George Lopez gave me a bad case of pink eye

Just to clarify the headline, there is a pretty good chance that George Lopez didn't give me pink eye, but I'm going to blame him anyway. I had the great pleasure of running into Mr. Lopez in an Italian restaurant down in Southern California recently, at which time I had the honor to shake his hand and exchange pleasantries.

A little over a week later, I was diagnosed with pink eye. Now every time I get stoned and decide to watch "Balls of Fury," I will only think of the pain and humiliation of getting pink eye. I could have gotten pink eye from any number of places, but since George Lopez is the only person I remember shaking hands with, I figure he must be the guy.

Exactly a week after I returned from my Southern California vacation, I had to pay a wonderful visit to the emergency room. And just so you know, I hate hospitals and doctors more than I hate clowns.

I had just spent three days waiting in lines at Disneyland, so more waiting was not on my agenda. Especially not waiting with other sick people. The only positive was that I was puking my guts out so people stayed the hell away from me. I was puking so hard, I felt like Lindsey Lohan after going on an extreme bender.

After waiting six hours, I was finally seen, and upon first glance, the doctor somehow deduced I had pink eye. How do they know? Maybe I was really stoned or had just got done crying after wasting my time watching "Beverly Hills Chihuahua." Why in the world was I throwing up like a demonically possessed person? The doctors never think about that stuff, do they? To the doctors, this is normal.

I was appalled by the fact that I had pink eye. I assumed only rednecks and hillbillies got pink eye. I assumed that pink eye could be caught only through fecal particles. I was horrified to think that this doctor believed I was some sort of hillbilly pervert who goes around looking for fecal particles to rub my eyes in. The doctor explained to me that pink eye is quite common and is caught in many ways. But my mind was still stuck on the fecal particles.

I was being discharged and the great thing about emergency rooms is the painkillers they have at their disposal. I was given a shot of something I cannot pronounce or spell, but I didn't care.

I was seeing pink elephants. Maybe grey ones since my eyes were pink already. Who knows? I was stoned. I didn't care anymore. This became evident when I was being wheeled out through the waiting room and announced to everybody that I had pink eye. It was great to watch the other sickies part like the red sea and get the hell out of my way.

So there you have it. It was that damn George Lopez. It was not interacting with thousands of people day after day at Disneyland. It was not from getting tattoos  because we all know that tattoo parlors are the most sanitary places on earth. It feels so much easier to blame someone else for my problems rather than looking inwards.

Or maybe I am just a redneck pervert who goes around looking for fecal particles. Jerry Springer, here I come.