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the advertisement you see above was published in the chicago sun-times.

it was not, mind you, published in the bookend pages of this months edition of swank.


i knew i was in for a summers day in the hammock when i read the very first fucking sentence:

"without the right diagnosis, your doctor may be treating your."

are you fucking kidding me? is it a fucking cliffhanger? is the suspense that fucking palpable?

its the opening. fucking. line.


well, in any event, the grammatical abomination piqued my curiosity so i decided to do what i always do when i see written feces and scour the remainder of the scripted sodomy for more outlandish mistakes.

apparently, one of the sixteen signals of pinched nerves is "aching fe."

i dont know about you guys but ive never experienced any problems with sore iron; if you dont know what the fuck im talking about take a look at the periodic table.

if nothing else you can mention that you did at the dinner table.


i realize that the renaissance man who crafted this masterpiece inadvertently omitted the final two letters of the word "feet" but its an ad in the fucking chicago fucking sun fucking times.

spell check is free. the quarter-page ad aint.

then, in an effort to bring the house completely down, the author of this inhumanity continued to write "the computerized surface emgs can measures electrical activity in your muscles..."

yeah, thats right.

crush depth think dr. gerald helwig doesnt understands the intricacies of the english language too well.


oh, and by the way:

if your doctor accepts coupons i suggest you walk into the office with a pair of purple childrens scissors and cut the fucker out at the receptionists desk like a retarded eight year old cutting out pictures of hannah montana from the latest copy of teen beat.


what the fuck.