giantegoDeeeeeeeeeeeear kindly Babylonians!
Here are a few fun facts about Coxsie. One, some hypothesize that he was actually breastfed scotch, and because of this, his alcohol tolerance is akin to that of a rampaging rhinoceroses. Two, he does actually keep a mental list of girls' names for Newbelina and is nowhere near even a fraction of the way through with it. Not that it matters, because for all the shit luck in this world, we still haven't been graced by the princess's over-moussed head, and fun fact number three: Coxsie is eternally grateful for that, to the ends of the earth. Or as it stands, the ends of this dome, which (four) he is beginning to think is a personal hell designed specially by Bob Kelso to teach him a lesson about dealing with the complete and utter BULLSHIT that patients go through to get themselves landed in his care.
LISTEN UP. Here's what's not kosher: you all getting just! so! bored! with your pathetic, newly unfictionalized lives, that you start shooting each other. There is a chronic case of whining and bitching and moaning and angst, so! much! angst! in this hospital. Not to mention bullet wounds but apparently you all can heal yourselves, so excuse the mystical shaman doctorman who clearly doesn't know what the hell he's doing, you just keep on bleeding all over the place and ranting about pirates with guns. PIRATES WITH GUNS. THIS WORLD, WHAT THE HELL.
So if you've got it in your head to make my super fabulous life even a fraction better by taking out your ~*~justified rage~*~ out in the form of hurting someone else (you sick bastard) here is my advice: Just make like a bitter ex looking through old photo albums and cut it the hell out. Your drama queen antics pay my bills, but nothing, nothing, NOOOOOOOOOTHING will pay for my bar tab or impending aneurysm.
In conclusion, I hate you all forever and ever. Amen.
xoxo, your bff4ever,
Dr. Perry Cox.