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Imagine going to the doctor with a broken leg. The first option is surgery. The second option is a cast. The third option is amputation. Which option would you choose?
My latest insurance battle went from bad to worse. It wasn’t enough for those bastards to make me suffer for three days without any medication, on top of that, those sleezeballs tried to pull a fast one. The pharmacist calls me up and tells me my prescription has been approved. But after getting home and taking the pills, I discover my prescription isn’t for what the doctor suggested last week. The insurance decided to swap out my doctor-prescribed medicine (approximate retail cost $150) for something else (exactly $83.99).
So for those keeping score at home, my doctor thinks the best medicine for me is Expensivcine. But since Expensivcine isn’t available as a generic, my insurance won’t cover it. I can’t afford paying $150 for the medicine, so my doctor suggested another medicine that is available as a generic; however, since it costs the insurance company $150, they won’t pay for it. Now I’m on a different medication–the third choice. How often in life do you opt for the third . . . . .
F@#$ f@#$ f@#$ f@#$ f@#$ f@#$ f@#$ f@#$ f@#$ f@#$ f@#$ f@#$ f@#$ .
I thought that would make me feel a little better but it does not.
My insurance tried to screwing me over (again) and I thought a good string of expletives would help me feel better. Unfortunately cursing is like bailing out GM–a lot of big words with little results. I can’t tell you how much I hate the insurance business–I must’ve written about it a dozen times now. Whenever I start talking about insurance at home, The Wife immediately tries to calm me in soothing voice because she knows I’m about to go off. That’s because insurance is a scam–a complete and total useless scam. You pay for services you never receive; you have to pay for the expensive stuff out of you pocket. It’s utterly useless. Either that or I have the world’s worst health insurance.
I’m on Expensivcine and my insurance won’t cover it. Well, they think they do–but in actuality, they don’t cover it. My insurance only covers generic medicine. If I opt to buy the brand-name version, I hafta buy it at full retail price until I reach $150. The insurance will . . . . .
I recently had to renew my car insurance–that means it’s time for my semi-annual insurance complaint (just because I stopped complaining doesn’t mean it’s no longer true). My dues went up (again). I spent $400 on car insurance in 2007 with nothing to show for it. I spent another $220 for the first six months of ’08. Now it’s up to something like $250. What a total waste of money: the day I get a dime out of car insurance is that a teen starlet does not flash her privates on the internet. At least one of the two gives me pleasure.
George Carlin died last week and I can’t help but feel a little sad. I’m not sure why–I’m not the type to get caught up in celebrities’ deaths. I guess there was just something to George Carlin: besides being a funny comic, he just seemed like a real likeable guy.
There is a tremendous amount of media coverage of his death–many other celebrities are saddened by his death. I’ve read Carlin tributes from Matthew Berry and Kevin Smith–just a wide spectrum of different folks in different strokes of the entertainment business. There’s one common thread I’ve notice amongst . . . . .
I’ve been having a toenail problem lately. My whole life, I cut my toenails once a month–maybe even every six weeks. But lately it seems like my toenails are growing with a fury. I hafta cut ’em once every two weeks or they grow disgustingly long. Making this situation even messier, somehow the left foot and right foot got off cycle. I don’t know how, but at one point I must’ve trimmed one foot and forgot to do the other. So now one set of toenails is much longer than the other. I’ll trim the left toenails but can’t cut the right because they’re too short. A week later, the right nails hafta be cut and I can’t cut the left because I just trimmed ’em the week before. This is totally throwing my grooming habits off…and I’m sure you didn’t wanna hear this.
Speaking of unpleasant, I’ve been having some pharmaceutical problems lately (boy, I’m just full of problems). I’m not sure if I blame the idiots at the pharmacy or the numbskulls at the doctor’s office, but there’s been a major fussup regarding a prescription I have.
I used to be on a drug called Ahneedapill. But last . . . . .
My dear friend Red Jesus owes me a rather sizable sum of money and when I bought pizza tonight, it bumped up the tab ten bucks. “That’s $83 you owe me now,” I reminded him.
Being the kind of person who doesn’t like having debt hanging over his head, Red Jesus reached for his wallet. He didn’t have the $83 on him–but he had some cash and wanted to make a dent in his outstanding debt. “Here ya go,” he said and handed me some cash.
“Three bucks?” I said to him.
“You’ll get your money,” he said, tying to justify the smallest good-faith payment the world has ever seen. With deadbeats like that, who needs enemies?
Let’s dive into a quickie about the health care industry. Since Dr. Zaius and Sacred Heart Hospital tried killing me (which is another story I’d like to tell–but we’ll save that for different day), I wanna see a different doctor regarding my deviated septum. I don’t know why it took me two months to contact the insurance (maybe it’s because deep-down, I knew it’d be a pain in the ass). I called the insurance and explained my situation. Dr. Zaius said I had . . . . .
I saw a commercial the other day for pharmaceutical school. What sorta education is required to be a pharmacist? You gotta be able to find the medicine prescribed by the doctor–on your shelf–and you gotta be able to count out the number of pills he prescribes. As far as I can tell, all you need is basic reading and counting skills. Your average sixth grader oughta be able to do that. Pharmaceutical college? Yeah, it’s called grade school.
On November 7, 1991 Magic Johnson announced to the world he was HIV positive and retiring from the NBA. I remember that date (for some reason, I’m really good at remember the dates of bad things) and I’ll never forget the day. I was in school when rumors started running wild. I didn’t believe it until I got home and saw the news. Like every kid of that age, I idolized Magic and Bird–the two greatest basketball players to live (of course, that was before Jordan got good and started winning rings–but that’s neither here nor there).
November 7, 1991–more than 15 years ago. While it seemed like a death since back then, Magic certainly appears to be alive and well today. . . . . .
Killing time until it’s good and dead.
Bought me some car insurance tonight–now I feel like a real grownup. I wanted to buy the bare minimum required by law ’cause I’m a really good driver and don’t go around hitting things. California is a screwy state. It requires you to have car insurance; however, the minimum property liability is $5000. How useless is that? Five grand? Maybe I’m jaded ’cause I live in Orange County, but there are very few cars on the road worth less than $5000.
I even called an agent today to try and figure out this insurance thing. The dude seemed kinda surprised that I didn’t want any coverage in case I have an accident that is my fault.
“I’m looking to keep my rates as low as possible,” I told him.
“We can set you up with something that has a high deductible–like $1000,” he offered.
“My car is only worth $2000–why would I want a $1000 deductible?”
I really don’t understand people. Folks always wanna have a new shiny car–it’s so vain. A car’s only job is to get you from point A to point B. My 18-year old Honda is just as good . . . . .
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