More facebook filing and filling

1: Ah, welcome. Come in. You’re here to have your future told?

2: Yes indeed.

1: Let’s see now… What is your star sign?

2: Cancer.

1: Is it now? Oh dear.

2: So what’s my future?

1: Well, it’s ironic really…

***

1: I hate that English book we have to read. That Dickens bloke doesn’t know how to write!

2: Well actually – [1]

1: And his descriptions! On and on and on; they don’t even make sense! He keeps talking about Burnsides sprouting out of people’s faces. He’s back to front from start to finish.

2: There’s a funny thing about that actua- [2]

1: And he even has the period wrong! (2 discretely pulls out some sort of club) The book is full of hookers, but it’s set in the Victorian Age! They were all up themselves back then weren’t they?

2: To tell you the truth- [3]

1: God almighty, would you SHUT UP.

2 clubs 1 to death.


[1] - Have you ever tried to read one of those things? He must have some mighty important social messages or something, because his prose is unbearably flowery.

[2] – What we today call Sideburns were originally – in the 19th century – called Burnsides, after Civil War Union General Ambrose Everett Burnside. Burnside was a notably bad general, but also a notably charming and sophisticated fellow who sported a then unusual style. The 19th century fashion of Burnside’s sideburns is inherited directly from him.

[3] – The Victorian Age stereotype of the prim and proper, sexually repressed lady of the house and manor was formed as a direct contrast to the spread of venereal diseases and prostitution among the lower classes.

***

1: Can you please – for ONE SECOND – stop singing. PLEASE.

2: What’s wrong with my singing voice?

1: Your singing voice is radiant. By which I mean, it can cause nausea, cancer, and–if harnessed properly–can reduce once populous and verdant landscapes into hellish wastes of ash and desolation.

2: Fair enough.

***

(This… started short. It got longer. I apologise in advance for the unnecessary racism. That is not MY racism, It's House's. JUST CLEARING THAT UP SO YOU DON'T HATE ME IN COMMENTS.)

Cameron: Right, we have a patient displaying symptoms of nausea, spotty rash all over the body, high fever and, uh, seizures. I think we should just play it safe with this one and give her a few days. If its something minor, then we’ll save hospital money and if it’s something serious, then we’ll know.

House: Cameron, if your moral compass was more obtrusive into my methods, we would literally just be shooting the patients upon admission. More patients have died from me listening to you than ignoring you. Aside from that, we have serious unresolved sexual tension.

Foreman: Its clearly a bad reaction to a case of measles.

House: Foreman, nobody likes you. It clearly can’t be measles because his BP would have to be higher. Idiot. Go grow cotton.

Chase: Oi Think that Fawwman’s roight. We should do a test for measles antibodies.

House: Chase, you’re a disloyal, arrogant prettyboy jerk and you look like you’re two years out of high school. In any other hospital, you’d be still in med school. Every word that comes out of your mouth is ass-wind from the bowels of Satan. AUSTRALIAN ACCENTED ass-wind.

Chase: …

Cameron: …

Foreman: …

House: Also, I said no milk in my coffee. Do a Lumbar Puncture.

Cameron: But there’s no need for that! That’s a invasive and unnecessary procedure, and besides, there’s nothing wrong with his immune system as far as we can tell.

House: We do a lumbar puncture every damn episode. GO DO A LUMBAR PUNCTURE.

(House’s minions scuttle off. Wilson comes in.)

Wilson: Hi, House. I’d just like to pop in and remind the audience that we’re really close friends.

House: In the five seasons that this show has run, I have not once smiled or shown any sign of friendship towards you. Go get me lunch.

Wilson: OKAY! (Leaves. Minions scuttle back.)

House: Well, since I have not a single clue about the patient, I’m going to suggest we therapeutically amputate both his legs.

Cameron: Her legs.

House: Shut up.

(Cuddy comes in)

Cuddy: You can’t do that operation.

House: But-

Cuddy: It’s scheduled for 1 PM.

House: …?

Cuddy: I’ve given up, alright? I just give up. Here: this is a big pad of operation permission slips. I’ve signed them all. Now I’m going to drink myself comatose.

(Cuddy leaves)

House: But wait! I haven’t sexually harassed you yet!

LATER

Foreman: Hey! Guess what! Chopping off her legs served no purpose.

House: It never did. It’s just mine aren’t working and I hate everything.

Foreman: On another note, on the inside of her amputated femur, we found a colony of ants living in her bone marrow.

House: Well, there you go! Pump her full of Antrid and send her on her way.

THE DAY IS SAVED. GO DR HOUSE.