Seems He Struck a Nerve
And, for good reason.
This is one of the most vile and repugnant stories I've read in a long time. And, I've read more than my fair share of vile and repugnant stories. If this is a taste of what we can expect, should some monstrous governmental bureaucracy assume total control over every aspect of our healthcare, our lifestyles, and our personal choices, I have but one question.
Who's got the best deal going on 7.62x39mm?
They’re watching you right now.
They counted every beer you drank during last night’s Red Sox [team stats] game.
They see you sneaking out to the garage for a smoke.
They know if you’ve got a gun, and where you keep it.
They’re your kids, and they’re the National Security Agency of the Nanny State.
I found this out after my 13-year-old daughter’s annual checkup. Her pediatrician grilled her about alcohol and drug abuse.
Not my daughter’s boozing. Mine.
“The doctor wanted to know how much you and mom drink, and if I think it’s too much,” my daughter told us afterward, rolling her eyes in that exasperated 13-year-old way. “She asked if you two did drugs, or if there are drugs in the house.”
I turned to my wife. “You took her to the doctor. Why didn’t you say something?”
She couldn’t, she told me, because she knew nothing about it. All these questions were asked in private, without my wife’s knowledge or consent.
And, it gets worse.
What was that?
You were expecting a bit more from me in the rant department?
I got the ballgame on right now (Sox just tied it in the fifth), so I'm gonna yield the floor on this one.
Emperor Misha I:
Help us out here, because we’re really not getting this. Since when did it become part of a pediatrician’s job description to, without encouragement, give their patients the third degree? Did the kindly Dr. Schnoopenstein use a bright light, restraints and thumbscrews as well? No, we’re not talking about a troubled kid wanting to talk here, that’s something else entirely, we’re talking about some third tier quack taking it upon herself to interrogate a little girl, “just in case.”
None of your fucking business, bitch, and you’d damn well better thank whatever deity it is that you do or don’t believe in that it wasn’t my girl, or you’d be shitting bits of teeth for weeks.
And, he's just gettin' warmed up.