It is I, John Munch

Not that it's any of you people's business, but it was a callus. Don't ask. I have a skin allergy to water, thanks to all the "extras" put in there - and the people who sell the filters are all part of the scam, and I need a new brand of bottled water, I suppose, not that I LIKE buying into their scam...but I digress....
The big lug has pnuemonia.
No, I'm not kidding you, pnuemonia. He went home, didn't call anyone for two weeks and then the lab tech he's been seeing found him on the floor. Relax. He was sleeping there on purpose.
He'd made some kind of pillow pyramid, because when he laid down, he couldn't breathe - did I mention he likes to call other people weird while being completely insane himself?
Anyhow, she screamed bloody murder, got him to the doctor, he's on antibiotics, and still can't sit up for any amount of time.
He told me to tell you that The Devil's Candy is a really good book, and that the ten hardest english words to translate are:
1. Plenipotentiary
2. Gobbledygook
3. Serendipity
4. Poppycock
5. Googly
6. Spam
7. Whimsy
8. Bumf
9. Chuffed
10. Kitsch
I told him nobody would care, and he told me to shove it. I think he's feeling better.
JM, up and out.

The Truth Will Out

And it's rarely pleasant.
Every five years or so, Munch has a serious health scare. I don't pay too much attention - usually, I'm not his go-to guy, and I hear about it after, but this time...
I'm a bad friend. He asked me to look at something - I said ok, but as soon as his hands went to his zipper, I said "Hell NO." Our health plan is bad, but we have one, and I don't care HOW bad it is, there's still people that get PAID to see that. Anyway, it's not like I'm an expert - I'm only an expert on ONE, and I'm keeping it that way!
"I know you hate doctors, but I don't care. Go see one...or put it in yogurt and take your chances, and if it falls off, I don't want to hear it."
He whined and mewed, and we went to see Rodgers, and she said she wasn't anywhere near drunk enough and made him an appointment for Monday, so we'll see what we see. I agreed to go sit in the waiting room with him, but if anyone thinks I'm that kind of partner - not that there's anything wrong with that - he owes me big.

My Friends Are Weird -

But you knew that already. Carolyn was being really weird about me missing all that work, but then she bought me a hilarious and and very helpful shirt (you'll have to go to her blog and see it). Meanwhile, I think Elliot's been leaving messages on my machine in odd voices, pretending to be everyone from Schmendrick the Magician to the Marquis de Carabas - and no, Stabler, I do not owe you a Very Big Favor.
However, the weirdest of all is, of course, Munch, who, get this, is now hyperexcited about two things neither of which he will shut up about unless he's talking about the other.
The first is the death of Steve Irwin, who he's convinced was a victim of a network of aliens working with non-mammalian species, and getting rid of their chief tormentor was a sign of good faith. That's so wrong I can't even begin to start at which end the wrong begins.
The second, slightly less twisted thing is the recovery of those Munch paintings. It wouldn't be so bad, but beleive it or not, he wants to DRIVE to Europe to see them. I said that was right out. He's got some harebrained scheme involving a Turkish freighter, but if the last time he tried that is any indication, there's no way this is even remotely safe. I need to go look up the name of those fish that swim up your urethra, just to be sure; it's the only way to deter him. He won't go near the ocean for weeks after remembering those suckers. Sure, he'll only sponge-bathe, too, but I can stand down-wind from him.