Undercover story - Big Pharmaceutical Interests Have Invaded The Diner!

Notes from the trail:
8:16am, Sunday Sept. 2nd, at a good ole' American-style diner.

To fit in with the locals and avoid detection, I ordered the biggest breakfast plate on the menu, and proceded to finish every last bite (again, only because I was intent on avoiding detection).

After carefully studying the accents of the bikers at the table next to me, I calmly asked for the check in a cool, southern drawl.

"Honey, ya' reckon ya' might could get me the check so I can go out to da' tobacco field."

And when I saw that she wasn't buying it, I smoothly added in a nice loud,

"I'm fixin."

A few minutes of awkward stares from the nearby tables, and a few packets of those jam containers later, and the waittress was back with the check.

I thought everything was on the up and up, and then out of nowhere, in a slick move of deft and cunning diversion, she handed me a drug company pen, with which I was supposed to sign the check.

{As this is a PG-13 blog, I will not be explicit and tell you the words written on this pen, but suffice it to say that this was a company that puts a precedence on astronomical profit margins at the expense of those that can and can't afford it.}

{Which means it could be just about any drug company or health insurance company out there.}

"Ma'am, where did you get this pen?" I sputtered, wiping the jelly from my nose and cheeks.

Of course, she played dumb, and insisted that she didn't know who gave her the pen or where it came from.

"Let me see if this jogs your memory," I said gruffly, showing that I meant business, and producing pictures from my pocket of prototype pharmaceutical representatives :

ex-cheerleaders in skimpy skirts with bags of erectile dysfunction drugs and assorted goodies in their hand,

ex-Chippendale performers in skin tight shirts with bags of estrogen-amplifying drugs and assorted paraphenalia,

ex-Catholic nuns in skin tight "nun outfits" sporting fanny packs with "free" samples of birth control pills,

ex-convicts in body armor toting cages of paranoia medications, and

45 year-old ex-prostitutes in Victorian dress wielding baby carriages full of "educational" information on MLCS (Mid-Life Crisis Sydrome).

At this the waitress became weak, knowing that I was on to her. Embarrassed, she quickly tried to regain her compsure, and even attempted to change the subject by pointing out that I still had jelly on my face.

But her little game was no match for a seasoned PharmFree professional - I quickly whipped out the PharmFree stickers I had in my pocket and proceded to "liberate" her sinister writing tool, covering the drug company's name on her pen with a nifty "PharmFree-Liberated" sticker (see http://www.pharmfree.org/) just as she whistled for reinforcements, and the large, Men-in-Black, secret-service looking pharmaceutical executives, numbering at least 50-60, came at me from all directions, yelling,

"Get him before he makes a dent into our profits...we need to eat too, you know!"

{A quote which, incidentally, did not make for a very dramatic, movie-quality entrance}

They got closer, and I could hear the chairs and tables being toppled as the for-profit army approached.

Babies went flying, elderly women's canes turned into snakes, and that darn waitress was yelling at the top of her lungs,

"But, but... he's still got jelly on his face!"

Then, all went black.

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Morals of the story:
1) Choose your diners carefully
2) Never let your guard down when it comes to assuming that the drug companies and their disease-synthesizing propoganda have not yet staked a claim in "place X" or "business Y" - THEY ARE EVERYWHERE!
3) Be careful when consuming those free packets of jelly.


God bless,
Anthony
http://www.pharmfree.org/