Dr. Greg House, MD

This man is an unfit parent. Nouns are not names. A living being has a proper name especially when it is dependent on your successful, in this case unsuccessful, nuturing. 

Cameron and I can offer a far superior homelife. Normal in fact. I would have thought better of you. It's one thing to make a bad decision on the company you keep, it's another thing entirely to condone abuse. Then again I always knew you had a sick streak.

I never thought I'd say this but Chase, talk some sense.

[ooc; cursed. very cursed.]

Holidays are crap. You want to know why? Because they inflate you with unrealistic expectations of what a day should be. I expected to be in a turkey induced stupor, not moving more than necessary to complete my Jabba the Hutt impression. Instead, I'm eating not as heartily, walking just as infrequently and doubling my dosage because I was without vicodin for longer than necessary the day before Thanksgiving. That is what sucks. That is what makes this month crap. Screw your train. You were either alive or dead. When you're dead what do you have to worry about from there? You get back up anyways.

I'm thankful for my vicodin today. Tomorrow it better be the same. While I'm at it, I'm thankful for a newly developed case of some kind. That means my life hasn't completely descended into meaninglessness. When I'm more into celebrating, there'll be pie.

Filtered to Dr. Chase, Dr. Cameron, and Dr. Wilson Because He Feels Like It;
The midget as inconveniently disappeared again when we have an ample opportunity to utilize her particular talents. Great. Just when I was in the cheating to win mood.

What are we working with then? I trust that Plan A has been put into effect. I'm going to spare a guess that it's in the process of failing. Did we ever get a Plan B behind the second door? If not we'll have to play pin the tail on the treatment. Oh boy.

Video//Filtered from Chase//Unhackable

[A whiteboard standing upright and mounted on what appears to be a sink. There's white and pale, pale blue tiles beyond the metal frame of the whiteboard. The camera jerks and then shows a jerk, House. Behind him is a bathroom stall.]

Now we're where a man can get some privacy.

[He turns the camera quickly back to the whiteboard.]

We need to get to the bottom of this. Why? Because it's suspicious. So soon after an influx of people it is possible that there was a transferred disease or virus left behind. Our subject is Dr. Robert Chase. Something is wrong. What exactly? That's yet to be determined.

[While he's talking, House is writing the word SYMPTOMS. Below that he writes no shame, homosexual tendencies?, zero tact. He stops and looks over his shoulder.]

Feel free to chime in at anytime.

[Oh wait. With an overly dramatic sigh, House caps the dry erase pen.]

Any trait out of the ordinary could be a symptom. Anything. That's why we're listing them. So far it looks neurological. If that's the case, did he hit is head? Did he take anything? More witnesses [muttered] more liability... The easier it will be to figure this out quickly.

[There. That should be clear enough. He uncaps the pen again.]

All of this is confidential. Unless you want him to get more sick and die.

Santa brought me a case. Yippee. The old dude neglected to give me a means. I'm not waiting til next year. That wasn't what was on my list either. Better than socks. I figure that's coming out even.

I'm not the fuzz. I'll leave the policing to the police. I want to see your guts. More specifically, was there anything medically significant about the body(ies). Humor me. Tis the season. You got a scare. You get someone else to comfort you. The yucky organs are taken off of your hands.

In other news, snow sucks. So does public transit. It sure would be great to have an alternative, swift means of transportation. Who's got a motorcycle?

Despite the fact this is my sixty-ninth entry, there's a lack of NC-17 material. I'll work on that. Don't you worry.

I've been preoccupied by the latest Twin Peaks involvement. Wilson, doctor, man, mouse and pushover, has a pint-size, adolescent doppelganger. I used to think that the whole concept of doubles was for the most part reserved for prime-time science fiction like Star Trek or to a lesser degree of entertainment merit, daytime soap operas. Oh yeah, and City curses. All of which we can chalk up to being fabrications. In this case, Mini Wi looks like he's here to stay.

My Back to the Future know how are only as limited as the material. With contact at a minimal and with him decidedly not Wilson, I suppose that the best form of action is to treat him like every other young person I've been acquainted with.

Mini Wilson isn't even the worst of it. Check this out. Yes, I can read. And I do. See. Blond. What? Who thought this was okay? I think that the deities need to go back to writing 101. Or someone does.  Cameron, I'd check twice if I were you. Ask him about wombats. I'd sooner hit him than speak to him if it was the real Chase. So far no hitting or speaking.

Eden, do you have any more surprise job applicants for me? The latest isn't bad. She's not that good, but she'll do.

All of this and more reminds me, I need to refill my prescription. I'll be in my office after that. Forever. Who knows when Cuddy will drop in as-- Hell if I know. A warrior princess?

This isn't picture day, it's dirty laundry day. Good to know I'm not the only one with stinky socks. I'm no Paris Hilton or whoever else is the Enquirer flavor of the week so I don't know who'd want to cherish moments like these forever on film. But, here we are. From that left angle I look like an emaciated Harrison Ford. Maybe not. A picture's worth a blah blah blah. I don't need to finish it, you know. I can think of several words just on the tip of my tongue, most of them have four letters.

Speaking of distractions, a man goes to the doctor's office. He's wrapped in cellophane and says, "Doc, I got a problem." The doctor looks at him and says, "first off I can clearly see your nuts."