WEIRD SQUAWKS

There is a plan afoot to place a statue of SF native son Bruce Lee somewhere in C'town, probably in Portsmouth Square. How splendid! We don't have nearly enough statuary and markers cluttering up one of the few open spaces where local old folks can congregate without being bothered by crazed druggies and bums! Oh, wait. Never mind.

Anyway, it's a great idea. Bad bronze art has mass appeal.

And I am slightly miffed.

Yes, Bruce Lee was born at Chinese Hospital, which is an institution I know extremely well.
I myself have been treated there. An appendix. And nobody is proposing a statue of me, despite the fact that I was sentient when I entered, as well as when I left. Sentient!

This is probably because I have never made weird squawking sounds while wildly throwing punches at people. Not often. There are no witnesses.

In any case. Statue. Bruce Lee.

Perhaps because I was sedated at the time? Yeah, okay, that wasn't very manly of me, but in my defence, I had no choice. Medical people standardly sedate the patient before going into the stomach with a chainsaw to deal with an infected and exploded appendix. It's better for everybody involved. Keeps us from twitching and screaming while they're operating.
Less mess on the operating room floor. Prevents slippage.


Next time I have an appendix out, no sedation.

Expect me to squawk then.

Statue?



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