House
All In

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Sara M: B+ | Grade It Now!
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Moby Sick
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An elementary school class takes a journey through the heart of someone, who must have taken way too much LSD before he decided to let visitors in, because that is the trippiest thing I have ever seen. Seriously, I think all the epileptic students had to stand outside. The bright flashing, moving, pulsing lights are supposed to be blood vessels moving through the circulatory system, and despite its inadequacy as a children's learning tool, I do think that the visual effects department should consider implementing this into their Magic School Bus close-ups. It's more realistic than those computer graphics. The class settles in some heart chamber or something and one bug-eyed little moppet, named Ian, raises his hand to both ask a question and state his need to go to the bathroom. The teacher allows him to ask his question, which is "Where’s the bathroom?" I hate this kid already. The teacher assigns some kid who's desperately in need of a haircut and an attitude adjustment to bathroom buddy duty, much to his obvious displeasure, probably because he knows how easily one can get lost in this dimly-lit, mazelike exhibit, never to be seen again. I can't imagine what kinds of visual aids they employed in the life-size large intestines. The teacher suddenly screams in pain and clutches her pregnant belly. I guess her baby hates listening to precocious kids who don't know their place as much as I do. The teacher sinks down to her knees, where she notices blood pouring down Ian's pantleg and onto his shoes. "You're bleeding!" she tells the oblivious Ian as we see that the back of his pants is a lot messier than the front. The entire female audience of the show sympathetize with Ian's situation and make mental notes to stock up on Always, with Wings, which afford the extra leakage protection you never know when you'll need.

PPTH's Clinic has gotten itself a richer clientele, judging by its red carpets and tables filled with hor d'oeuvres. Oh, I see -- this is just a black tie benefit thing for the usual lower class of people who come through the Clinic's doors, who will apparently be spending tonight sick and helpless since their usual one-stop shop for their health needs is closed for a black tie benefit. How ironic. And honestly, is the middle of an active hospital really the best place for one of these things? Can you really enjoy crudités off a counter where some crackhead lost his lunch not three hours ago? Do the screams of nearby patients in horrible pain mix well with the three-piece orchestra?

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House

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