Wasting Perfectly Good Health Insurance Dollars

Reporting From Glendale, California.

I spent most of Monday night in an emergency room, until the wee hour of two a.m., tending to Loren.

"Holy shit! Loren was in the E.R.?" you ask. "What happened? Did he get hit by a car? Did someone cut into his arm with a hacksaw? Did a common street criminal scoop his eyeball right out of its socket?"

No, America, I had to rush Loren to the E.R. in a whirlwind of panic and frenzy because Loren...accidentally bit his tongue!

"That's very funny, Prince. Now tell us what really happened."

That is what really happened! Whilst eating lobster (at a fancy dinner that I wasn't invited to), Loren, yes, it's true it's true it's true, bit his tongue. And it started to bleed. And it would not stop bleeding. He went through tons of gauze (the full bag of bloody gauze is still in the living room), and we even did research on the internet in order to find some kind of cure——but all the idiotic internet told us was to shove teabags in his mouth.

After a couple hours of continual bleeding (and Loren's protests of "I'm feeling dizzy"), it was off to the hospital, where the doctor revealed that somehow Loren managed to bite into a major blood vessel. The doctor injected Loren's tongue with something that made it numb (I don't know exactly—I was hiding in the waiting room, eating Willy Wonka's Tart 'n' Tinys from the sad, sad vending machine) and then applied one stitch to close up the wound.

Loren can now only eat SpaghettiOs. My, how the mighty have fallen.