"I Walked on the Moon" Transcript
Disclaimer - This is by no means an official transcript and is just the simple work of a dedicated fan. Excuse the errors and the extended time frame in getting it up! I'm more than willing to take outside help on the project. Just post in the forum if you're interested.
*Clapping and cheering*
Thank you.
*More clapping and cheering*
Wow. Feels good.
That’s all the time I needed to fill. I appreciate that, thank you man.
Feels great. I’m feeling good. I actually just recently had to go to
the Emergency Room, though and… I had some stomach virus thing. I
almost called an ambulance. It’s weird if you’re considering calling an
ambulance for yourself. You know? You call ambulances for other people.
What are you supposed to say for yourself? Can you come get me? Yeah, I
don’t feel so good. Just come on in, I’ll be lying on the floor.
I was looking at the phone thinking, “I don’t know how to do this.” I
didn’t know what to do. It was at night, so I drove myself to the
Emergency Room. That’s a nice relaxing drive. *whistles a tune* Noooo,
after you. Merge, everybody merge. I’m only imploding.
So I pull up at the entrance to the Emergency Room. No valet parking. I
mean, if that’s not the biggest oversight in our solar system… if
there’s ever a time when you want to go, “can you park this because I
need to collapse immediately?” But no, I’m circling around the parking
lot trying to find a spot. “Can I park there, I think I’m gonna die?”
“I’m dying too.” “OK, go ahead. I’ll go up a couple levels.”
Unbelievable. I don’t care if you’re driving yourself or someone else
to the Emergency Room, you still want to get out and run in with them.
Are you supposed to drop somebody off and go park the car? “OK, you go
in! Tell them you’re SHOT! Ask them if they validate!” Unbelievable.
So I finally park, you know. I go in to check in. They ask the most
insulting question when you check into a hospital. “What seems to be
the problem?” “What seems… ? Well it seems… it seems like everything in
all my inside wants to be on my outside. But I’m no doctor.” What kind
of condescending question…
So they check me in to my luxurious half room. There’s a curtain down
the middle with a mystery patient on the other side. And he’s moaning
over there. *Moans* I’m thinking, “man, they’re never going to help me
with him moaning like that.” So I gotta out-moan him, you know? *moans
louder* *answers with a louder moan* *moans even louder* *screams out a
moan* “Quit moaning! We’re all hurting!” The whole floor is like a
haunted choir. *moans again* It’s gotta be hell to work in this
environment.
So I’m killing time writhing. The nurse finally comes in. “How are you
doing tonight?” “I’m on a gurney. Do you have a pain killer or
something? This is killing me.” So she goes, “how would you describe
your pain?” *pause* “It’s killing me. I don’t know if you remember that
part. Ouch.” What, are we playing that pyramid game? “Um. Excruciating.
Horrific. Would rather have shards of glass in my eye. How do I convey
this to you?”
So she asks, “how would you rate your pain?” “Four stars. Two
enthusiastic thumbs up!” She goes, “how would you rate it on a scale of
one to ten with ten being the worst?” Well, you know saying a low
number isn’t going to help you. “Oh, I’m a two… maybe the high one’s.
If you could get me a baby aspirin and cut it in half, maybe a
Flinstone vitamin and I’ll be out of your hair. You can go tend to all
the threes and fours and such, if anyone’s saying such ridiculous
numbers.” I couldn’t bring myself ten though, because I had heard that
the worst pain a human can endure is getting the femur bone cracked in
half. I don’t know if that’s true, but, I thought, if it is, they have
exclusive rights to ten. Now I’m thinking, “what was I worried about?
Is there like a femur ward in the hospital. They would have heard about
me and hobbled into my room.” “Who the hell… had the AUDACITY… to say
he was at a level ten?!? You know nothing about ten. Give me a
sledgehammer, and let me show you what ten is all about, Mr.
Tummy-ache!” How could I possibly… I can’t. So I thought, “I’ll say
nine. Then I thought, no, childbirth. I better not try to compete with
that.” And then I’m thinking, “you know what must be hell? Giving
childbirth when your femur bone’s cracked in half.”
So I said, “I guess I’m an eight.” She goes, “OK, I’ll be back.” I’m
like, “aw, I blew it. I ain’t getting nothing with eight.” But she
surprised me, she comes in, she told me, “the doctor told me to give
you morphine immediately.” So then I’m like, “morphine?? That’s the
stuff they gave the guy in Saving Private Ryan just before he died… OK,
I’m a four… I’m a zero, I’m a negative eleventeen.” So they gave me
morphine. Wow, all I know is about fifteen minutes later, just for the
hell of it, I was like, “I’m an eight again! Guess who’s an eight?”
When they finally check me out, I’m walking down the hall, I’m going
“say eight! Say eight! Say eight! Say eight! Happy eight day! Did you
get some eight? Did you get any eight?” What am I throwing? I can’t
throw a number… like Johnny Appleseed, “did you get any eight over
there?” I don’t understand my own visuals. I’m here throwing numbers
around. I’m fine now, I think, I dunno.
(To be continued…)