Get Carter

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Heathen: C | Grade It Now!
Get Carter

Here, my notes read, "Lester does compressions on Granny Tussis." Then, two sentences later: "Oh, it's CARTER, not Lester. HA HA HA, nutslab." If that case of mistaken identity doesn't prompt Carter to romance the business end of a razor, I don't know what will. Pertussis Mom is in the background watching all this; Carter stops the compressions as Granny goes into v-tach. Here, as the camera pans around, it dips down low enough to catch a glimpse of the giant, fuzzy white blob that exists where her nude breasts would be. Well, that's why she's dying! She's made of cotton! Granny flatlines, and Pratt calls the time of death. "You ran a good code," Carter insists. "Didn't help her any," Pratt pouts, exiting. Kem translates the bad news to Pertussis Mom, who commences the requisite wailing.

So, Boobgate 2004 is over. I'm not sure if the breasts were supposed to appear anywhere else, but if this was it, I think it was so ridiculous. The show claims it's because people in real life don't cardiovert or treat through a bra, so they were just being real and true to the situation. Except that the show's spent ten years showing their female patients wearing bras in this situation, so their argument for this holds little to no water. Plus, if that was the only shot of nude wasn't even worth throwing in there for any reason other than to create a stir. It lasted a second, tops. Silly show. And poor Noah Wyle, having to go around stumping for ER on all the talk shows.

Carter gets called into Trauma Yellow by Abby, who's working on the gunshot victim. She's perplexed: there's no apparent exit wound, but the bullet's not hanging out in the pelvis or feet. The wife is fretting that she didn't want a gun in the house and never did, and the husband's like, "I can't BELIEVE you shot me." They seem kind of amused. Carter starts examining the guy, and notices something awry in his heart. "Oooh," he suddenly realizes. "The bullet's in the right ventricle." Abby's stunned. Carter gapes that the bullet apparently wandered up the femoral vein and, looking for a rest and a tall mug of mead, took refuge in the heart. They roll him over immediately to prevent it from picking up its journey and visiting the lungs. The guy's totally flipping out, and his wife is totally dumbfounded. "You put a bullet in my heart?" the man gasps. "I shot you in the leg!" she retorts. "And it was an accident!"

Carter goes outside and finds Pratt pouting in the ambulance bay. Suddenly, Carter is holding a basketball. God, this feels like a total retread, even if it isn't. Carter and The Beard act all wise, bestowing their knowledge, frankincense, gold, and myrrh upon The Anointed One, who accepts it and briefly wonders how much it would be worth in trade at a brothel. The Gospel According to John The Bee Gee goes as such: medicine is hard, people die, but if you stop bumming out about that, it means you've lost your humanity, so suck it up and act like a man and don't wallow, and take the basketball and fucking run with it. Pratt cradles the basketball, the symbol of his newfound faith after this inspiring chat with a deity, and feels this story has as much life as the ball itself -- which he promptly tries to bounce, but it's deflated and just splats against the ground. We fade to black absolutely overloaded with the many things that symbolizes.

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