Crippled Doctor can't decide if he's Batman, Sherlock Holmes, or Nietzsche; solves medical mysteries to keep the crushing ennui at bay only to find that Victory Is Boring, so he takes drugs instead.
House paced the corridors. He had already solved 149 medical mysteries that day, and he was getting testy. There had been no new patients for seventeen seconds, and he was bored bored bored.
Then, out of nowhere, some teenager poked his head from around a corner. "Hey! I heard all about you! You take a shitload of pain pills because you're a cripple!"
House spun around dramatically, his white doctor coat swirling like a cape. "I MIGHT BE AN ADDICT TO PAIN PILLS, AS I MYSELF ADMIT, BUT I AM NOT CRIPPLED, YOU ASSWIPE." He knocked the teenager out with his cane.
Then, he and Wilson made out in a supply closet for the next half-hour.
Gina's Version of HousequeenfanfictionOctober 15 2010, 16:31:00 UTC
"We have a patient-" Wilson begins.
"I don't care what gender or how old," House shouts. "IT'S NOT LUPUS."
"Well, what is it, then?" asks Cameron, still fluffing her hair and cleaning up her smushed lipstick after a quickie with Chase in the bathroom (not the supply closet, because we're better than Grey's Anatomy, bitches!).
"It could be anything." House ponders. "Might as well try everything, then. Whip up a drug cocktail, as large as you can make it! That should do the trick!"
"Speaking from experience?" Foreman mutters, but he does it anyway.
And lo, the patient miraculously survived, and everyone celebrated by getting laid, or getting high on Vicodin, or both.
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Then, out of nowhere, some teenager poked his head from around a corner. "Hey! I heard all about you! You take a shitload of pain pills because you're a cripple!"
House spun around dramatically, his white doctor coat swirling like a cape. "I MIGHT BE AN ADDICT TO PAIN PILLS, AS I MYSELF ADMIT, BUT I AM NOT CRIPPLED, YOU ASSWIPE." He knocked the teenager out with his cane.
Then, he and Wilson made out in a supply closet for the next half-hour.
~FIN~
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“Simply put, you suck,” says House.
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"I don't care what gender or how old," House shouts. "IT'S NOT LUPUS."
"Well, what is it, then?" asks Cameron, still fluffing her hair and cleaning up her smushed lipstick after a quickie with Chase in the bathroom (not the supply closet, because we're better than Grey's Anatomy, bitches!).
"It could be anything." House ponders. "Might as well try everything, then. Whip up a drug cocktail, as large as you can make it! That should do the trick!"
"Speaking from experience?" Foreman mutters, but he does it anyway.
And lo, the patient miraculously survived, and everyone celebrated by getting laid, or getting high on Vicodin, or both.
Reply
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