Most people have a grudge for their PO. I don’t have nearly enough cred to have an actual PO, so instead I have a research PO. Yup, that’s right. In my glamorous career of Jonny Hop Neuro Reseach, I have a parole officer desperately seeking the latest experimental medication I am shilling out. The only problem is that my PO has B.O. in a majorly throat choking way. Poor guy. 3 masters degrees, a lazy eye, and that extreme awkwardness that often accompanies 60something year old bachelor professors [enginerding, not something sexy like English] leaves him with B.O., toenails long enough to make music as he walks, and laugh somewhere between Looney Toon and extremely stoned 12 year old. I wonder if he got his stash from one of his case load.

Still beats yesterday. My patient was a biker dude from Harford County who is living with his ex-wife and told me to find him in the lobby based upon his “Santee clause beard”. The skin biopsy we perform on upper thighs turned a little stomach churning when he shared that he doesn’t believe in underwear.
I can understand not believing in leprechauns. But underwear? Believe man, believe.

He did teach me, though, that the best way to hitch hike nowadays is by walking along the road with an empty gas can. He left his up in Baltimore County, at about where the bus starts running into the city. Fingers crossed it was still there for him for his return. I wouldn’t want his ex-wife to worry.