Good evening,ladies and gentleman, my name is, Jennifer Rooks, and we welcome all of our listeners to tonight's Maine Public Broadcasting Network's Edition of "The County Today;" a show in which we explore the many and varied exciting aspects of the people, places, and events in and around Aroostook County in Northern Maine; our State's largest county and the source of our great tasting potatoes.
Tonight, we are pleased to welcome to our show, Doc AhDubohn, an Amateur Brain Surgeon.
Good evening and welcome to our show, Doc AhDubohn.
Thank-you, Jennifer. It is a pleasure to be here; and please, call me "Doc."
Ok, thank-you. That is very kind of you; I will call you Doc. So, Doc, can you tell our listeners a little bit about yourself.
OK. Well, as you have already said, my name is Doc AhDubohn. I was born in Vermont into a rather large and, oh, I guess I'd have to say, lower-middle class family and I grew-up in an old World War Two Public Housing Project called, "Westview."
Oh, that sounds like a wonderful place. Westview. It sounds so lovely. Did it have a nice view?
No. No, it did not have what I'd describe as a nice view.
From what I remember of the place, the most common things to be seen were ratty towels and stained Underoos hanging-out on clothes lines; imbecilic inbred adolescents beating each other with toilet plungers; one-eyed cats running wildly around the neighborhood hemorrhaging from BB Pellet wounds; and truants pestering the three-legged Poodle, Fi-Fi, pelting her with garbage and calling her, Feces.
Poor, Fi-Fi, had an arrow sticking out of her hindquarters and whenever she escaped the mob of malign miscreants, she'd use the arrow as a sort of kick-stand to stabalise herself and she'd grab some quick shut-eye until the marauding misfits would find her - There's that bastid, Feces, let's get her !!! -and initiate another round of abuse.
But the most irksome aspect of Westview was the daily race and at which event the Sitters would cram the Baby Carriages full of screeching toddlers and send them hurtling down the hill into the traffic on Rte 106 with the winner being the Sitter whose carriage first slammed into a car (A Daily Double was declared if the carriage hit a Milk Truck) and the losers had to buy her a Double Dipped Cone at Idelnot Dairy.
Well, it may not have been lovely but it sure seems to have made an impression on you. Was it while you lived in Westview that you first began to manifest your intellectual agility and acuity?
Yes, yes it was. I would say that it was while I lived in Westview that I first began to evince aspects of my personality in actions School Principles and Psychiatrists judgmentally labelled as troubling signs; with not a few of those questionably educated perverts averring; That's going on your permanent record, buster and You need a good swift kick in the ass, that's what you need.
Um, Doc; why don't you just tell our listeners about one of the more, um, pleasant aspects of your actions...
Sure, I'd be happy to do that. In the Town of Springfield, there was a Bakery that employed a Spinster named, Betty Donut, who, on her neck, had what she claimed was a birth mark but what was clearly a scar-wound from when she got gooned on Vanilla Extract and fell into the Hot Grease - well, at least that was my theory...
Excuse me for interrupting, Doc; but there was a woman who worked at a Bakery whose name was Betty Donut? How quaint and rustic is that? Her name really was Betty Donut?
No. Her name was not Betty Donut; her name was Eugenia..
O...
In any event, I used to go in there every day after school and I would try to charm her into giving me a free cookie. But Miss Donut did not seem too keen on men and she refused to give me any free treats and so whenever she became involved with a customer, I'd garb the metal sign stand and rearrange the magnetic letters so the sign would read; Creshly Faked Bookies, instead of Freshly Baked Cookies and which witticism some of my friends found hysterical.
Umm, ok, let's move on. You now live in Maine, correct?
Yes. I do. Yes. Yes; I live in Maine. Well, technically I no longer live in Maine because of an, um, I guess what you'd call a misunderstanding with the legal system; and, so, now, I am living outside of this legal jurisdict...um, State.
OK, Doc. Very well. And can you please tell our listeners what it was that caused you to move out of our lovely State?
Oh, sure, Jennifer. But, can I first explain to them a little bit about Amateur Brain Surgery and how I came to be involved in that?
Oh, my goodness (she twitters in embarrassment); absolutely. I had been meaning to ask you that question first but your story about The Bakery made me feel all light-headed and sleepy.
Please, Doc. Go ahead. I'm sure our audience would love to hear your explanation because, frankly, I get around quite a bit; and I have interviewed many, many individuals but, I have to confess, this is the first time I have even heard about Amateur Brain Surgery.
Ok, thank-you, Jennifer. Well, I don't want to get into an extensive, and long, historical recapitulation of my employment history; but, let it suffice for me to say that I have had more than a few jobs at which I have had varying degrees of success; ranging from fired-on-the-spot-the-first-day-on-the-job success to landing a job with the State of Maine - from which employment it is, literally, impossible to be fired from.
Doc. Let me interrupt you for just a second. Are you saying you can NOT be fired if you work for The State of Maine?
Yes. Yes, Jennifer. That is what I am saying. Correct. Once you are hired by The State, you can not be fired for any reason. The only way you can lose your job is if you quit.
But, hold on..this is making me light-headed and sleepy again; but, surely you are just speaking with some hyperbole here. I mean, I understand that if you work for The State that you are a member of a Union but that noes not mean that you can't ever be fired...
Yes. That is exactly what it means, Jennifer.
But what if you, say...and God forbid anyone ever did this - what if you, say, killed someone? Surely that would be cause for dismissal.
No. No it wouldn't, Jennifer. Let's say I killed someone; even though I, technically, haven't - unless you consider "killing" causing someone to be Diagnosed as "essentially, a Parsnip" due to some unforeseeable surgical complications -as I say, let's just say, for the moment, that I did kill someone. Even if I had, I could not be fired.
The worst thing that would have happened to me - had I killed someone - was for me to have been placed on "Administrative Leave" for two months; and, during that time, I'd still receive 75% of my salary.
Wow..OK, Doc. I'll take your word for that because we have moved quite far afield from the topic we had begun to explore. You were going to tell our listeners about how you became involved in Amateur Brain Surgery.
Yes. Well, Jennifer, the plain and simple truth of the matter is that one night I was alone in my apartment, drinking beer - quite a bit actually - and I was watching some show about the history of medicine when it, suddenly, dawned on me - I can become a surgeon; an Amateur Brain Surgeon.
I'm sorry. You had the idea you could become a brain surgeon? You can't just decide to do such a thing. I mean, come on. Had you graduated from an AMA Accredited Medical School and been through an AMA Accredited Residency Program at an Accredited State-Licensed Hospital?
Nope. I did not do one of those things, Jennifer. And, you know what? I never will.
Let me let you in on a little secret. All of the things you mentioned are nothing but scams. They are ways The Medical Profession ensures that Doctors will continue to receive High Wages - they do that by limiting the number of men in the Medical Profession through all of this rigmarole of Accredited this and Licensed that.
And when demand is high and supply is low, then prices rise.
Let me ask you a question, Jennifer. Who is it that controls all of this, this, highly time-consuming and expensive process, of becoming a Doctor?
Well, obviously, it is The Medical Profession in conjunction with the individual States and they have established standards of Professionalism so that they will be able to make sure that those who do desire to become Doctors receive adequate, expert, education, and professional supervision before they are allowed to function as a Doctor.
Whatever.
All is I know is that when I was watching that program, it suddenly dawned on me - Hey, back in the day NOBODY needed a damn License to save lives.
Heck, even today that is the case. I mean, try watching The National Geographic Channel for the love of Pete. Look at Africa. How many Negroes over there are wandering around gainfully employed as Witch Doctors and Shamans and what not and driving-out the Debbil from some po' Lil' Chile's brain by savagely beating on her belly with a dried Meerkat's head and placing an inverted Elephant's Skull stuffed with smoldering Wildebeest Dung outside the entrance to her family's Mud Hut?
Do you see the UN arresting those Doctors? No you don't.
But, Doc..I mean come on.. you seriously are not trying to compare..
Compare, shamare. All is I know that oncet I figured-out this scam; oncet I, if you will, had figured-out the DaVinci Code of Doctors, I was set free, baby.
And that is when I decided, then and there, to become an Amateur Brain Surgeon
(Jennifer can be heard emitting an audible sigh of disbelief and frustration) Go on..
And I figured the best place to do that was in Aroostook County...
That's interesting. Why did you choose Aroostook County?
Well, the folks up there are more trusting than they are in Cumberland County. Plus, the girls are pretty and their Dads are retarded - well, not all of them of course. But, a lot of them are - obviously.
I figured them Spud-Pullers would love to have an Amateur Brain Surgeon around who'd be willing to do surgery for, oh, I dunno, let's say 150 Bucks a pop.
And so I moved to Fort Kent and I began to hang around the Emergency Room at The Northern Maine Medical Center for several reasons...
You moved to Fort Kent for more than one reason...
Yes. I had to meet some Nurses so I could put the word out about my career. And I had to have access to some Surgical supplies.
Didn't you think the Nurses would become suspicious and report you to the authorities? I mean, you were telling them you were an Amateur Brain Surgeon, right?
Not when they were sober, I wasn't.
Good Lord, Doc. Are you trying to tell our listeners that you were going to The Emergency Room to pick-up Nurses?
Look, Jennifer. If I was gonna meet Nurses - which I had to do so I could tell them about my new Career and drum-up some business - I figured the best place to do that was either at The Golden Corral or the Northern Maine Medical Center Emergency Room.
And the beauty of meeting Nurses at the ER, instead of at The Golden Corral, is that in the ER they aren't standing in front of The Carving Station asking for thirds of Roast Beef like they are at The Golden Corral.
Nope, in the ER, the Nurses are bustling to and fro, looking all pretty-like in their sexy uniforms; wearing colored nylons, and shoes with heavy soles that make cute little squeaks on the linoleum floor when the Nurses are rushing-out to greet the Ambulance delivering to the ER some poor slob who has just been stabbed in the scrotum by a Somalian.
So, Doc. How did you meet Nurses in The ER?
Easy, peazy. I'd walk in there, grab my chest, and yell, "Oh, Lord..save me..my heart..it hurts SO bad.."
And then a Nurse would rush-over and lead me into an examination room and then I'd hit on her and ask her out for a date.
Doc. You have GOT to be kidding me. There is NO WAY a Nurse would go out on a date with some man who has just made such a disturbance and lied about his condition that way...
They would if the man told them he was a surgeon...
Good Lord. OK, continue
So, after I got them to agree to go out with me on a date, I'd pick them up after work and I'd take them out parking down by the Quarry with a whole cooler full of Ice Cold Coors in the back seat.
Them Nurses had never drank a Coors, back then they'd only heard about it and, so, I figured if I gave them Coors then they'd likely think I WAS a Doctor. And it worked.
The Nurses would get really hammered and when they got out of the car to go pee, I'd rifle through their pocketbooks looking for stuff I needed for my new Career - stuff like Surgical Suture and left-over Anesthesia.
And did you find anything that you needed for your, um, new Career?
No. No I didn't, Jennifer. Every single last Nurse I dated - and I dated sixteen of them before I stopped wasting my time with them - every single damn one of them had the SAME things in their pocketbooks; Binaca, a Bic Lighter, Winston Light Cigarettes, a Nail File, Lipstick, Eye-Liner, a Rat-Tail Comb, a Mirror, a Photo of Dr Kildare, and two or three dozen prophylactics.
That sounds about right. So, Doc, where DID you find the "stuff" - as you call it - that you needed for your new Career.
I hate to admit this, Jennifer, but I became a Dumpster Diver. Late at night, I 'd sneak into the back yard of The Medical Center and I'd leap into the Dumpster and start grabbing as many Medical Waste Bags as I could and then I'd rush back to the Parking Lot and grab a nine-iron from my trunk and then I'd use that Club to bust-open the sacks but I never did find any left-over Anesthesia.
So, I just decided to forego all of my careful planning and I chose to wing-it, as it were.
I had met this one Nurse, Cindy, who told me about her "Papa" who had injured his back pulling Spuds at Harvest Time. Cindy told me that "Papa" had been going to a Chiropractor but that "Papa" was still in a lot of pain.
I explained to Cindy that ALL pain is experienced in the Brain and that I, as a qualified Amateur Brain Surgeon...
Hold on. Doc, Just a minute. You were NOT qualified...
I most certainly was. In fact, I had Cindy over to my apartment one night and I proved to her that I WAS a qualified Amateur Brain Surgeon.
Once I had gotten her pretty-well liquored up I pointed out my " Diploma" that I had faked-up and had hanging on my wall. It read:
University of Grenada
Be it known to all who may think that this is just a joke
that
Doc AhDubohn really is an Amateur Brian Surgeon
and on June 16, 1975 he was awarded his ABS Degree from this Accredited Program, i.e. e.g. B.M.,In loc,, P.R.N., Pro tempore, v.s. ,Ipso facto and what not, etc.
Don't tell me she fell for that...
Like a one-legged Pirate with a Peg Leg trying to cross Lake Michigan on a Pogo Stick in the dead of Winter..
What?...I'm am starting to feel light-headed and sleepy...
She believed me and so she set-up a Surgical Visit for "Papa" in their garage in Spud Holler and I drove-out there one very cold day in February last winter and I performed Brain Surgery on "Papa."
Oh my God...Please tell me this is a joke...
It's no joke, Sister. I choose Winter as the best time because I had not been able to find any Anesthesia in the Medical Waste Bags I had been busting open..
Wait,..I don't mean to get off track again, but, don't you even realise how dangerous it was to be mucking around with bags of Medical Waste?
Well, duh!!! I sure as hell do now.
I mean, I avoided a lot of the crusty old bandages I ran into, but, this one time, I saw what I was sure was some Surgical Sutures and in my rush to grab them, I jabbed my palm into a discarded needle and about a week or so later I didn't feel so well.
Well, to be perfectly truthful, you don't look so well...
I know. All my friends have started calling me the name of that guy who was in the Pink Panther Movies; they call me, "Cato:" you know, the little yellow guy?
Anyways, back to my first surgery. It was SO exciting. I choose to operate out in "Papa's" garage in February because I reasoned it'd be so damn cold outside that his head would freeze and become about as sensitive as stacked Cord Wood.
And it worked like a charm. Even if "Papa" did have a brand new bag he could not have felt it. Due to the cold, he was number than a Hake.
Cindy had stolen a Scalpel from the ER so I used that to slice through the skin on "Papa's" noggin and then I used a Hammer and a Phillips Head Screwdriver to create a small crack in his head bone and then I used her Bic to heat-up the tip of my Meat Thermometer to 217 degrees and then I, carefully, plunged that down into his Brain to a precise depth of about two to four inches.
Oh my GOD....You DIDN'T....
And as I like to do when I am performing Brain Surgery, I began explaining to Cindy that the Cold and The Darkness of Northern Maine affects the Brain in such a way that one experiences MORE pain than one would were one to experience a similar pain during the Summer and that is because of the properties of Light and the Sun's, relative, infrequency of appearance during Winter in Northern Maine.
And what is one characteristic of light if not heat?
Ergo, my Surgical Plan was to introduce heat into the brain so as to reduce the pain - and not only would I reduce the pain, but I would simultaneously cauterise to smithereens any and all ruptured vessels, clobbered cells, and splintered synapses, and what not which would eliminate the pain, and even all memories of that pain, associated with "Papa's" Spud-Pulling injury.
Good LORD. You are an insane and dangerous crackpot. I am dialing the Cops right now...
Well, to make a long story short let me just say that there were unforeseeable surgical complications and "Papa" has since been Diagnosed as "Essentially a Parsnip," but Cindy, who rarely even speaks to me by phone now, found him a job working for Minimum Wage as a Scarecrow for Serge Salvage's Spud Sower's Collective....
The MPBN Listeners begin to hear the sounds of sirens, at first faint, but then rapidly becoming ever-louder
OK, Jennifer, I gotta run...BYE...
Wait a damn minute, Buster....
And then MPBN listeners hear sound of a microphone crashing to the floor and the rude slam of a door as Doc AhDubohn hightails it out of the studio and then MPBN goes off the air...