It's been a little over a week since the Doe/Stillwater now infamous "Tumult on the Tundra" drew to a sudden, sensational and all together unexpected end. But we find that the title of Kommentator Laureate remains unbestowed. Who, pray tell, was victorious? If you ask Captain Gooding, Peter Doe's severe tobacco-induced angina delivered the knockout blow. But wise-kracking aside, only time will tell if we can finally file the Doe/Stillwater hash under "s" for settled. Our koncern now is with the still ill Doe. Recently extradited from Our Lady of the ICBM Silo Regional Medical Center to a slightly better hospital here in the states, Peterskeeter's kondition has stabilized slightly, but he'll most likely remain convalescent for the better part of a month. But why despair at Mr. Doe's unfortunate situation? We at The Korner see it as an opportunity to reprise an old recurring feature. Peter himself would agree that all the best expressions of Kreativity are churned out during times of pain and hardship. Also, we figure if he's in bed all day he might as well get some work done. So, channel your positive thoughts towards a speedy recovery for Peter Doe, and, in the meantime, allow him to dispense some wisdom upon you. Endure:
I have this friend--call him Clint--who always borrows my belongings and doesn't return them. I'll ask him politely to give me my property back, but he always changes the subject. Like the other week, for example, I loaned him my bichon frise Trent. A few days back, I asked him--in a civil manner mind you--to restore my canine counterpart to my company. He just avoided my request and said, "They got these dogs in Europe that carry brandy kegs around their necks to avalanche victims. Gotta get me a few of those..." etc. I'm stumped. I would like to get back my thousands of dollars worth of possessions--some of them crucial necessities--but I don't want to destroy my friendship with Clint in the process. Help me out, Peter. What should I do?
Distressed in Dishman, WA
You think you got problems?? Shee-it! They got me handcuffed to a Hill-Rom! They I say it'll prevent me from escaping the hospital. I tried walking out twice before, which I guess is not allowed. These so-called "medical professionals" say I got a bum ticker and need to stay in bed. What do these college boys know? I've never felt better in my life, but now I'm basically incarcerated in a dimly lit room with naught but a curtain separating me from a third-degree burn victim. Plus the channel changer only goes up! This is no way to live. But what really deveins my prawns is this diet they got me on. I never knew there were so many flavors of Jello! Hell, I should be eating Texas toast. Now that's brain food. Except they won't give me any since--they claim--my strict regiment of it contributed to my alleged heart failure. And what's all this I hear about me caving to that punk Stillwater? Our apparent chummery at the birthday bash was nothing more than phosphorus-phueled delirium. I ain't soft!! When I get out of this dump I'm giving that kid a what-for, then I'm gonna give him another what-for when he's unkonscious. That'll teach him to challenge my kommenticular authority! Until then, I'll just watch this channel that looks like CCTV footage of a tropical fish tank.
Unfortunately, Mr. Doe is uninsured. He needs all the help he can get. We are accepting your donations and your prayers—but preferably your donations. Please provide said gifts in the form of unmarked big bills in a nondescript envelope. Slide them under the front door of the HQ. Thanks!