And so finally there was the annual interns’ Sunog, wherein the most reviled—REVILED!!!—personalities in the hospital were burned to the ground. No resident was really dragged out in the middle of doing an IE just so she could be hogtied and blowtorched in the basketball court—that is probably illegal—but the topnotchers did get to have an effigy thrown in a trashcan and burned—BURNED!!!—to ashes. I didn’t make it to the top ten list, obviously I’m just a small-time evil doer and would have to do better this year. Maybe I should now start writing in the chart: Do Urinalysis Now, ASAP ASAP ASAP, Now, Drop That Cup of Milo and Get Urine Sample Now, ASAP ASAP ASAP, Chow Chow! although that’s quite… long. I actually know of a lot of eviller people who deserve to be made sunog—or more appropriately, cast to hell, but for now Kyawa tops the list.
“May this wretched piece of trash burn in hell…” Queen Leader chants.
“May this wretched piece trash burn in hell!!!!” the entire batch echoes.
“Hisssssss…. untie the virgin and bring out the sharp objects with which to torture her!!!!”
(Wait, I think this caption is for something else entirely)
Wow, that looks painful. And the hair is made of crepe paper. I love it. (thanks to whoever took these supremely fun pics, extra credit for this one for perfectly capturing the writhing in pain look! One huge gee, thanks to eliza of http://benefitofthedaw.blogspot.com for directing me to them!)
“Ze pain! Zeeeee paaaaaain!!!!”
In the spirit of sepiatification, back in our batch’s supposed Sunog everyone was licking our chops as we were poised to throw out the names of people we wanted to kill, er I mean made sunog. It was fun thinking of all this nega-ness, which is strange as back then the concept of nega-ness was not even formalized in the weltenschauung (sp?). At the last minute, though, everyone turned into a new age zen guru of positivity wielding perfumed incense and Tibetan oils and decided that… no one should be made sunog after all because it is… bad! Bleeeeeeeeech! Caloy was not having any of this crap, so in a fit of rage he doused a portion of the ground in gasoline, ripped of his shirt to reveal his huge muscles, threw our entire trans box into the ground and burned the fucking trans box. At that point, however, everyone was too inebriated and naked to care.
“So I’m not flammable, but what, I’m not even warm, or, dare I say it, hot?” I asked one of my now ex-intern.
“There’s… no category for you,” I was told.
I’ve once dedicated a blog entry to my original residency batchmates when they’ve recently graduated (Smoketh, Mikey, Rina Renal, etc.), so this, teardrop, is for the very few of you jinterns who actually read this crap and some of you who’ve been in my service. Goodbye, people, and enjoy the short but wonderful state of nothingness—don’t ever complain about getting bored, because you would never be able to complain about it again. Just complain about other things, like this fucking heat. And to my poor gen med services, thank you for enduring my rounds, which is 10% teaching-teachingan and 90% failed attempts at being a sitcom writer and actor (I know, I always feel like I’m in The Office with a camera crew going around so I always feel compelled to say something stupid all the time)—good thing none of you really reads this blog, or you would have discovered that I just do an audio version of This Could Be A Job For Mulder And Scully in our daily rounds.