General l’Hopital: Entry 1c

Apparently, to be…

Max sat at the restaurant table, picking at his fishbone. Earlier, he’d resorted to calling the resort, where apparently a re-sort of schedules had delayed Ana Lysis’ arrival. So Sir Vay’s knit wit present, while pre-sent, hadn’t been presented. So now Max was waiting for his contact – Mr. Y.

Max requested a dessert sample, then returned to gauging the situation. He didn’t understand why Sir Vay was rejecting Ana simply because she was a model – apparently something about a model’s imperfection. Well, he would rectify matters.

A ghostly apparition abruptly appeared, apparently appraising apples and apprising all of assonance applications. Max almost applauded. “I have reservations coming here…,” Y noted.

“No, I made the reservations,” Max corrected. “Care to sit and have a treat?”

“No, no time for tricks. Here’s your departure component.” Y put a ticket on the table then moved off in a random direction.

Max blinked. “Not staying for at least squares…?”

“I’m involved in a scatter plot,” came Y’s response. And he was gone.

Max picked at the residual of his meal. Well, now he had the means – he supposed he should get to the resort as soon as he could…


Doctor Waterson walked into the absolute value bar and glanced around. It hadn’t taken too long for her to determine that there existed a correlation between all the strange h^ospital events and one particular orderly on the night shift. Even the accidental labelling of “poison” jars to have an extra “s” in the middle could be explained. And the current assumption was that the orderly frequented this bar.

The Doctor walked up to the bartender and produced a diagram. “Do you know this person?” she asked.

The bartender blinked. “Count on it. I see her with relative frequency. Last I knew she was off to the ‘High’s Cool’ ski resort.”

Dr. Waterson frowned. She knew of it… the slopes were pretty easy compared to later places she’d found herself. Well, she might as well go and verify her hypothesis there… with a quick acknowledgement to the bartender, she departed – as another patron entered.

“Norm!” greeted the bartender. “What did you do for dinner tonight?”

“CS,” Norm grumbled.


To be… or C?

–Greg “hologrami” Taylor

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[NOTE: Still leaning into Statistics jokes. This was also near Halloween.]

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