avatarUvebruce

Summary

The author humorously expresses a desire to own a defibrillator, not for saving lives, but for the thrill of using it and the potential for interesting photography, among other unconventional applications.

Abstract

The website content is a satirical piece where the author reveals an unusual aspiration to possess a hospital-grade defibrillator. This desire is not rooted in a noble intent to save lives but rather in the dramatic and artistic potential the author sees in the act of defibrillation. The author fantasizes about the dramatic moment of shouting "Clear" before using the device, likening it to a form of art that requires years of medical training to master. The text humorously suggests various scenarios where a defibrillator could be used, such as during boring meetings, lackluster intimate moments, or to quiet a crying baby, drawing a humorous parallel to Pavlov's conditioning. The author also muses about the potential for capturing the expressions of defibrillation recipients as a form of modern art, akin to Andy Warhol's style. The piece concludes with the author's whimsical motto, "a defibrillator or death," and a plug for another story titled "The Last Chip."

Opinions

  • The author is more interested in the dramatic and artistic aspects of using a defibrillator than in its life-saving capabilities.
  • There is a humorous suggestion that owning a defibrillator could add excitement to mundane situations, such as meetings or personal relationships.
  • The author views the act of defibrillation as a form of art, comparing it to the precision of a sniper, which is devalued by the ease of using a gun.
  • The piece reflects a satirical take on the societal obsession with dramatic moments, as seen in the author's desire to capture and immortalize the expressions of defibrillation as art.
  • The author playfully contemplates using a defibrillator in inappropriate situations, such as during sex or to quiet a baby, indicating a tongue-in-cheek critique of quick-fix solutions to everyday problems.
  • The mention of "a defibrillator or death" as a motto suggests a hyperbolic preference for extreme measures over conventional solutions.
  • The text implies a critique of natural selection, suggesting that personal choices, like snacking on Cheetos over chai seeds, are subject to the whims of fate and the potential intervention of a defibrillator.

Satirical nonsense. There can never be too much nonsense.

If I’m Totally Honest, I Would Love to Own a Hospital-Grade Defibrillator.

Some want to be 007, Mother Teresa, or President for a day. I just want to shout “Clear” and let that sucker go. Just once.

Photo by Richard Bell on Unsplash

The thought of shouting “clear” with the Defib paddles in my hands fill me with a warm ooze. It is the only reason I would consider becoming a doctor. Keep the salary … or maybe use it to find me ‘defib customers’.

I am not interested in saving lives, after all, you chose Cheetos over Chai Seeds, not me, deal with it. Natural selection and all that.

I would be far more interested in photographing the contorted faces of defib recipients. I think it could make for interesting wall art in an Andy Warhol sort of way.

Campbell Soup … Campbell Soup … DEFIB Face …!

I have been in meetings where I swear the person’s mouth starts to look like a horizontal speaking anus, with a chronic diarrhea of words pouring out, and my eyes glaze over. I’ve had these very conversations with my wife too, over Bridgerton. So I’ve thought, “If I had a defibrillator now, this nightmare would be over.”

I can think of so many moments when it could be invaluable. A gun is too easy. And in any case, I am not a killer. Nor a psychopath … keep telling yourself that, boyo.

Defibrillating someone is an art. Anything that requires 7 odd years of medical school to handle, must be special. A gun can be fired with precision after one day of training on the range. A defibrillator is more like the sniper of gun users.

The hiding in the shadows, wind direction, power points, the sneak up … the shouting ‘clear’ in their ears, and they turn to say — “Hey, you gave me a fright,” and secretly you know, that’s not the fright … this is.

Who doesn’t like a double whammy?

It must be like sex with a person with chlamydia, you get two things. One of which you were not expecting.

Talking of chlamydia, … I’ve been in bed with my wife on top of me, not displaying the needed amount of energy (don’t tell me it’s always fireworks in your relationships, you know you’re lying), and thought, “A defibrillator will liven this up right now,”

As she lack-lustily bears down on Percy Pecker, the sleep still in her eyes from being woken at 3 in the morning, you release the Kraken. Obviously, it’s mandatory to shout, “CLEAR”, which she mistakes for your orgasm, and relaxes more, thinking, “Oh thank god this was over quickly …”, and then you lie back and enjoy the more lively new sensation. Nothing beats angry sex.

I should know. You make me so angry is the opening sentence to so many conversations I am involved in. Along with angry dinner, angry breakfast, angry “why have you not …”, … “why did you …”, and angry car ride. Angry so many things. Is it something I’m doing, or not doing? I mean I lift the toilet seat now. I can be trained.

Or when baby is crying in the night and you sneak in, lean over the cot and smell that freshly bathed baby smell, as they see your familiar loving face and begin to settle … you check the dial is dialed way down low, and use the nappy (diaper) cream which is handily placed, only this time you do not want to shout ‘clear’, it will startle poor baby, you only want to whisper it, as you let that sucker rip.

No more crying. Thank you PAVLOV

Or how about a portable one on a flight? For those irritating children that wail from take off to just after landing. Or use their seat in front of you as a trampoline while your food tray is down, thus performing an anesthetic-free BRIS on your genitals while you eat your botulism-infested bolognaise.

Or the passenger who wants more nuts when there are none and the seat belt warning light is on.

“Clear” …

Its uses are endless. Mothers-in-law; Jehovah Witness doorstep activists; Tory Party Members; and, and, and …

My motto is now, a defibrillator or death.

One of my personal favourites:

Humor
Short Story
Satire
Funny
Desire
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