To the quack’s office with Herself today, once more to be blared at by the fuckoff-sized plasma screen TVs in the waiting area. Said TVs seem to serve no purpose apart from entertaining Miss Bunnywabbit and the other reception staff.

Of course, we’re about twenty feet from the set at our end of the area, and Bunny and her Little Playmates are about ten to fifteen feet further away, not to mention they’ve got to hear their afternoon shows above all those annoying telephone calls and customers. Consequently, the TVs are LOUD: I’ll drag my portable db meter in, next time, and give an accurate reading.

Since I had no choice, I heard a lot of nonsense. I think I’ve made up a new word as a result.

Winfreymation (n): rumour, untruth or spin, promulgated as being irrefutably true on daytime TV programs oriented to housewives.

Apparently my run on coincidences is going fairly strong still: this was waiting for me In Diesel Sweeties when I got home…


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Anyhow, orf to bed. G’night, the pair of yer.

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