Pimple from HELL

That was what the doctor called it. The technical term was 'boil', and they had to lance it and put me on antibiotics (although I suspect the antibiotics were discretionary, because GHC always, ALWAYS finds an excuse to prescribe drugs) (they wanted to give me painkillers too).

The actual operation (ha ha) was amusing, though, for several reasons.

First, they had no idea what the hell they were doing. It's a brand new building with a bunch of brand new equipment, and the doctor kept going 'ooh, what's this button do! It turns on the lights! Neat!' It was like being tended to by a trio of ferrets.

Second, they have the amusing (to me) sort-of kind-of care about your modesty thing going. Where even though it's obvious that you're going to be working on a giant pimple from hell that's sitting in the middle of my pubic hair, you're going to pretend that you can do it without seeing me naked. The last time, it was on the upper part of my inner thigh, where at least you could *pretend*... but in both cases, once they started actually doing doctor stuff they literally forgot all about the modesty pretending and the 'shield' would slip and expose me to anyone who walked in through the door.

I could be generous and say that 'once it was obvious that I didn't care, they didn't really care either'. I hope that's what was going on, and they're not actually giant ferrets in rubber human suits.

Third, people kept opening the door and walking in while I was lying on the table exposed. One of them said 'knock knock' afterwards, in lieu of actually knocking. It was really hard, but I managed not to giggle.

Oh, and the doctor had a blue-tooth headset that didn't work. At random times during the examination and procedure, she'd stop what she was doing to listen to the phone, but it would blast static and garbled voices, so she never got to take her important call.

I think it worked, though... although that might just be the novocaine talking. It wasn't swollen afterwards at least, which is a good sign. And really, 'no, it's not something dangerous and/or sexually transmitted, it's just a giant pimple' was the bit that I really cared about.

MAD

Slate had an article about the UK's supposed letter of last resort, ordering submarine commanders to fire their missiles, or not, in the case where the UK has been vaporized. They seemed to think that it was a really stupid idea, because:

(a) the commander could do whatever they wanted and burn the letter
(b) the chance that the letter would say 'no, don't' would embolden terrorists
(c) the correct thing to do after your country is annihilated is surrender

It seems obvious to me that it's a legal and moral fiction -- the sub commander gets his orders, and therefore has proof that he wasn't a loose cannon killing everyone for his own amusement. Of *course* the letter says 'blow up everything'.

Not that 'I was following orders' is much defense in international court, I guess. But it'd probably help the sub captains actually follow through on the retaliation.

So it doesn't matter that they could forge the letter -- it's for their benefit anyway.

...

The correct thing to do after your country is annihilated *is* surrender, though. Not that I would, if there was any chance I could win. This is why the world is such a fucked up place.