Missoula News

Bob Wire Has a Point (It's Under His Cowboy Hat)

Mother’s Little Helper

By Bob Wire, 4-10-07

Man, I haven’t been right since I fell out of bed this morning. The alarm went off, I misjudged my swipe at the snooze button, and fell right out of bed right onto the dog, who was sleeping on the pillow I’d tossed over the side in the middle of the night. The resulting dog screams, barks, grunts, slurred string of profanities, and general thrashing around woke up everyone else in the house.

What the hell? Normally I can hit that snooze button without ever leaving R.E.M. stage. Oh, that’s right—last night I took an Ambien so I could get a decent night’s sleep. Well, that’s what they call it on TV. It’d been several days since I’d strung together eight hours in a row, and it was time for a phone call to Dr. Nick. I love Dr. Nick. Anytime I go see him for anything at all, he asks me if there’s any medication I’m needing. Painkillers. Cough medicine. Morphine. So the sleeping pills were not that big a deal. He gave me some samples.

Oh, I suppose those two cans of Double Haul IPA could have, uh, enhanced the effect of the Ambien. Dr. Nick may have warned me about that, but I keep forgetting to take my Ginko Biloba to improve my memory. I try to keep the bottle right next to my male enhancement pills, but I’m not sure what the hell I did with them. I may have mixed up the two, because I’ve noticed that my memory has become longer and thicker.

So after I apologized to the dog, I made my woozy way to the bathroom, and gobbled a Xanax so I wouldn’t start freaking out. Washed it down with a half can of Ensure I found on the counter, and looked at my out-of-focus mug in the mirror. Wow. Hairline seems to have retreated half an inch overnight. A quick dollop of Rogaine, and I was ready for a hot cup of coffee. But first I had to brush my teeth—that Rogaine tastes like shit. I ground up some Hunter Bay roast and poured it into the coffee filter basket. I also crushed up a couple of Benadryl tablets into it…that Hunter Bay can really get me buzzing.

As time began to slow down—the Xanax was kicking in—I prepared a healthy breakfast of oatmeal, sliced banana, calcium-fortified orange juice, and a handful of vitamin supplements. I’m a big proponent of vitamin C in particular. A lifelong sinus sufferer, I believe mega-doses of C can help stave off sinus infections. So I crank up the dose until I get diarrhea, then I back it off one pill. B vitamin complex. L-Lysine. Stress formula multi-vitamin. Man, I don’t know if I feel any better, but my urine is absolutely beautiful.

After breakfast I popped a couple of Celebrex tablets for my bursitis, and went out for a short bike ride. Stopped at an espresso stand for a triple latte, then rode home in the sunshine, totally digging the springtime vigor of all the plants, the budding of the trees, and the overall greening up of our lovely valley. With all the pollen in the air, I was grateful for the Sudafed I’d popped with the latte. Of course, all that gaping as I rode gave me dry mouth something fierce, so when I got home I had a few gulps of Biotene mouthwash.

It was pretty close to noon by that point, so I decided to grill myself a big old hamburger, along with some deep-fried jalapeño poppers. First, of course, I swallowed a couple of Lipitor pills to stave off the impending cholesterol orgy. And I like those poppers salty, mister, so you can bet I had a quick dose of Bumex so as not to let my kidneys become mini Persian Gulfs.

I had already formed my three-quarter pound gut-buster of ground beef, when I realized that I had no buns. (Insert your own joke here) I grabbed my helmet and got back on the bike. The Benadryl had worn off by this point, and I was a little anxious about going into a crowded supermarket. Fortunately Dr. Nick had slipped me some Paxil, so that made my bun run tolerable. And since I’m already taking Zoloft, everything would have been alright anyway.

Barb can tell you that I’m a bit of a hypochondriac. Last fall I had a stomachache for two days, and after watching a riveting docu-drama on the Lifetime channel, I was convinced I had cervical cancer. So this afternoon, when my eyes started to itch, I immediately thought: glaucoma. I had to get some “medical” marijuana, which I obtained from my “doctor,” who delivered it from his “pharmacy,” which is located in the side pocket of his cargo shorts.

My glaucoma cured, I ate three cans of fruit cocktail and part of a hot dog I found in the trash. Then it was time to call it a day. After this morning’s tragic dog-squashing episode, I decided to switch from Ambien to Lunestra. I figured I’d rather have a giant butterfly flitting around my bedroom than a creepy floating lampshade. And, thanks to the Omega-3 fish oil capsule I took to sharpen my brain power, I had the brilliant idea to pop a Viagra before I went to sleep.

That should stop me from rolling out of bed in the morning.

[Fulfill your recommended minimum daily requirement of Bob Wire by bookmarking newwest.net/bobwire. Tell ‘em Dr. Nick sent you.]

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