Pool_1

anterior proprioceptive linkage. We convert the gastrocnemius to a knee flexor bumping it up a level and bingo!" Of course, the response was always something like "Bingo? Bingo what?" Nobody knew what the hell he was talking about, though, even his most ardent critics agreed that he, in some weird way, did. One quote was that where others see dog shit he sees pate'. None of them would ever admit outright that they didn't like his shoes walking that pate' all over this particular institution, questions of cost, limited funds doing more good by performing lesser more practical services for greater numbers of people. People is always short for people-who-can-pay. Macaluso's response was, "Let's see. How much dental floss can we give out if we don't buy a resuscitation machine? Think of all those healthy gums. Nice pink gums. I will smile at you writhing on the floor clutching your wretched low percentage chest. Me with my healthy flossed gums. Maybe I'll floss that foaming ass hole, you call a mouth, as you croak!" "Oh, geez," he wispered, "Our Impervious Leader." Melissa Tawney, a nurse who controlled the operating room's front desk on evening shift, wandered in with a long dangling sheet of paper. The dense two sided agenda of scratched out names paired with estimated times had been heavily worked and reworked. It was the dreaded "add on" sheet. Macaluso’s whisper shifted to a groaned "oh shit" as she twinkled her eyes mockingly over her powder blue face mask. He just knew it was there, and could see it in his mind's eye, her tongue sticking out at him beneath that cool blue cover. It was that kind of look. "I don't want to hear this, Lissa," as she bit back at him, "It's Melissa, to you, bubby!" cheerfully informing the good doctor, as she called him, that this newly declared