Brain Tumor

This is the longest brain surgery ever.

I can barely keep my eyes open.

Just started 10 minutes ago.

It seemed like hours.

I stayed up all night reading Neurosurgery for Dummies.

Isn't that one for the undergraduates?

I consider it a refresher.

Dr. Caligari, this is a non-smoking operating room.

Sorry about that.

For f's, sake, Dr. Caligari, you're still smoking menthols?

I can't stand the taste of cigarettes, but I love smoking.

It's the only pleasure in life.

If it wasn't for menthols, my life would be a living hell.

Have you ever thought you might have a subconscious death

wish?

No.

I made that wish when I was 12-years-old just before I blew

out the candles on my birthday cake.

I was fully conscious at the time.

Did you eat a lot of lead paint chips as a child?

Got it.

Looks like we lost another tumor.

That's the second one this week.

What are the odds?

It'll turn up.

They always do.

Hey, guys, tonight's trivial pursuit night at Applebee's.

And I'm looking for a partner.

Thanks for the offer, but I've got a date with Ambien.

She gets around.

Everything went well.

I think everybody had a good time.

Your husband's in the ICU recovering.

He's playing sudoku.

He likes to keep occupied.

That patient is working my very last nerve.

I wish somebody would put that miserable wretch out

of his misery.

Ralph, that is not a patient.

That is that nimrod, Dr. Caligari.

Seymour Caligari?

He's a weirdo.

Every time I feel like it's time to hang up my hat

and give up brain surgery, that rare patient

comes along that doesn't die on the operating table.

I feel like I removed the tumor without much major brain

damage.

However, it's not my job to give false hope.

And he may experience some drooling, disorientation,

incontinence.

And he might be mildly retarded.

How would I know the difference?

I'd like to offer my condolences.

Her husband isn't dead.

Yes, well, I'm sorry to hear that.

Now, why don't you go out and get

yourself a bowl of wolf brain chili

while I have a word with Mrs. Fulquard here about her bill.

This is the bad time.

She's had a hellish day.

I've had a hellish day too, and you

don't hear me whining about it.

I won't allow you to turn the postop waiting room

into a collection agency.

It's totally inappropriate.

You should stick with what you're good at, Dr. Mangola.

Now, you're an expert in making mincemeat out

of the human brain.

We've been friends for years, Hudney.

But at this moment, you're not the man I used to know.

You're not the man who designed the floral arrangements

at my mother's funeral.

So what's for lunch, you heartless bastard?

Phoenix, what are you doing here so late?

Isn't your ignoramus boyfriend at home

with a platter of pizza rolls and a box of Thunderbird?

Bando is in the doghouse.

What did he do this time?

He woke up this morning and an acid flashback,

and now he thinks he's a dog.

I've got a bag of Gravy Train and a box of Milk-Bone

in my cart.

But I am not in a hurry to get home.

He has no sense of time anyway.

I'm sorry to hear that.

It's not so bad, really.

Think I like him better as a dog.

He understands the word no, and he's finally house trained.

Hey, take a look at this.

Isn't that an artisan juicer?

I thought there was a freeze on expenditure with the lab

right now.

I mean, take a look at the specimen.

Oh, I have a policy against looking at specimens,

but for you I'll make an exception.

Great Caesar's ghost.

This is baffling beyond my wildest imagination.

And believe me, you don't want to know the details

of my wildest imagination.

This is a sample of Stells Fuquard's brain tumor.

It was just here a moment ago.

I have to go feed my goldfish.

Call me immediately if the tumor turns up.

Come on, you piece of shit.

This is an emergency.

Woof, woof, woof, woof.

Down Bando, down, down, down, Bando.

Woof, woof.

Chill, Bando.

Chill, Bando, chill.

Sit, Bando, sit.

Sit, sit.

Shake.

How many people have ever lived on Earth?

There's a little known app called Google.

My guess would be in the neighborhood of 100 billion.

How did you randomly come up with that figure?

I ran across it one time when I was stuck in a Reddit rabbit

hole.

Another time waster?

It's an education.

If you want a degree in stupidity.

117 billion.

I don't think the cavemen were keeping a census.

They were too busy inventing dirt.

The point is, that there could possibly

be 117 billion ghosts hanging around.

Not necessarily.

If you take reincarnation into account,

there's a lot of recycling.

Additionally, if you take into account

the reincarnation and ghost are bogus,

then it's an idiotic topic to begin with.

Said the varsity level Bigfoot enthusiast.

Look, Bigfoot is a part of nature, Kitsie.

Nature, my ass, you big dummy.

There's a few plausible theories and many eyewitness

accounts.

And a few out-of-focus photos.

How many people walk around the woods without a smartphone?

I can find a video of a cat playing

the piano in 10 seconds.

And I bet you can't find one believable video of a Bigfoot.

Want to see a monkey?

You're hilarious, Dash.

I'll push you off the damn couch.

I'm scared.

Does he always come home this late?

Maybe he's with his girlfriend.

Since when does your dad have a girlfriend?

The only way he can get a date is with Venmo.

He's a doctor.

He's rich.

He looks distinguished.

If you squint your eyes.

At least he takes care of me.

Don't make me sad about my deadbeat dad.

Sorry.

Sometimes, I say things off the top of my head.

Who would want to hurt Phoenix?

Well, I don't know anything about Phoenix.

But one thing I do know for sure is

that there was nothing not to like about her.

Now, who would want to kill Phoenix?

That's anybody's guess.

Everybody loved Phoenix.

She was a kind and loving person.

She was an inspiration to every person she met.

Heck, she was an inspiration to people she never even met,

even the people who never heard of her.

She loved animals and nature.

Phoenix enjoyed watching reality shows.

Her favorite was Here Comes Honey Boo Boo.

She'll be missed by countless people.

She left us too soon.

You obviously knew her better than I did.

If you can think of anything else, tell me now.

I have to submit this obit to the morning news by 2 o'clock

and I haven't typed it up yet.

I think you're good.

I don't know if for a fact, but my hunch

is that the tumor has something to do with her death.

I think you might be onto something.

Last night when I saw her in the lab,

that tumor had just gone missing.

Did someone steal it?

Or did it leave on its own accord?

Is it possible for a tumor to have

some kind of cognitive function to think independently

of the host brain?

That's preposterous, Freddy.

I'm a man of science.

The notion of a brain tumor with a brain?

That would challenge our understanding of everything

of the known universe.

How should we proceed?

You need to submit that obit.

And I'll look into your theory.

Well, it looks like your husband's

on the mend, Mrs. Fulquard.