it? He begins to give you the news, as you hang on his every word, you look in his face for expressions that give you a sense of how bad it is, can he save Fronte Brutto?

Suddenly whomever you are with puts a death grip on your shoulder, we are now talking coverage first then healing. Pretty scary stuff: no?

Well recently I spent some time in the waiting room of a Toyota dealership waiting to have my car serviced. It is the same thing, the same sense of gloom and doom of the hospital room as you give the car to them and just like Fronte Brutto, you can only pray.

As I sit among my equals in seeking God in mercy seeking prayer, the mechanic comes out, just like a doctor and gives the news, breathe held we strain to hear how much and will it live.

“Are you the owner of the black Prius?”


He consults his clipboard and avoids your eyes, speaking in a monotone that can only mean $$$ and lots of it.

“We (he) had to remove the concubator, reset the eliginator and retool the aloxipator, along with the normal service of the comogulator for the 3,051 mile checkup.”

The bill is so high he needs two hands to hold it!

“Will it live???”

“Well with normal driving conditions, and no excess breaking for trucks coming directly at you at over 65 MPH. it should last for a while.”

“Phew, and how much will this all cost?”

“Do you have Medicar?”

“No, Obama screwed up on that.”

“Well with parts costing 59 cents and labor it comes to… ummm, carry the 9 plus cost of Christmas shopping… $902.”

“OK, bill it to my new address: The Daily Prune Poor House.

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