An American horror story about drugs.

In this post: Just say NO.

Hey, I’ve got a modern American horror story for you and it has nothing whatsoever to do with ghouls, chainsaws, an alien invasion or Republicans. The subject tonight is DRUGS. Ready? Sam wanted to pick up my new prescription cholesterol medication this afternoon at Wal-Mart so I called ahead to ask about the price, and when the pharmacy assistant told me the co-pay is $274 for a 30-day supply — after I had a nervous breakdown — I calmly replied, “FAT CHANCE! TAKE A HIKE! NO WAY! GOOD LUCK WITH THAT! WHEN HELL FREEZES OVER!” Incidentally, this was my new prescription for Welchol, the medication Dr. M prescribed on Thursday with pills as big as South Dakota (see previous post). I’m assuming they’re made from Black Hills gold or maybe plutonium because nothing else on earth could make a stupid cholesterol drug so insanely expensive. Holy crap.

Our home phone voice mail stopped working on April 11 and we didn’t even know it.

In this post: Kidneys, outages, Howdygram 2.

I’ll begin with the results of this week’s lab work, okay? Dr. M sent me an email Friday evening and the news is swell, especially finding out that MY KIDNEY FUNCTION IS NORMAL following three years of slow but steady decline. In case you’re wondering, I never really detected a problem with my kidneys in any way whatsoever because the “decline” was something that only showed up in blood tests. Nevertheless, if anybody wants to help me celebrate please send an email at your earliest convenience and I’ll order Chinese food.