Georges le Soq goes to the DOC

I go to the doctor yesterday for a basic chat about asthma, although I cannot remember the last time I felt a problem (although naturally, Murphy's law, needed the inhaler later that day, first time in MONTHS) because I am, you know, lucky and healthy. She is a great doctor, and as much as I like her, I don't really like being touched, and was glad the whole apt. consisted of her sitting over there talking to me sitting over here.
But my rude French sock monkey GEORGES is a different story. She is like STRIP, and I tell the doc, "Georges has terrible hygiene and unhealthy habits". Here is a rundown:

Height: me- nearly 5 foot nine, Georges, a foot and a half
Weight: me- 141, Georges barely a pound
pulse: me- 62, Georges ZERO
blood pressure: me- 110 over 70, Georges ZERO
respirations: me--YES!, Georges NO!

The doctor turns to Georges and is like "you're dead" and he is like "no, am NOT!" and the doctor turns to me and says "he is a stuffed toy, and he does not have insurance" and I am like "no, really, its like Santy Claus and the Easter Bunny!" and she is like "Gary, I think you need some help...lemme make some phone calls..."




(pottery by Gary Rith, aka SMOOCHIES)
In other news, dig these bowls and cups, just listed at my etsy gallery!