Fun at the pharmacy

Guess what? When Big Craphole Bogus Schloopface* Insurance refuses to cover your prednisone because you have been taking more than your doctor initially specified on your doctor’s orders, it only costs two dollars more to buy it at the cash price! Of course, then you have to wait for the pharmacist to count out the pills, so then you read all about Lindsay Lohan’s ankle bracelet in a really outdated Vanity Fair which someone has marked up because it says bad things about Sarah Palin, and then you get really sassy and buy a big bag of candy corn and eat half of it in the car on the way home, saying around mouthfuls of mushy orange paste, “Yeah, take THAT, prednisone, deal with THAT corn syrup, show me what you GOT.”

Well, you might not do that. But I still have my crappy candy affinity, and my teeth still feel fuzzy this morning.

Honestly – Devil Pred messes up my head on the best of days. It’s a pain to have to be the one who remembers to tell the doctor, hey, if you change my dosage, you need to call in a new scripp, because otherwise Blowhard Cruddy Belligerent Shit insurance will think I’m popping prednisone like a maniac so I can get the saggy moon face that Cosmo told me will Blow His Mind, and then they won’t pay for it. Cosmetic reasons, you see. But it’s my money, so it’s my job. With low-paying jobs come great responsibility, Peter.

At least I didn’t cry at the counter. I got excited, sure. But no tears fell. Progress!

*Pseudonym to safeguard their privacy!


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