Introductory Note: Bad Jokes is a Harley Quinn origin story set within Joker- centric fanfiction on my profile, or come say hi on tumblr, where I. WHEN I SEE ALL THE SEXY NURSE COSTUMES WHEN JOY BEHAR ASKED WHY MISS COLORADO WAS WEARING A “DOCTOR'S STETHOSCOPE ”. Explore Haley Rajca's board "medical jokes" on Pinterest. | See more ideas about Doctor humor, Medical humor and Nurse humor.
He'd been a cold, mean-spirited bastard even then, but brilliant, and I respected him. Interestingly enough, he was the reason I'd been set on working at Arkham to begin with. It had been between Sinner's Ridge in Maine and Arkham Asylum in Gotham, and I had chosen the latter because I had wanted to know someone where I ended up and also a little bit because there was nothing to do in Maine.
I hoped that it would ease my residency. I had been very upset when I had arrived to the discovery that the man who had once been the director of the asylum was now locked away in its bowels, just as mad as the inmates he had once treated. Stratford gave me a small, wry smile. The board is starting to grasp at straws. I personally had a session with this man.Doctor Patient Comedy ! Part-5 ! Funny Comedy ! Talking Tom
From what I knew of Stratford, he was experienced, unflappable. If the Joker had gotten under his skin… well, what chance did I have, really?
Before I could commit to those second thoughts, Stratford pulled open one of the drawers in his desk. He pulled out a set of VHS tapes. I thought I might have one stashed in the handful of still unpacked-boxes hiding in a spare closet somewhere, and I certainly wasn't going to tell Stratford I wasn't sure—if all else failed, I was sure I could locate one in a pawn shop or thrift store somewhere. Arkham just didn't have the budget yet to go digital we were working on itbut I wasn't going to let that stop me from preparing as much as possible for my new assignment.
Along with this," he said, fishing a thick portfolio out of the same drawer. It's… a bit of a mess. Stratford stopped me with a hand on my arm, and I tried to ignore the unsettled jolt in my stomach as I looked up at him.
The unspoken addition to my question hung in the air—why couldn't I have more time to study? Stratford's lips took on a grimly amused set.
The less time you've had to plan your movements—even subconsciously—the better. He nodded curtly at me. Quinzel," he said, formal once more. I nodded again and turned on my heel, leaving the office.
The second I reached the cramped little apartment near Monolith Square that served as my home, I slipped off my shoes, tossed my bag on the couch, and focused my energies on finding a VCR. I was rewarded ten minutes later when I dug it out from the bottom of a pile of boxes, and feverishly set about plugging it into the TV. I wasn't even tempted to put off my work—any other day, I might take advantage of the unexpected time off to head to the gym and practice a few routines, spend an hour or so on the phone with Pam, deep-clean my apartment, or do any of the other things I never had time for, but tonight was the only night I had to fill my mind with as much information about the Joker as I could, and I had no intention of wasting it.
Nevertheless, as I slipped the first tape on the stack into the VCR in preparation, I had a fleeting thought of doubt: Maybe Stratford was right. Realistically, he probably was. The less my approach smacked of agenda, the better— from what Stratford had said on the subject, I got the feeling that this man could practically smell a scheme. Curiosity won out after a short internal struggle.
I had seen and heard him via news footage several times, but that was nothing in comparison to what these tapes offered me. I wanted to see him, and I wanted to see him as soon as possible.
These recorded sessions would do until I could indulge my morbid curiosity with the man himself tomorrow. The screen fuzzed and spluttered, and then flared to life. I paused the tape the instant a picture appeared—the camera was situated somewhere around the therapist's elbow, and as a result I couldn't see who it was. I had a clear view of the Joker, though.
He sat there, frozen by the VCR, leaning back in his chair. His hair fell over his face and his arms were crossed as far as they could go with the handcuffs restraining him. He looked like a sulking child.
I got the feeling, however, that he was simply biding his time. I got up from my lonely armchair in front of the TV and retrieved the case file. Returning to my seat, I flipped it open and scanned it, checking for the basics. After looking over the list once, I gave up. Every psychological disorder known to man was listed, and there were a few that looked made-up. He couldn't possess all of them. There was a good possibility that he was simply jerking his doctors along for the fun of it.
I wouldn't know till I watched the tapes. I set the file aside and found the remote control, taking a deep breath and releasing it before pressing play. David Wilson, a mild-tempered psychiatrist who had worked at Arkham for several years now. He was much liked in the asylum, even by most of the patients. Wilson moved his elbow, clearing the camera further.
I half expected his patient's behavior to match his sullen pose, but it seemed that he couldn't pass up an opportunity to speak. He looked up, and I breathed in, a quick little gasp of shock. That was the only way I could think of it.
The shaky footage I'd seen on the news couldn't even begin to compare to this focused session recording. I'm starting to think there's a little damage to your heads, needing everything repeated so often, ya know, Doc? He was just asking the question, meant nothing by it. He was good at that. The Joker's voice, however, was laden with sarcasm. I just popped out and my mother said… 'Ohhh… he's such a happy little guy! And because I get my thrills from things that you—" and here he extended a long index finger to point at Wilson with barely-restrained violence—"uh, that you find… scary and upsetting… something has to be broken in my head, right?
So ya gotta fix it. But whaddya do when nothin's broken? When you just think there's a problem?
Wilson asked, keeping things moving after a short silence that his patient didn't seem inclined to fill. And here, the Joker let loose a loud, unrestrained cackle. The sound was almost frightening— I was sure that it had to be much more so when one was actually in the room with him.
He gasped once, twice for air, and then giggled some more. I just see… things… clearly. I got up, went to the kitchen, and drank a glass of water before returning. I took another deep breath and then resumed the tape. He didn't sound unsettled in the least—and I suppose he shouldn't be, professional that he was, but still. Our inmates tended to be one of two types: We had our chatty megalomaniacs, but none of them had essentially taken an entire city hostage.
The Joker was… different. As diagnoses went, it was a good choice, the logical starting place, but the Joker's next words—preceded by a long, low, annoyed groan—froze me in my seat.
I sobered quickly, though, at the sound of Wilson's voice: You're telling me you reject the notion that you espouse some antisocial tendencies?
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He stared, licked his lips, and detonated. Questions, questions, questions—it's all you people seem capable of doing; asking questions! Wilson was silent for a moment. I held my breath. What would you like to do instead? The Joker's head came up too suddenly, like some sort of animal with prey in its sights.
Let's talk about you, Doc. I could tell what was going through his mind, the internal dilemma—let the Joker inside of his head in hopes that his direction might provide some much-needed insight? He might find out something important about his patient, but was it worth it? The Joker wasn't waiting for an answer. I can tell just by talkin' to you. You're, uh, you're not wearing a wedding ring.
You're powerful, you're nice, you're—" he waved his hand vaguely as if he was describing a concept totally foreign to him "a handsome fella, and the, ah, the care you take with the hair and clothes indicate… um, that you're looking. There must be someone. Wilson's voice was getting a little clipped.
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Professional or not, everyone had their cracks, and his were showing. Is that what happened; did she… leave you? Were you just a little too nice? Helping some pretty young nurse get… adjusted? Some smart little doctor? His voice was terse. The Joker lifted his hands, palms out to show he meant no offense. Can't live with 'em… can't dismember 'em and leave them in a dozen different dumpsters. Not legally, anyway," he said, with an exaggerated wink. I could see some movement on Wilson's part.
Nothing big, barely perceptible. I would guess that he just tensed up. The Joker saw it. Some girl of yours subject to violence? Ya know, dark alleys in Gotham are so dangerous. Always some fuh-reak waiting to jump out at you, right? To cut and stab and rip and tear. So much you can do to defenseless little women. I heard no further movement, and the Joker just raised his eyes, presumably to look at Wilson's face.
He radiated self-satisfaction—he looked almost mischievous, like a kid who'd kicked the dog and knew his teacher couldn't hit him for it.
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I heard the sound of footsteps heading away from the camera. Then, the first session was over. Around eight o'clock in the evening, my father called. I was lost in the session footage, and probably wouldn't have answered if I hadn't glanced at my cell phone screen out of habit. At the realization that it was my dad, I quickly paused the tape, jerked my mind out of Arkham's affairs, and answered the phone.
We had a delicious meal and a wonderful time laughing and talking. Why do nurses bring red magic markers into work? In case they have to draw blood.
An experienced nurse calls housekeeping when a patient throws up. A Graduate Nurse loves to run to codes. An experienced nurse makes graduate nurses run to codes. A Graduate Nurse wants everyone to know they are a nurse. A Graduate Nurse keeps detailed notes on a pad. An experienced nurse writes on the back of their hand, paper scraps, napkins, etc.
A Graduate Nurse will spend all day trying to reorient a patient. An experienced nurse will chart the patient is disoriented and restrain them. A Graduate Nurse can hear a beeping I-med at 50 yards. A Graduate Nurse loves to hear abnormal heart and breath sounds. A Graduate Nurse spends 2 hours giving a patient a bath. An experienced nurse lets the CNA give the patient a bath. A Graduate Nurse thinks people respect Nurses. An experienced nurse knows everybody blames everything on the nurse. A Graduate Nurse looks for blood on a bandage hoping they will get to change it.
An experienced nurse knows a little blood never hurt anybody. A Graduate Nurse expects meds and supplies to be delivered on time. An experienced nurse expects them to never be delivered at all. A Graduate Nurse will spend days bladder training an incontinent patient.
An experienced nurse will insert a Foley catheter. A Graduate Nurse always answers their phone. An experienced nurse checks their caller ID before answering the phone.
A Graduate Nurse thinks psych patients are interesting. An experienced nurse thinks psych patients are crazy. A Graduate Nurse carries reference books in their bag. An experienced nurse does. The nurse who can smile when things go wrong… Is probably going off duty.
Wallace, was living in a nursing home. One day he appeared to be very sad and depressed. Please accept my condolences.