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Michael Cargill
Regular updates of sarcastic and irreverent nonsense.
Nurse Ratched returns
Posted by on 11/26/2011
Sup, y’all? I poppe
d to the hair salon the other day and Sandra, my usual stylist, was on holiday. Holiday? The cheek of it! I had to make do with some silly blonde girl who kept asking if I wanted highlights in my hair. This annoyed me so much that I slipped some bleach into the skinny little bitch’s tea when she wasn’t looking.
Dear Nurse Ratched
My husband never puts his dish in the dishwasher when he has finished using it. I keep reminding him, but he just puts it in the sink and leaves it for me to do for him. What should I do?
Your husband is an abysmal person who doesn’t deserve the use of his arms. I suggest going through the motions of cooking a spaghetti dish, but substitute the pasta for worms and the mince for kitty litter. You could also fracture the plate so that it falls apart on his lap and spills scalding hot food all over his legs. If that doesn’t work you should kill yourself.
Dear Nurse Ratched
My son won’t stop using bubble gum to blow bubbles and then let them burst all over his mouth. What should I do?
Your son is a monster. Soak his trainers in petrol whilst he is asleep and then wait for him to start blowing a bubble the next day. He won’t be able to see you, so nip in under the radar and set his shoes alight. Then, you could replace the bubble-gums themselves with blobs of quick-drying cement and watch with glee as he develops lockjaw and the panic on his face is something you will never forget… and neither will he for that matter. If that doesn’t work, you should kill yourself.
Michael Cargill 
Have been waiting for her calming words to return for some time. Amazing how her advice can make all the troubles float away!
Yeah, everyday life would be far better if she started up her own agency. Better than those do-gooders at The Samaritans that’s for sure.
I can’t stand noisy bubble gum chewers. Well, noisy eaters in general. I seriously want to punch them in their mouths, but your way is much better, Nurse Ratched. *grabs petrol can* *leaves house determinedly*
Michael – do you see the carnage you’re creating with such loose editing of your blog?!
It’s crazy stuff. Maybe such manic behaviour will make the front page of the Daily Mail and make me rich.
Or lynched.
Rich I reckon. Keep it up.
Let us know how you get on, yeah? Could be next weeks caption competition if you manage to get some photos.
It got so far that I start smiling when seeing you face, Nurse Ratched.
Smile? Why are you smiling at me? I am not a clown who exists for either your amusement or for titillation.
Cheers
Nurse Ratched.
Not a clown. A nurse. 😀 (See that smile?)
Dear Nurse Ratched,
You are one f*cked up woman! I like it. Please come over to my mansion so I can Avada Kedavra you. I’ll teach you the meaning of that word too. If that doesn’t kil- I mean work… you could always kill yourself. I’ll even take it one step further than you have. I’ll suggest the best suicide route for you. Give yourself a potassium cyanide injection.
Sincerely,
Bitter
PS. I give more awesome advice.
Generally speaking I have no desire to socialise with my patients and you are no different in this regard. I find your worship of all things death related unwarranted and sinful.
Cheers
Nurse Ratched.
Dear Ratched,
I do not worship things related to death. I accept and welcome them. There is a difference my dear and I would be happy to teach that to you. The only thing sinful and unwarranted is your advice.
Sincerely,
Go-Kill-Yourself!
Well, it looks like I’m not coming over to your place for dinner next week then. Not that I was invited. Thought I’d drop by unexpectedly as a surprise.
If you come anywhere near my house the only dropping you will experience is in your legs when I cut them off.
Cheers
Nurse Ratched.
I smell rotten anger all over your un-loved ass.
Anger? Most certainly. Un-loved? There is no such thing as love, merely a disgusting feeling of lust that should be stamped out.
Cheers
Nurse Ratched.
Ratched,
I personally feel the husband who doesn’t know how to clean up after himself needs a worse punishment than worm-poop pasta. Perhaps having his eyes taped open and forcing him to watch “Gigli” staring Jennifer Lopez would be fitting. Or a good spanking with a piece of barbed wire might to the trick.
I hate you,
Concerned
Ratched:
Now hear this. There IS such a thing as love, soul mates, unicorns and fairies. I’m sorry that bad things happened to you as a child, preventing you from believing in such things. I mourn for your soul and its maggot-infested contents.
~A.
Toots, for the first time in a long while I have found someone who is speaking from the same page as me. Maybe April Trice is right, there is such a thing as a soul mate.
Don’t you dare start your own advice column though, I don’t take kindly to competition.
Cheers
Nurse Ratched.
I know I’m right about the soul mate thing. One day I’m going to write a book about the elusive hunt and false leads.
“Anonymous” was me.
Somehow I don’t think I’d get too far, seeing as a. my only punishment is to have eyes taped open and watch Gigli and b. you would surely come find me and implement your wrath.
scared and in hiding
And wouldn’t the world be a better place if Nurse Rached ruled it.
Exactly. Those bankers and the rest of the 1% wouldn’t still be around that’s for sure.
Decent advice as always. I shall take it with me and apply it to any other situation, as killing yourself is always a fitting conclusion to most things.
I am thinking of extending her philosophy the next time I go for a job interview. At least then I can say that I didn’t fail more than once.
“Where do you see yourself in five years?”
“No where as I’d have more than likely killed myself”
Cannot go wrong.
Dear Nurse Ratched,
I have been having an itch on my behind all week. No matter how much I try it won’t go away. I also think it has something to do with my lousy neighbors. What should I do?
I would recommend covering your ‘behind’ with honey and then lying underneath a wasp’s nest for a while. Alternatively you could just sit in the oven for an hour or so.
Make sure you set the neighbour’s house on fire and then kill yourself if that doesn’t fix it.
Cheers
Nurse Ratched.