# Down at the Doctor's



## daeman (Jun 8, 2014)

...
Επειδή έναν δόχτορα τον έχουμε και μάλιστα εφτάδιπλο, 

Γνέθω το νήμα τούτο δω
να τον ευχαριστήσω
τα δοχτοράτα -να χαρώ-
τα εφτά του να τιμήσω

Να τον κερνούμε από δω
ό,τι ο νους μας βάνει
αφιερώσεις για να ιδώ
πολύχρωμο γαϊτάνι

Ξεκινώ με τον ορισμό γι' αυτό το νήμα: Down at the Doctors από το _Private Practice_ των Dr Feelgood :up:






Come on down to the doctors
Make you feel good all night


Your Doctor's orders, please.


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## dominotheory (Jun 8, 2014)

Εδώ νομίζω ότι δένει άνετα αυτό:






UFO - Doctor Doctor (Old Grey Whistle Test, 1979)

Και για όσους θέλουν να απολαύσουν μιαν ενδυματολογική 70's πανδαισία κι έναν απίστευτο πιτσιρικά Michael Schenker, υπάρχει αυτή η εκτέλεση από το 1975:


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## daeman (Jun 8, 2014)

...
Μ' αρέσει που συντονιζόμαστε, αφού αυτό που έβαλες ήταν το πρώτο μουσικό έναυσμα που μου ήρθε για το νήμα. 

Dear Doctor - Rolling Stones


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## dominotheory (Jun 8, 2014)

Λοιπόν, για το Dear Doctor, έχω μια απάντηση εντελώς εξτραβαγκάντσα και συμπούρμπουλο:






KISS - Calling Dr. Love (Dodger Stadium 10/31/98)




daeman said:


> ...
> Μ' αρέσει που συντονιζόμαστε, αφού αυτό που έβαλες ήταν το πρώτο μουσικό έναυσμα που μου ήρθε για το νήμα.



Σαφώς, πού θα πάμε (στη μουσική, αλλά και γενικότερα) χωρίς συντονισμό; ;)


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## daeman (Jun 8, 2014)

dominotheory said:


> ...
> Σαφώς, πού θα πάμε (στη μουσική, αλλά και γενικότερα) χωρίς συντονισμό; ;)


Στο κατάλληλο νήμα, για να συντονιστούμε: *Turn on, tune in, drop out *:laugh:

_Turn On, Tune In, Drop Out _(1966): www.youtube.com/watch?v=jwlGNtE2WCc


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## Themis (Jun 8, 2014)

a doctor's preparations for work of any kind are stimulating and bracing
Bram Stoker, _Dracula_


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## nickel (Jun 9, 2014)

Από την ταινία _What's Up, Doc?_ με τον Ράιαν Ο' Νιλ και την Μπάρμπαρα Στράισαντ με την ξεκαρδιστική καταδίωξη δίτροχων και τετράτροχων στις ανηφοροκατηφόρες του Σαν Φρανσίσκο, οι κλασικές σκηνές με τη σκάλα και το τζάμι. Ξανά και ξανά...


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## azimuthios (Jun 9, 2014)

Δεν κατάλαβα αν γιορτάζουμε γενέθλια ή αν ο Δαεμάνος τον ευχαριστεί για κάτι, αλλά ας βάλω κι εγώ ένα, χαλάλι του Δόκτορα που βοηθάει πολύ εδώ πέρα: 






Doctor, doctor give me the news 
I've got a bad case of lovin' you


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## daeman (Jun 9, 2014)

...
Doctor, Doctor - _Sound of Noise_ (Ola Simonsson and Johannes Stjärne Nilsson, 2010)






Anarchist Percussionists and a Belly as an Instrument, NYTimes, March 8, 2012


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## Marinos (Jun 9, 2014)

Pink Floyd, Take up thy stethoscope and walk (1967)


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## dominotheory (Jun 9, 2014)

Marinos said:


> Pink Floyd, Take up thy stethoscope and walk (1967)



Και ο _γύψος_ πότε θα βγει, γιατρέ μου;






Δημήτρης Πουλικάκος & Εξαδάκτυλος - "Ο γιατρός παιδιά" (από τον δίσκο _Μεταφοραί Εκδρομαί ο Μήτσος_ - απόσπασμα απο την ταινία _Αλδεβαράν_ του Ανδρέα Θωμόπουλου)


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## daeman (Jun 9, 2014)

dominotheory said:


> Και ο _γύψος_ πότε θα βγει, γιατρέ μου;
> ...



Δεν γνωρίζομεν ακόμη, κύριε. Παρακαλώ, αναμείνατε να αποφανθεί το ιατρικόν συμβούλιον, άρτι ανανεωθέν μετά την προσθήκην νεοαφιχθέντων μελών:






Ευελπιστούμεν —καίτοι η εγχείρησις επαναλαμβάνεται— αν μη τι άλλο να αποβεί επιτυχής, ανεξαρτήτως της επιβιώσεως του ασθενούς.


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## dominotheory (Jun 9, 2014)

daeman said:


> Ευελπιστούμεν —καίτοι η εγχείρησις επαναλαμβάνεται— αν μη τι άλλο να αποβεί επιτυχής, ανεξαρτήτως της επιβιώσεως του ασθενούς.



Τι μου θύμισες τώρα!!! Ανάλογη περίπτωση (_η θεραπεία επέτυχε, ο ασθενής απεβίωσε_) έχουμε κι εδώ, σ' αυτό το έξοχο ηθικοδιδακτικό τραγουδάκι του κυρίου Kilmister και της παρέας του:






Motörhead - I'm the Doctor (Iron Fist, 1982)


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## Marinos (Jun 10, 2014)

Με προλάβατε με τον Πουλικάκο. Αλλά να λείπουν οι Μπητλς και ο Dr. Robert τους;


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## Marinos (Jun 10, 2014)

Και σε πιο παραδοσιακά ακούσματα:
Δεν μπορώ μανούλα μ, δεν μπορώ,
αχ συρε να φέρεις το γιατρό.

Αχ συρε να φέρεις το γιατρό,
θα πεθάνω η δόλια, θα χαθώ.

Αγάπησα μανα μ αγάπησα,
πικρά η μαύρη το μετάνιωσα.

Πικρά η μαύρη το μετάνιωσα,
αχ μανούλα μου δεν σ άκουσα.

Ζήλεψα μανα μ την ομορφιά,
τώρα είμαι άρρωστη βαριά.

Τώρα είμαι άρρωστη βαριά,
θα πεθάνω η δόλια κι είμαι νια.

Σώπα τσούπρα μ και μην κλαις εσύ,
θα φέρω το γιατρό ταχιά πρωί.

Θα φέρω το γιατρό ταχιά πρωί,
να σου γιάνει κόρη μ την πληγή.


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## Marinos (Jun 10, 2014)

Και το περίφημο Aman doktor:




One of the most oft recorded tunes in the early 20th centuries among Greeks was the Turkish song Mendilimin Yesili better known as Aman Doktor. It was especially favored by Greek immigrants to America who recorded it many times. Two Greek American recordings are included here, a very early one by Amalia Baka from Yanina, Epirus and a later one by Virginia Mangidou from Istanbul. Other American reocrdings not included are two by Marika Papagika, two by Giorgos Katsaros and one in Turkish by Tom Stathis (Stathiades) from Kirk Kilise (Saranda Ekklisies) now Kirklareli. The first Turkish recording on this upload is sung by the Armenian, Bogos Kirecciyan. It was recorded in Istanbul and released on the Balkan Record Label in NYC , circa 1953. The second Turkish recording is by Ali Ugurlu who recorded dozens of songs in Athens in the early 1960s. Included also are two "folk" versions - one, played on zurna and daouli is used to accompany the dance "Seryiani" from the region of Nigrita in Macedonia; and the other, also from Macedonia, is from the village of Krini. This is the only version in Greek I know of whose lyrics are different from the usual ones about needing a doctor to cure an uncurable love pain.


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## Zazula (Jun 10, 2014)

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Trust me I'm a doctor
https://www.google.com/search?q=tru...0oH4CA&ved=0CEkQsAQ&biw=1920&bih=979#imgdii=_


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## drsiebenmal (Jun 10, 2014)

Ζάζουλα, ευτυχώς με πρόλαβες πριν βάλω ντισκλέιμερ για (μερικά) από το δοκτοράτα μου...


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## daeman (Jun 10, 2014)

Zazula said:


> http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Trust me I'm a doctor
> https://www.google.com/search?q=tru...0oH4CA&ved=0CEkQsAQ&biw=1920&bih=979#imgdii=_





drsiebenmal said:


> Ζάζουλα, ευτυχώς με πρόλαβες πριν βάλω ντισκλέιμερ για (μερικά) από το δοκτοράτα μου...



Dr. McCoy - I'm a doctor, not a...






My name is McCoy. I'm a doctor.

1. What am I, a doctor or a moon shuttle conductor?
2. I'm a doctor, not a brick-layer.
3. I'm a surgeon, not a psychiatrist.
4. Look, I'm a doctor, not an escalator!
5. I'm a doctor, not a mechanic.
6. I'm a doctor, not an engineer.
7. I'm a doctor, not a coal miner.

—You keep saying that. Are you a doctor or aren't you?
—I don't know.


Star Trek - I'm a Doctor, not a...


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## daeman (Jun 10, 2014)

Marinos said:


> Με προλάβατε με τον Πουλικάκο. Αλλά να λείπουν οι Μπητλς και ο Dr. Robert τους;
> ...



Κι εσύ με πρόλαβες με τους Μπητλς Μπιτλς Beatles! 
Αφού λοιπόν έχουμε στο νήμα Στόουνς και Μπιτλς, να μη λείψουν οι Who, εις τετραπλούν.

1. Tο φλίπσαϊντ του Pictures of Lily, του 1967, το Doctor, Doctor:







2. Από το Tommy, την ταινία, με πρωταγωνιστή το σαρδόνιο χαμόγελο του οΘντκ γιατρού Τζακ Νίκολσον, ασθενή (deaf, dumb and blind kid) τον Ντάλτρεϊ, με μάνα την Ανν Μάργκρετ (μάνα μου!) και «θείο Φρανκ» τον Όλιβερ Ριντ, There's a doctor:







3. Από την Quadrophenia, για τον Loony Moony, Doctor Jimmy (& Mr Jim):







4. Και πάλι για τον Μουν, γραμμένο από τον Εντγουίσλ, το φλίπσαϊντ του Magic Bus, Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde:


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## Marinos (Jun 10, 2014)

Θυμήθηκα όμως και κάτι άλλο (που έχω να ακούσω είκοσι, σχεδόν εικοσιπέντε χρόνια): The Electric Prunes - Dr. Do Good (1967)


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## daeman (Jun 10, 2014)

Marinos said:


> Θυμήθηκα όμως και κάτι άλλο (που έχω να ακούσω είκοσι, σχεδόν εικοσιπέντε χρόνια)...



That's the spirit! :up: It's a gas.


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## bernardina (Jun 10, 2014)

Τώρα, τώωρα... να σας πλακώσω εγώ στις εϊτίλες να μάθετε.  :devil:

Thompson Twins - Doctor Doctor.


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## daeman (Jun 10, 2014)

bernardina said:


> Τώρα, τώωρα... να σας πλακώσω εγώ στις εϊτίλες να μάθετε.  :devil:
> ...



—Αίματα, αίματα!
—Ντεν έματε τίποτα, τώρα τα τα μάτει όλα! :twit:

Doctor, Doctor - A La Carte


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## dominotheory (Jun 10, 2014)

bernardina said:


> Τώρα, τώωρα... να σας πλακώσω εγώ στις εϊτίλες να μάθετε.  :devil:


Αυτό, για κάποιον λόγο, μου θύμισε τον Δόκτoρα Φρανκενστάιν :inno:






"It's Frankensteen": Dr. Frederick Frankenstein meets Igor for the first time. (from the 1974 movie _Young Frankenstein_)







_Young Frankenstein_ - "Whose Brain I did put in?"







Gene Wilder - _Young Frankenstein_ - Puttin' on the Ritz


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## daeman (Jun 11, 2014)

...
The good Doctor J, Julius Erving, recommends plenty of hot dunks:






Φανκέψαμε.


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## dominotheory (Jun 11, 2014)

daeman said:


> Φανκέψαμε.


Ευκαιρία να κάνω κάτι για να διώξω μακριά τη ρετσινιά του χεβιμεταλά, που σα να με ζυγώνει.






Jackie McLean - Doctor Jackyll and Mister Funk (12", Single - 1979)


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## drsiebenmal (Jun 11, 2014)

Πρέπει να προσθέσω κι εγώ κάτι επειγόντως σε αυτό το νήμα. Μια και δεν μπορώ να παίξω στη Σούπερ λίγκα, ας βάλω σήματα από ιατρικά σίριαλ (ναι, τα μισά παιζόντουσαν πριν γεννηθείτε οι πιο πολλοί εδώ μέσα, ας μάθετε και κάτι....):

_Ben Casey_






_Dr. Kildare_






_Daktari_ (σημαίνει γιατρός στα σουαχίλι)






ER (εδώ, χωρίς τον Κλούνι):






_Dr House_






_Grey's Anatomy_






Ξενερώσατε; Λυπάμαι. #not


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## daeman (Jun 13, 2014)

...
Doctor Brown - Buster Brown







Doctor Brown - Peter Green's Fleetwood Mac


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## daeman (Jun 13, 2014)

...
Lucky Jack - Doctor Brown


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## dominotheory (Jun 13, 2014)

drsiebenmal said:


> Ξενερώσατε; Λυπάμαι.








I'm sorry - Doctor Who (TV series)


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## drsiebenmal (Jun 13, 2014)

...


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## daeman (Jun 13, 2014)

...
Doctor Doctor - Connie Lush & Blues Shouter


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## dominotheory (Jun 13, 2014)

Και τα _αποφατικά_:






Ray Charles - I Don't Need No Doctor 







Humble Pie - I Don't Need No Doctor (1971 Live at The Fillmore)







Peter Frampton - I Don't Need No Doctor (Festival de Viña, 2008)


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## daeman (Jun 14, 2014)

...
*"A Country Doctor"* (German: *"Ein Landarzt"*) is a short story written in 1919 by Franz Kafka. It was first published in the collection of short stories of the same title.
*
"Ein Landarzt," Franz Kafka
*annotated by Lisa Countryman

​Ich war in großer Verlegenheit: eine dringende Reise stand mir bevor; ein Schwerkranker wartete auf mich in einem zehn Meilen entfernten Dorfe; starkes Schneegestöber füllte den weiten Raum zwischen mir und ihm; einen Wagen hatte ich, leicht, großräderig, ganz wie er für unsere Landstraßen taugt; in den Pelz gepackt, die Instrumententasche in der Hand, stand ich reise fertig schon auf dem Hofe; aber das Pferd fehlte, das Pferd. Mein eigenes Pferd war in der letzten Nacht, infolge der Überanstrengung in diesem eisigen Winter, verendet; mein Dienstmädchen lief jetzt im Dorf umher, um ein Pferd geliehen zu bekommen; aber es war aussichtslos, ich wußte es, und immer mehr vom Schnee überhäuft, immer unbeweglicher werdend, stand ich zwecklos da. Am Tor erschien das Mädchen, allein,schwenkte die Laterne; natürlich, wer leiht jetzt sein Pferd her zu solcher Fahrt? Ich durchmaß noch einmal den Hof; ich fand keine Möglichkeit; zerstreut, gequält stieß ich mit dem Fuß an die brüchige Tür des schon seit Jahren unbenützten Schweinestalles. Sie öffnete sich und klappte in den Angeln auf und zu. Wärme und Geruch wie von Pferden kam hervor. Eine trübe Stallaterne schwankte drin an einem Seil. Ein Mann, zusammengekauert in dem niedrigen Verschlag, zeigte sein offenes blauäugiges Gesicht. "Soll ich anspannen? " fragte er, auf allen Vieren hervorkriechend. Ich wußte nichts zu sagen und beugte mich nur, um zu sehen, was es noch in dem Stalle gab. Das Dienstmädchen stand neben mir. "Man weiß nicht, was für Dinge man im eigenen Hause vorrätig hat", sagte es, und wir beide lachten. "Hollah, Bruder, hollah, Schwester!" rief der Pferdeknecht, und zwei Pferde, mächtige flanken starke Tiere schoben sich hintereinander, die Beine eng am Leib, die wohlgeformten Köpfe wie Kamele senkend, nur durch die Kraft der Wendungen ihres Rumpfes aus dem Türloch, das sie restlos ausfüllten. Aber gleich standen sie aufrecht, hochbeinig, mit dicht ausdampfendem Körper. "Hilf ihm", sagte ich, und das willige Mädchen eilte, dem Knecht das Geschirr des Wagens zu reichen. Doch kaum war es bei ihm, umfaßt es der Knecht und schlägt sein Gesicht an ihres. Es schreit auf und flüchtet sich zu mir; rot eingedrückt sind zwei Zahnreihen in des Mädchens Wange. "Du Vieh", schreie ich wütend, "willst du die Peitsche?", besinne mich aber gleich, daß es ein Fremder ist; daß ich nicht weiß, woher er kommt, und daß er mir freiwillig aushilft, wo alle andern versagen. Als wisse er von meinen Gedanken, nimmt er meine Drohung nicht übel, sondern wendet sich nur einmal, immer mit den Pferden beschäftigt, nach mir um. "Steigt ein", sagt er dann, und tatsächlich: alles ist bereit. Mit so schönem Gespann, das merke ich, bin ich noch nie gefahren und ich steige fröhlich ein. "Kutschieren werde aber ich, du kennst nicht den Weg", sage ich. "Gewiß", sagt er, "ich fahre gar nicht mit, ich bleibe bei Rosa. " "Nein", schreit Rosa und läuft im richtigen Vorgefühl der Unabwendbarkeit ihres Schicksals ins Haus; ich höre die Türkette klirren, die sie vorlegt; ich höre das Schloß einspringen; ich sehe, wie sie überdies im Flur und weiter jagend durch die Zimmer alle Lichter verlöscht, um sich unauffindbar zu machen. "Du fährst mit", sage ich zu dem Knecht, "oder ich verzichte auf die Fahrt, so dringend sie auch ist. Es fällt mir nicht ein, dir für die Fahrt das Mädchen als Kaufpreis hinzugeben." "Munter!" sagt er;klatscht in die Hände; der Wagen wird fortgerissen, wie Holz in die Strömung; noch höre ich, wie die Tür meines Hauses unter dem Ansturm des Knechtes birst und splittert, dann sind mir Augen und Ohren von einem zu allen Sinnen gleichmäßig dringenden Sausen erfüllt. Aber auch das nur einen Augenblick, denn, als öffne sich unmittelbar vor meinem Hoftor der Hof meines Kranken, bin ich schon dort; ruhig stehen die Pferde; der Schneefall hat aufgehört; Mondlicht ringsum; die Eltern des Kranken eilen aus dem Haus; seine Schwester hinter ihnen; man hebt mich fast aus dem Wagen; den verwirrten Reden entnehme ich nichts; im Krankenzimmer ist die Luft kaum atembar; der vernachlässigte Herdofen raucht; ich werde das Fenster aufstoßen; zuerst aber will ich den Kranken sehen. Mager, ohne Fieber, nicht kalt, nicht warm, mit leeren Augen, ohne Hemd hebt sich der Junge unter dem Federbett, hängt sich an meinen Hals, flüstert mir ins Ohr: "Doktor, laß mich sterben." Ich sehe mich um;niemand hat es gehört; die Eltern stehen stumm vorgebeugt und erwarten mein Urteil; die Schwester hat einen Stuhl für meine Handtasche gebracht. Ich öffne die Tasche und suche unter meinen Instrumenten; der Junge tastet immerfort aus dem Bett nach mir hin, um mich an seine Bitte zu erinnern; ich fasse eine Pinzette,prüfe sie im Kerzenlicht und lege sie wieder hin. "Ja", denke ich lästernd, "in solchen Fällen helfen die Götter, schicken das fehlende Pferd, fügender Eile wegen noch ein zweites hinzu, spenden zum Übermaß noch den Pferdeknecht - " Jetzt erst fällt mir wieder Rosa ein; was tue ich, wie rette ich sie, wie ziehe ich sie unter diesem Pferdeknecht hervor, zehn Meilen von ihr entfernt,unbeherrschbare Pferde vor meinem Wagen Diese Pferde, die jetzt die Riemen irgendwie gelockert haben; die Fenster, ich weiß nicht wie, von außen aufstoßen; jedes durch ein Fenster den Kopf stecken und, unbeirrt durch den Aufschrei der Familie, den Kranken betrachten. "Ich fahre gleich wieder zurück", denke ich, als forderten mich die Pferde zur Reise auf, aber ich dulde es, daß die Schwester, die mich durch die Hitze betäubt glaubt, den Pelz mir abnimmt. Ein Glas Rum wird mir bereitgestellt, der Alte klopft mir auf die Schulter, die Hingabe seines Schatzes recht fertigt diese Vertraulichkeit. Ich schüttle den Kopf; in dem engen Denkkreis des Alten würde mir übel; nur aus diesem Grunde lehne ich es ab zu trinken. Die Mutter steht am Bett und lockt mich hin; ich folge und lege,während ein Pferd laut zur Zimmerdecke wiehert, den Kopf an die Brust des Jungen, der unter meinem nassen Barter schauert. Es bestätigt sich, was ich weiß: der Junge ist gesund, ein wenig schlecht durchblutet, von der sorgen den Mutter mit Kaffee durchtränkt, aber gesund und am besten mit einem Stoß aus dem Bett zu treiben. Ich bin kein Weltverbesserer und lasse ihn liegen. Ich bin vom Bezirk angestellt und tue meine Pflicht bis zum Rand, bis dorthin, wo es fast zu viel wird. Schlecht bezahlt, bin ich doch freigebig und hilfsbereit gegenüber den Armen. Noch für Rosa muß ich sorgen, dann mag der Junge recht haben und auch ich will sterben. Was tue ich hier in diesem endlosen Winter! Mein Pferd ist verendet, und da ist niemand im Dorf, der mir seines leiht. Aus dem Schweinestall muß ich mein Gespann ziehen; wären es nichtzufällig Pferde, müßte ich mit Säuen fahren. So ist es. Und ich nicke der Familie zu. Sie wissen nichts davon, und wenn sie es wüßten, würden sie es nicht glauben.Rezepte schreiben ist leicht, aber im übrigen sich mit den Leuten verständigen, ist schwer. Nun, hier wäre also mein Besuch zu Ende, man hat mich wieder einmal unnötig bemüht, daran bin ich gewöhnt, mit Hilfe meiner Nachtglocke martert mich der ganze Bezirk, aber daß ich diesmal auch noch Rosa hingeben mußte, dieses schöne Mädchen, das jahrelang, von mir kaum beachtet, in meinem Hause lebte - dieses Opfer ist zu groß, und ich muß es mir mit Spitzfindigkeiten aushilfsweise in meinem Kopf irgendwie zurechtlegen, um nicht auf diese Familie loszufahren, die mir ja beim besten Willen Rosa nicht zurückgeben kann. Als ich aber meine Handtasche schließe und nach meinem Pelz winke, die Familie beisammen steht, der Vater schnuppernd über dem Rumglas in seiner Hand, die Mutter, von mir wahrscheinlich enttäuscht - ja, was erwartet denn das Volk? - tränen voll in die Lippen beißend und die Schwester ein schwer blutiges Handtuch schwenkend, bin ich irgendwie bereit, unter Umständen zuzugeben, daß der Junge doch vielleicht krank ist. Ich gehe zu ihm, er lächelt mir entgegen, als brächte ich ihm etwa die aller stärkste Suppe - ach, jetzt wiehern beide Pferde; der Lärm soll wohl, höhern Orts angeordnet, die Untersuchung erleichtern - und nun finde ich: ja, der Junge ist krank. In seiner rechten Seite, in der Hüftengegend hat sich eine handtellergroße Wunde aufgetan. Rosa, in vielen Schattierungen, dunkel in der Tiefe, hell werdend zu den Rändern, zart körnig, mit ungleichmäßig sich aufsammelndem Blut, offen wie ein Bergwerkobertags. So aus der Entfernung. In der Nähe zeigt sich noch eine Erschwerung. Wer kann das ansehen ohne leise zu pfeifen? Würmer, an Stärke und Länge meinem kleinen Finger gleich, rosig aus eigenem und außerdem blutbespritzt, winden sich, im Innern der Wunde festgehalten, mit weißen Köpfchen, mit vielen Beinchen ans Licht. Armer Junge, dir ist nicht zu helfen. Ich habe deine große Wunde aufgefunden; an dieser Blume in deiner Seite gehst du zugrunde. Die Familie ist glücklich, sie sieht mich in Tätigkeit; die Schwester sagt's der Mutter, die Mutter dem Vater, der Vater einigen Gästen, die auf den Fußspitzen, mit ausgestreckten Armen balancierend, durch den Mondschein der offenen Tür hereinkommen. "Wirst du mich retten?" flüstert schluchzend der Junge, ganz geblendet durch das Leben in seiner Wunde. So sind die Leute in meiner Gegend. Immer das Unmögliche vom Arzt verlangen. Den alten Glauben haben sie verloren; der Pfarrer sitzt zu Hause und zerzupft die Meßgewänder, eines nach dem andern; aber der Arzt soll alles leisten mit seiner zarten chirurgischen Hand. Nun, wie es beliebt: ich habe mich nicht angeboten; verbraucht ihr mich zu heiligen Zwecken, lasse ich auch das mit mir geschehen; was will ich Besseres, alter Landarzt, meines Dienstmädchens beraubt! Und sie kommen, die Familie und die Dorfältesten, und entkleiden mich; ein Schulchor mit dem Lehrer an der Spitze steht vor dem Haus und singt eine äußerst einfache Melodie auf den Text:_
"Entkleidet ihn, dann wird er heilen,
Und heilt er nicht, so tötet ihn!
'Sist nur ein Arzt, 'sist nur ein Arzt."

_​Dann bin ich entkleidet und sehe, die Finger im Barte, mit geneigtem Kopf die Leute ruhig an. Ich bin durchaus gefaßt und allen überlegen und bleibe es auch, trotzdem es mir nichts hilft, denn jetzt nehmen sie mich beim Kopf und bei den Füßen und tragen mich ins Bett. Zur Mauer, an die Seite der Wunde legen sie mich. Dann gehen alle aus der Stube; die Tür wird zugemacht; der Gesang verstummt; Wolkentreten vor den Mond; warm liegt das Bettzeug um mich; schattenhaft schwanken die Pferdeköpfe in den Fensterlöchern. "Weißt du", höre ich, mir ins Ohr gesagt, "mein Vertrauen zu dir ist sehr gering. Du bist ja auch nur irgendwo abgeschüttelt, kommst nicht auf eigenen Füßen.Statt zu helfen, engst du mir mein Sterbebett ein. Am liebsten kratzte ich dir die Augen aus. " "Richtig", sage ich, "es ist eine Schmach. Nun bin ich aber Arzt. Was soll ich tun? Glaube mir, es wird auch mir nicht leicht. " "Mit dieser Entschuldigung soll ich mich begnügen? Ach, ich muß wohl. Immer muß ich mich begnügen. Mit einer schönen Wunde kam ich auf die Welt; das war meine ganze Ausstattung." "Junger Freund", sage ich, "dein Fehler ist: du hast keinen Überblick. Ich, der ich schon in allen Krankenstuben, weit und breit, gewesen bin, sage dir: deine Wunde ist so übel nicht. Im spitzen Winkel mit zwei Hieben der Hacke geschaffen. Viele bieten ihre Seite an und hören kaum die Hacke im Forst, geschweige denn, daß sie ihnen näher kommt. " "Ist es wirklich so oder täuschest du mich im Fieber" "Es ist wirklich so, nimm das Ehrenwort eines Amtsarztes mit hinüber." Und er nahm's und wurde still. Aber jetzt war es Zeit, an meine Rettung zu denken. Noch standen treu die Pferde an ihren Plätzen. Kleider, Pelz und Tasche waren schnell zusammengerafft; mit dem Ankleiden wollte ich mich nicht aufhalten; beeilten sich die Pferde wie auf der Herfahrt, sprang ich ja gewissermaßen aus diesem Bett in meines. Gehorsam zog sich ein Pferd vom Fenster zurück; ich warf den Ballen in den Wagen; der Pelz flog zu weit, nur mit einem ärmel hielt er sich an einem Haken fest. Gut genug. Ich schwang mich aufs Pferd. Die Riemen lose schleifend, ein Pferd kaum mit dem andern verbunden, der Wagen irrend hinterher, der Pelz als letzter im Schnee. "Munter! " sagte ich, aber munter ging's nicht; langsam wie alte Männer zogen wir durch die Schneewüste; lange klang hinter uns der neue, aber irrtümlicheGesang der Kinder:

_"Freuet Euch, Ihr Patienten,
Der Arzt ist Euch ins Bett gelegt! "

_​Niemals komme ich so nach Hause; meine blühende Praxis ist verloren; ein Nachfolger bestiehlt mich, aber ohne Nutzen, denn er kann mich nicht ersetzen; in meinem Hause wütet der ekle Pferdeknecht; Rosa ist sein Opfer; ich will es nicht ausdenken. Nackt, dem Froste dieses unglückseligsten Zeitalters ausgesetzt, mit irdischem Wagen, unirdischen Pferden, treibe ich mich alter Mann umher. Mein Pelz hängt hinten am Wagen, ich kann ihn aber nicht erreichen, und keiner aus dem beweglichen Gesindel der Patienten rührt den Finger. Betrogen! Betrogen! Einmal dem Fehlläuten der Nachtglocke gefolgt - es ist niemals gutzumachen.

litgloss.buffalo.edu/kafka-landarzt/text.shtml


*‘Ein Landarzt’ read by Johannes Birringer
*
*‘A Country Doctor’* by Franz Kafka, translated by Michael Hofmann 

Franz Kafka and Michael Hofmann
Courtesy of A P Watt on behalf of Michael Hofmann

_Michael Hofmann’s supple translation of Franz Kafka’s ‘A Country Doctor’, and his subtle and penetrating analysis of Kafka’s German prose in his introduction to Metamorphosis and Other Stories, were the initial inspiration- together with a reading of Paul Fussell’s The Great War and Modern Memory – for Will Self’s essay. The entire text of Hofmann’s translation is reproduced here._

I was in a quandary: my presence was urgently required; a gravely ill man was waiting for me in a village ten miles distant; a blizzard filled the space between me and my goal; I had a carriage, light, high-wheeled, eminently suited to our country roads; wrapped in my fur, with my Gladstone bag in my hand, I stood in the courtyard all ready to go; but the horse was missing, there was no horse. My own horse had died the previous night, on account of its over-exertions in the current icy winter; now my maid was running from pillar to post to look for a replacement; but it was hopeless, I knew it, and, with the snow falling on me, I stood there increasingly rooted to the spot, and more and more aware of the pointlessness of it. The girl appeared in the gateway, alone, waving a lantern; of course, who would lend out his horse for such a ride? I strode across the yard once more; I could see no possibility; distracted, tormented, I kicked at the rickety door of a pig-sty unused for many years. The lock gave, and the door swung back and forth on its hinges. Warm air and a horsey smell greeted me. A dim stable lantern dangled on a rope. A man, hunkered down in the low-ceilinged sty, showed his open-featured, blue-eyed face. ‘Would you like me to put them to?’ he asked, crawling out on his hands and knees. I didn’t know what to say, and bent down to get a sight of whatever else there might be in the sty. Beside me stood the maid. ‘You never know what you have in your own house,’ she said, whereupon we both laughed. ‘Ho, brother, ho, sister!’ called the stable lad, and two horses, mighty, powerful-flanked creatures crept out one after another, legs tucked in close to their bodies, bending their shapely heads in the manner of camels, only barely managing to twist their way through the doorway which their rumps completely filled. But then, once outside, they immediately drew themselves up to their full height, with long legs and solid steaming bodies. ‘Help him,’ I said, and right away the willing girl ran up to hand the harness to the groom. But no sooner has she reached him than the groom throws his arms around her, and thrusts his face against hers. She screams and runs to me; there are the red marks of two rows of teeth on the girl’s cheek. ‘You animal!’ I scream in my rage, ‘do you want a taste of my whip?’ but I straightaway calm down, reminding myself I’m talking to a stranger, that I don’t know where he comes from and that he has agreed to help me when everyone else has let me down. As if he could read my mind, he is not offended by my outburst, but, still busy with the horses, turns only once in my direction. ‘Get in,’ he says finally, and indeed, everything is ready. I can see I have never had such a good team of horses before, and I climb happily aboard. ‘I’ll take the reins, though, you don’t know the way,’ I say. ‘Of course,’ he says, ‘I’m not even going with you, I’m staying with Rosa.’ ‘No,’ screams Rosa, and runs into the house with a presentiment of her inevitable fate; I hear the rattle of the chain on the door, as she pulls it across; I hear the click of the lock; I see her turning out the lights in the hall, and then running on through the house, to make it impossible for him to find her. ‘You’re coming with me,’ I say to the groom, ‘or I’m not going, however urgent my mission is. It wouldn’t occur to me to pay with the girl for my ride.’ ‘Ho!’ he calls; claps his hands; the carriage is swept away, like a treetrunk in a flood; I can still hear my front door cracking and splintering under the assault of the groom, and then my eyes and ears are filled with a penetrating hissing that seems to fill all my senses. But all is only for an instant, then, as if the yard of the patient were just the other side of my front gate, I am there already; the horses are standing quietly; the snow has stopped; moonlight on all sides; the patient’s parents come running out of the house, his sister behind them; I am lifted almost bodily out of the carriage; I can make no sense of their confused reports; the air in the sick man’s room is barely breathable; the neglected stove is smoking; I want to throw open the window; but first of all I want to see my patient. Lean, neither feverish nor cold nor warm, with vacant eyes and no shirt, the lad pulls himself up in his bed, drapes his arms round my neck and whispers into my ear: ‘Doctor, let me die.’ I turn round; no one else heard him; his parents are standing there hunched forward, silently awaiting my verdict; his sister has brought in a chair for me on which to set down my bag. I open it, and survey my instruments; the lad is still gesturing in my direction from his bed, to remind me of his plea; I pick up a pair of pincers, check them in the candlelight, and set them down again. ‘Yes,’ I think blasphemously, ‘it’s in these sorts of cases that the gods send their help, they supply a horse, throw in another because time is short, even contribute a groom – ’ and now I remember Rosa; what shall I do, how can I rescue her, how can I pull her out from under that groom, ten miles away, and with ungovernable horses pulling my carriage? Those horses, apropos, that seem now to have loosened their traces; are nudging open the window from outside, don’t ask me how; pushing their heads through the opening, and, unimpressed by the screams of the family, are contemplating the patient. ‘I’ll go back right away,’ I think, as if the horses were summoning me to return, but I allow the sister, who must think I’ve got heatstroke, to help me off with my fur coat. A glass of rum is poured for me, the old man pats me on the back, the offering of his treasure entitling him to such a familiarity. I shake my head; I feel sick in the narrow confines of the old man’s thoughts; that is the only reason I turn down the drink. The mother stands by the bed waving me to her; I follow, and while one of the horses is whinnying loudly somewhere under the ceiling, I lay my head against the chest of the boy, who shivers from the touch of my wet beard. I am confirmed in what I thought already: the boy is perfectly healthy, his circulation a little sluggish, plied with coffee by his anxious mother, but basically healthy and needing nothing more than a good kick to get him out of bed. I am employed by the parish, and do my duty to the point where it is almost too much for one man. Though badly paid, I am generous and helpful to the poor. I should like to see Rosa provided for, and then the boy may have his way as far as I’m concerned, and I shall be ready to die as well. What am I doing in this endless winter! My horse has died, and there is no one in the village prepared to lend me his. I have to extricate my new team from a pig-sty; if there hadn’t happened to be horses in it, I should have had to make do with pigs, I suppose. That’s the way of it. And I nod to the family. They don’t know anything about it, and, if they did, they wouldn’t believe it. Filling prescriptions is easy, but getting on with people is much harder. Well, my visit here is about over, once again I’ve been called out for nothing, I’m used to that, the whole parish uses my night bell to torture me with, but the fact that this time I had to sacrifice Rosa as well, that lovely girl who has been living for years in my own house, most of the time stupidly overlooked by me – that loss is simply too great, and I must work hard to shrink it in my own head so as not to take it out on this family here, which with the best will in the world is not going to be able to restore Rosa to me. But when I close my bag and wave for my fur coat, the family is assembled, the father sniffing at the rum glass in his hand, the mother, presumably disappointed in me – but what do these people expect? – biting her lips and sobbing, and the sister waving around a blood-soaked handkerchief, I am somehow ready to admit under the circumstances that the boy may after all be ill. I go over to him, he smiles at me, as though I were bringing him some beef-tea – oh dear, and then both the horses start whinnying; I suppose the noise has been called for from above somewhere, to make the inspection of the patient easier – and now I find: the boy is sick. In his right flank, at around hip-height, he has a fresh wound as big as my hand. Pink, in many shades, a deep carmine at the centre, lightening towards the periphery, with a soft granular texture, the bleeding at irregular points, and the whole thing as gapingly obvious as a mine-shaft. From a distance, at any rate. Closer to, there’s a further complication. Who could take in such a thing without whistling softly? Worms, the length and thickness of my little finger, roseate and also coated with blood, are writhing against the inside of the wound, with little white heads, and many many little legs. Poor boy, it’s not going to be possible to help you. I have found your great wound; that flower in your side is going to finish you. The family are happy, they watch me going about my job; the sister tells the mother, the mother tells the father, the father tells some of the visitors who are tiptoeing in through the door in the bright moonlight, arms extended for balance. ‘Will you save me?’ the boy whimpers, dazzled by the life in his wound. That’s the way people are in this parish. Always demanding the impossible from their doctor. They have lost their old faith; the priest sits around at home, ripping up his altar garments one after another; but the doctor is expected to perform miracles with his delicate surgeon’s fingers. Well, whatever: I never put myself forward; if you use me for your sacred purposes, I’ll see what I can do; what better thing is there for me, old country doctor that I am, robbed of my maid! And here they come, the family and the village elders, and they start to undress me; a school choir with the teacher at the front stands outside the house and sings to an extremely plain melody the words:

_Undress him, and he will heal you,
If he doesn’ t heal you, kill him!
He’ s just a doctor, a doctor!_

​Then I am undressed, and, with head bent and fingers twining in my beard, I look calmly at all those present. I am perfectly braced and a match for them all and will remain so, even though it won’t help me, because now they take me by the head and the feet and carry me to the bed. Then everyone leaves the room; the door is closed; the singing dies down; clouds cover the face of the moon; I am lying in the warm bedclothes; the horses’ heads sway shadowily in the open windows. ‘You know,’ I hear a voice in my ear, ‘I have very little faith in you. You’ve just snowed in from somewhere yourself, it’s not as though you got here under your own steam. Instead of helping, you make free with my deathbed. I’d like to scratch your eyes out.’ ‘You’re right,’ I say, ‘it is a disgrace. But I happen to be the doctor. What am I supposed to do? Believe me, it’s not easy for me either.’ ‘Am I supposed to be happy with that as an apology? I suppose it’s all I’m going to get. I always have to take what I’m given. I came into the world with a lovely wound; that was my entire outfitting.’ ‘My young friend,’ I say, ‘your mistake is this: you lack perspective. I, who have been in sickrooms far and wide, tell you: your wound isn’t so bad as all that. A couple of glancing blows with an axe. There are many who offer their flanks, and barely hear the axe in the forest, never mind it deigning to come any nearer to them.’ ‘Is that really true, or are you taking advantage of my fever to deceive me?’ ‘It really is true, accept the word of honour of an official doctor.’ And he accepted it, and was quiet. But now it was time to think about my own salvation. The horses were still standing faithfully in their places. I quickly managed to grab my clothes, fur coat and bag; I didn’t want to waste time dressing; if the horses made as much haste as on the way here, then I would be jumping from that bed straight into my own. One horse obediently drew back from the window; I tossed the bundle of my things into the carriage; the fur coat flew too far, but luckily one of its sleeves caught on a hook. Just as well. I jumped on to the horse. The bridle trailing loosely, the horses barely made fast one to another, the carriage careering around behind, and the fur dragging across the snow at the end. ‘Now go like blazes!’ I said, but it was anything but; slowly as old men we trailed through the snowy waste; for a long time we heard the new, but mistaken song of the children’s choir:

_Rejoice, you patients,
The doctor has lain down with you in your bed!
_
​I’m never going to make it home at this rate; my flourishing practice is lost; my successor will rob me, but it won’t help him much, he’ll never be able to supplant me; the nasty groom is rampaging through my house; Rosa is his victim; I don’t want to contemplate it. Naked, exposed to the frost of this most miserable epoch, with an earthly carriage and unearthly horses, what am I but an old man adrift. My fur coat is hanging off the back of my carriage, but I am unable to reach it, and not one of my fleet-footed scoundrels of patients will lift a finger to help. I’ve been swindled! Swindled! Once follow the misleading ring of the night bell – and it will never be made good.

*Kafka's Wound: a digital essay by Will Self* (thespace.lrb.co.uk/about/)

*Will Self Reads ‘A Country Doctor’* at a series of locations in Prague and its environs


*A Country Doctor, by Franz Kafka*
Translation by Ian Johnston 


*Translating Kafka
*31 May 2012, Courtesy of London Review of Books*
*Leading translators and academics help Will Self with the complexities of Kafka’s German. 
The panel comprises Will Self, Dr Anthea Bell, Dr Joyce Crick, Dr Karen Seago and Dr Amanda Hopkinson.

*
Kafuka: Inaka isha*






_*Franz Kafka's A Country Doctor*_ (カフカ 田舎医者 _Kafuka: Inaka Isha_, German: _Franz Kafka – Ein Landarzt_) is a 2007 anime short film by Kōji Yamamura.

The film is a direct interpretation of Franz Kafka's short story "A Country Doctor," voiced by _kyōgen_ actors of the Shigeyama house. The film has won several awards, including the 2008 Ōfuji Noburō Award from the Mainichi Film Concours and the 2007 Grand Prize at the Ottawa International Animation Festival. It was also included in the Animation Show of Shows in 2008.


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## daeman (Jun 15, 2014)

...
Struck on Jazz - Doctor Abstract


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## daeman (Jun 15, 2014)

...
Doctor Foo - Parov Stelar


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## dominotheory (Jun 15, 2014)

Doctor's advice: "You better keep this thread alive"






Dr. Dre - I Need A Doctor (Explicit) ft. Eminem, Skylar Grey


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## daeman (Jun 15, 2014)

...
Bush Doctor (_Bush Doctor_) - Peter Tosh featuring Keith Richards






Warning! The Surgeon General warns: Cigarette smoking is dangerous, dangerous. Hazard to your health...


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## dominotheory (Jun 16, 2014)

Peter Tosh and the Wailers - Rasta Put it on (Doctor Bird, 1966 - credited to _Peter Touch and The Wailers_)







Tommy McCook & The Supersonics - What Now (Doctor Bird, 1967)







The Fugitives with Joe Joe (Jo Jo Bennett) - Cantelope Rock (Doctor Bird, 1967)







Baba Brooks - Faberge (Doctor Bird, 1967)


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## daeman (Jun 17, 2014)

dominotheory said:


> Doctor's advice: "You better keep this thread alive"
> ...


Doctor, Doctor - Mungo's Hi Fi featuring Lady Ann







Witch Doctor - Mighty Sparrow


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## daeman (Jun 17, 2014)

dominotheory said:


> Και τα _αποφατικά_:
> ...



No, Doctor, No (The Situation in Trinidad) - Mighty Sparrow







I Don't Need No Doctor - John Mayer & John Scofield


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## daeman (Jun 19, 2014)

...
Medici (_Caro Diario,_ Capitolo III) - Nanni Moretti






Alla salute!


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## daeman (Jun 20, 2014)

bernardina said:


> Τώρα, τώωρα... να σας πλακώσω εγώ στις εϊτίλες να μάθετε.  :devil:
> ...



Spirit in the Sky (1986) - Doctor & the Medics







Norman Greenbaum (1969) + Bauhaus (1983) + Nina Hagen (1985)


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## daeman (Jun 21, 2014)

...
"*The System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether*" by Edgar Allan Poe

DURING the autumn of 18--, while on a tour through the extreme southern provinces of France, my route led me within a few miles of a certain Maison de Sante or private mad-house, about which I had heard much in Paris from my medical friends. As I had never visited a place of the kind, I thought the opportunity too good to be lost; and so proposed to my travelling companion (a gentleman with whom I had made casual acquaintance a few days before) that we should turn aside, for an hour or so, and look through the establishment. To this he objected -- pleading haste in the first place, and, in the second, a very usual horror at the sight of a lunatic. He begged me, however, not to let any mere courtesy towards himself interfere with the gratification of my curiosity, and said that he would ride on leisurely, so that I might overtake him during the day, or, at all events, during the next. As he bade me good-bye, I bethought me that there might be some difficulty in obtaining access to the premises, and mentioned my fears on this point. He replied that, in fact, unless I had personal knowledge of the superintendent, Monsieur Maillard, or some credential in the way of a letter, a difficulty might be found to exist, as the regulations of these private mad-houses were more rigid than the public hospital laws. For himself, he added, he had, some years since, made the acquaintance of Maillard, and would so far assist me as to ride up to the door and introduce me; although his feelings on the subject of lunacy would not permit of his entering the house.


Spoiler



I thanked him, and, turning from the main road, we entered a grass-grown by-path, which, in half an hour, nearly lost itself in a dense forest, clothing the base of a mountain. Through this dank and gloomy wood we rode some two miles, when the Maison de Sante came in view. It was a fantastic chateau, much dilapidated, and indeed scarcely tenantable through age and neglect. Its aspect inspired me with absolute dread, and, checking my horse, I half resolved to turn back. I soon, however, grew ashamed of my weakness, and proceeded.

As we rode up to the gate-way, I perceived it slightly open, and the visage of a man peering through. In an instant afterward, this man came forth, accosted my companion by name, shook him cordially by the hand, and begged him to alight. It was Monsieur Maillard himself. He was a portly, fine-looking gentleman of the old school, with a polished manner, and a certain air of gravity, dignity, and authority which was very impressive.

My friend, having presented me, mentioned my desire to inspect the establishment, and received Monsieur Maillard's assurance that he would show me all attention, now took leave, and I saw him no more.

When he had gone, the superintendent ushered me into a small and exceedingly neat parlor, containing, among other indications of refined taste, many books, drawings, pots of flowers, and musical instruments. A cheerful fire blazed upon the hearth. At a piano, singing an aria from Bellini, sat a young and very beautiful woman, who, at my entrance, paused in her song, and received me with graceful courtesy. Her voice was low, and her whole manner subdued. I thought, too, that I perceived the traces of sorrow in her countenance, which was excessively, although to my taste, not unpleasingly, pale. She was attired in deep mourning, and excited in my bosom a feeling of mingled respect, interest, and admiration.

I had heard, at Paris, that the institution of Monsieur Maillard was managed upon what is vulgarly termed the "system of soothing" -- that all punishments were avoided -- that even confinement was seldom resorted to -- that the patients, while secretly watched, were left much apparent liberty, and that most of them were permitted to roam about the house and grounds in the ordinary apparel of persons in right mind.

Keeping these impressions in view, I was cautious in what I said before the young lady; for I could not be sure that she was sane; and, in fact, there was a certain restless brilliancy about her eyes which half led me to imagine she was not. I confined my remarks, therefore, to general topics, and to such as I thought would not be displeasing or exciting even to a lunatic. She replied in a perfectly rational manner to all that I said; and even her original observations were marked with the soundest good sense, but a long acquaintance with the metaphysics of mania, had taught me to put no faith in such evidence of sanity, and I continued to practise, throughout the interview, the caution with which I commenced it.

Presently a smart footman in livery brought in a tray with fruit, wine, and other refreshments, of which I partook, the lady soon afterward leaving the room. As she departed I turned my eyes in an inquiring manner toward my host.

"No," he said, "oh, no -- a member of my family -- my niece, and a most accomplished woman."

"I beg a thousand pardons for the suspicion," I replied, "but of course you will know how to excuse me. The excellent administration of your affairs here is well understood in Paris, and I thought it just possible, you know-

"Yes, yes -- say no more -- or rather it is myself who should thank you for the commendable prudence you have displayed. We seldom find so much of forethought in young men; and, more than once, some unhappy contre-temps has occurred in consequence of thoughtlessness on the part of our visitors. While my former system was in operation, and my patients were permitted the privilege of roaming to and fro at will, they were often aroused to a dangerous frenzy by injudicious persons who called to inspect the house. Hence I was obliged to enforce a rigid system of exclusion; and none obtained access to the premises upon whose discretion I could not rely."

"While your former system was in operation!" I said, repeating his words -- "do I understand you, then, to say that the 'soothing system' of which I have heard so much is no longer in force?"

"It is now," he replied, "several weeks since we have concluded to renounce it forever."

"Indeed! you astonish me!"

"We found it, sir," he said, with a sigh, "absolutely necessary to return to the old usages. The danger of the soothing system was, at all times, appalling; and its advantages have been much overrated. I believe, sir, that in this house it has been given a fair trial, if ever in any. We did every thing that rational humanity could suggest. I am sorry that you could not have paid us a visit at an earlier period, that you might have judged for yourself. But I presume you are conversant with the soothing practice -- with its details."

"Not altogether. What I have heard has been at third or fourth hand."

"I may state the system, then, in general terms, as one in which the patients were menages-humored. We contradicted no fancies which entered the brains of the mad. On the contrary, we not only indulged but encouraged them; and many of our most permanent cures have been thus effected. There is no argument which so touches the feeble reason of the madman as the argumentum ad absurdum. We have had men, for example, who fancied themselves chickens. The cure was, to insist upon the thing as a fact -- to accuse the patient of stupidity in not sufficiently perceiving it to be a fact -- and thus to refuse him any other diet for a week than that which properly appertains to a chicken. In this manner a little corn and gravel were made to perform wonders."

"But was this species of acquiescence all?"

"By no means. We put much faith in amusements of a simple kind, such as music, dancing, gymnastic exercises generally, cards, certain classes of books, and so forth. We affected to treat each individual as if for some ordinary physical disorder, and the word 'lunacy' was never employed. A great point was to set each lunatic to guard the actions of all the others. To repose confidence in the understanding or discretion of a madman, is to gain him body and soul. In this way we were enabled to dispense with an expensive body of keepers."

"And you had no punishments of any kind?"

"None."

"And you never confined your patients?"

"Very rarely. Now and then, the malady of some individual growing to a crisis, or taking a sudden turn of fury, we conveyed him to a secret cell, lest his disorder should infect the rest, and there kept him until we could dismiss him to his friends -- for with the raging maniac we have nothing to do. He is usually removed to the public hospitals."

"And you have now changed all this -- and you think for the better?"

"Decidedly. The system had its disadvantages, and even its dangers. It is now, happily, exploded throughout all the Maisons de Sante of France."

"I am very much surprised," I said, "at what you tell me; for I made sure that, at this moment, no other method of treatment for mania existed in any portion of the country."

"You are young yet, my friend," replied my host, "but the time will arrive when you will learn to judge for yourself of what is going on in the world, without trusting to the gossip of others. Believe nothing you hear, and only one-half that you see. Now about our Maisons de Sante, it is clear that some ignoramus has misled you. After dinner, however, when you have sufficiently recovered from the fatigue of your ride, I will be happy to take you over the house, and introduce to you a system which, in my opinion, and in that of every one who has witnessed its operation, is incomparably the most effectual as yet devised."

"Your own?" I inquired -- "one of your own invention?"

"I am proud," he replied, "to acknowledge that it is -- at least in some measure."

In this manner I conversed with Monsieur Maillard for an hour or two, during which he showed me the gardens and conservatories of the place.

"I cannot let you see my patients," he said, "just at present. To a sensitive mind there is always more or less of the shocking in such exhibitions; and I do not wish to spoil your appetite for dinner. We will dine. I can give you some veal a la Menehoult, with cauliflowers in veloute sauce -- after that a glass of Clos de Vougeot -- then your nerves will be sufficiently steadied."

At six, dinner was announced; and my host conducted me into a large salle a manger, where a very numerous company were assembled -- twenty-five or thirty in all. They were, apparently, people of rank-certainly of high breeding -- although their habiliments, I thought, were extravagantly rich, partaking somewhat too much of the ostentatious finery of the vielle cour. I noticed that at least two-thirds of these guests were ladies; and some of the latter were by no means accoutred in what a Parisian would consider good taste at the present day. Many females, for example, whose age could not have been less than seventy were bedecked with a profusion of jewelry, such as rings, bracelets, and earrings, and wore their bosoms and arms shamefully bare. I observed, too, that very few of the dresses were well made -- or, at least, that very few of them fitted the wearers. In looking about, I discovered the interesting girl to whom Monsieur Maillard had presented me in the little parlor; but my surprise was great to see her wearing a hoop and farthingale, with high-heeled shoes, and a dirty cap of Brussels lace, so much too large for her that it gave her face a ridiculously diminutive expression. When I had first seen her, she was attired, most becomingly, in deep mourning. There was an air of oddity, in short, about the dress of the whole party, which, at first, caused me to recur to my original idea of the "soothing system," and to fancy that Monsieur Maillard had been willing to deceive me until after dinner, that I might experience no uncomfortable feelings during the repast, at finding myself dining with lunatics; but I remembered having been informed, in Paris, that the southern provincialists were a peculiarly eccentric people, with a vast number of antiquated notions; and then, too, upon conversing with several members of the company, my apprehensions were immediately and fully dispelled.

The dining-room itself, although perhaps sufficiently comfortable and of good dimensions, had nothing too much of elegance about it. For example, the floor was uncarpeted; in France, however, a carpet is frequently dispensed with. The windows, too, were without curtains; the shutters, being shut, were securely fastened with iron bars, applied diagonally, after the fashion of our ordinary shop-shutters. The apartment, I observed, formed, in itself, a wing of the chateau, and thus the windows were on three sides of the parallelogram, the door being at the other. There were no less than ten windows in all.

The table was superbly set out. It was loaded with plate, and more than loaded with delicacies. The profusion was absolutely barbaric. There were meats enough to have feasted the Anakim. Never, in all my life, had I witnessed so lavish, so wasteful an expenditure of the good things of life. There seemed very little taste, however, in the arrangements; and my eyes, accustomed to quiet lights, were sadly offended by the prodigious glare of a multitude of wax candles, which, in silver candelabra, were deposited upon the table, and all about the room, wherever it was possible to find a place. There were several active servants in attendance; and, upon a large table, at the farther end of the apartment, were seated seven or eight people with fiddles, fifes, trombones, and a drum. These fellows annoyed me very much, at intervals, during the repast, by an infinite variety of noises, which were intended for music, and which appeared to afford much entertainment to all present, with the exception of myself.

Upon the whole, I could not help thinking that there was much of the bizarre about every thing I saw -- but then the world is made up of all kinds of persons, with all modes of thought, and all sorts of conventional customs. I had travelled, too, so much, as to be quite an adept at the nil admirari; so I took my seat very coolly at the right hand of my host, and, having an excellent appetite, did justice to the good cheer set before me.

The conversation, in the meantime, was spirited and general. The ladies, as usual, talked a great deal. I soon found that nearly all the company were well educated; and my host was a world of good-humored anecdote in himself. He seemed quite willing to speak of his position as superintendent of a Maison de Sante; and, indeed, the topic of lunacy was, much to my surprise, a favorite one with all present. A great many amusing stories were told, having reference to the whims of the patients.

"We had a fellow here once," said a fat little gentleman, who sat at my right, -- "a fellow that fancied himself a tea-pot; and by the way, is it not especially singular how often this particular crotchet has entered the brain of the lunatic? There is scarcely an insane asylum in France which cannot supply a human tea-pot. Our gentleman was a Britannia -- ware tea-pot, and was careful to polish himself every morning with buckskin and whiting."

"And then," said a tall man just opposite, "we had here, not long ago, a person who had taken it into his head that he was a donkey -- which allegorically speaking, you will say, was quite true. He was a troublesome patient; and we had much ado to keep him within bounds. For a long time he would eat nothing but thistles; but of this idea we soon cured him by insisting upon his eating nothing else. Then he was perpetually kicking out his heels-so-so-"

"Mr. De Kock! I will thank you to behave yourself!" here interrupted an old lady, who sat next to the speaker. "Please keep your feet to yourself! You have spoiled my brocade! Is it necessary, pray, to illustrate a remark in so practical a style? Our friend here can surely comprehend you without all this. Upon my word, you are nearly as great a donkey as the poor unfortunate imagined himself. Your acting is very natural, as I live."

"Mille pardons! Ma'm'selle!" replied Monsieur De Kock, thus addressed -- "a thousand pardons! I had no intention of offending. Ma'm'selle Laplace -- Monsieur De Kock will do himself the honor of taking wine with you."

Here Monsieur De Kock bowed low, kissed his hand with much ceremony, and took wine with Ma'm'selle Laplace.

"Allow me, mon ami," now said Monsieur Maillard, addressing myself, "allow me to send you a morsel of this veal a la St. Menhoult -- you will find it particularly fine."

At this instant three sturdy waiters had just succeeded in depositing safely upon the table an enormous dish, or trencher, containing what I supposed to be the "monstrum horrendum, informe, ingens, cui lumen ademptum." A closer scrutiny assured me, however, that it was only a small calf roasted whole, and set upon its knees, with an apple in its mouth, as is the English fashion of dressing a hare.

"Thank you, no," I replied; "to say the truth, I am not particularly partial to veal a la St. -- what is it? -- for I do not find that it altogether agrees with me. I will change my plate, however, and try some of the rabbit."

There were several side-dishes on the table, containing what appeared to be the ordinary French rabbit -- a very delicious morceau, which I can recommend.

"Pierre," cried the host, "change this gentleman's plate, and give him a side-piece of this rabbit au-chat."

"This what?" said I.

"This rabbit au-chat."

"Why, thank you -- upon second thoughts, no. I will just help myself to some of the ham."

There is no knowing what one eats, thought I to myself, at the tables of these people of the province. I will have none of their rabbit au-chat -- and, for the matter of that, none of their cat-au-rabbit either.

"And then," said a cadaverous looking personage, near the foot of the table, taking up the thread of the conversation where it had been broken off, -- "and then, among other oddities, we had a patient, once upon a time, who very pertinaciously maintained himself to be a Cordova cheese, and went about, with a knife in his hand, soliciting his friends to try a small slice from the middle of his leg."

"He was a great fool, beyond doubt," interposed some one, "but not to be compared with a certain individual whom we all know, with the exception of this strange gentleman. I mean the man who took himself for a bottle of champagne, and always went off with a pop and a fizz, in this fashion."

Here the speaker, very rudely, as I thought, put his right thumb in his left cheek, withdrew it with a sound resembling the popping of a cork, and then, by a dexterous movement of the tongue upon the teeth, created a sharp hissing and fizzing, which lasted for several minutes, in imitation of the frothing of champagne. This behavior, I saw plainly, was not very pleasing to Monsieur Maillard; but that gentleman said nothing, and the conversation was resumed by a very lean little man in a big wig.

"And then there was an ignoramus," said he, "who mistook himself for a frog, which, by the way, he resembled in no little degree. I wish you could have seen him, sir," -- here the speaker addressed myself -- "it would have done your heart good to see the natural airs that he put on. Sir, if that man was not a frog, I can only observe that it is a pity he was not. His croak thus -- o-o-o-o-gh -- o-o-o-o-gh! was the finest note in the world -- B flat; and when he put his elbows upon the table thus -- after taking a glass or two of wine -- and distended his mouth, thus, and rolled up his eyes, thus, and winked them with excessive rapidity, thus, why then, sir, I take it upon myself to say, positively, that you would have been lost in admiration of the genius of the man."

"I have no doubt of it," I said.

"And then," said somebody else, "then there was Petit Gaillard, who thought himself a pinch of snuff, and was truly distressed because he could not take himself between his own finger and thumb."

"And then there was Jules Desoulieres, who was a very singular genius, indeed, and went mad with the idea that he was a pumpkin. He persecuted the cook to make him up into pies -- a thing which the cook indignantly refused to do. For my part, I am by no means sure that a pumpkin pie a la Desoulieres would not have been very capital eating indeed!"

"You astonish me!" said I; and I looked inquisitively at Monsieur Maillard.

"Ha! ha! ha!" said that gentleman -- "he! he! he! -- hi! hi! hi! -- ho! ho! ho! -- hu! hu! hu! hu! -- very good indeed! You must not be astonished, mon ami; our friend here is a wit -- a drole -- you must not understand him to the letter."

"And then," said some other one of the party, -- "then there was Bouffon Le Grand -- another extraordinary personage in his way. He grew deranged through love, and fancied himself possessed of two heads. One of these he maintained to be the head of Cicero; the other he imagined a composite one, being Demosthenes' from the top of the forehead to the mouth, and Lord Brougham's from the mouth to the chin. It is not impossible that he was wrong; but he would have convinced you of his being in the right; for he was a man of great eloquence. He had an absolute passion for oratory, and could not refrain from display. For example, he used to leap upon the dinner-table thus, and -- and-"

Here a friend, at the side of the speaker, put a hand upon his shoulder and whispered a few words in his ear, upon which he ceased talking with great suddenness, and sank back within his chair.

"And then," said the friend who had whispered, "there was Boullard, the tee-totum. I call him the tee-totum because, in fact, he was seized with the droll but not altogether irrational crotchet, that he had been converted into a tee-totum. You would have roared with laughter to see him spin. He would turn round upon one heel by the hour, in this manner -- so-

Here the friend whom he had just interrupted by a whisper, performed an exactly similar office for himself.

"But then," cried the old lady, at the top of her voice, "your Monsieur Boullard was a madman, and a very silly madman at best; for who, allow me to ask you, ever heard of a human tee-totum? The thing is absurd. Madame Joyeuse was a more sensible person, as you know. She had a crotchet, but it was instinct with common sense, and gave pleasure to all who had the honor of her acquaintance. She found, upon mature deliberation, that, by some accident, she had been turned into a chicken-cock; but, as such, she behaved with propriety. She flapped her wings with prodigious effect -- so -- so -- and, as for her crow, it was delicious! Cock-a-doodle-doo! -- cock-a-doodle-doo! -- cock-a-doodle-de-doo-dooo-do-o-o-o-o-o-o!"

"Madame Joyeuse, I will thank you to behave yourself!" here interrupted our host, very angrily. "You can either conduct yourself as a lady should do, or you can quit the table forthwith-take your choice."

The lady (whom I was much astonished to hear addressed as Madame Joyeuse, after the description of Madame Joyeuse she had just given) blushed up to the eyebrows, and seemed exceedingly abashed at the reproof. She hung down her head, and said not a syllable in reply. But another and younger lady resumed the theme. It was my beautiful girl of the little parlor.

"Oh, Madame Joyeuse was a fool!" she exclaimed, "but there was really much sound sense, after all, in the opinion of Eugenie Salsafette. She was a very beautiful and painfully modest young lady, who thought the ordinary mode of habiliment indecent, and wished to dress herself, always, by getting outside instead of inside of her clothes. It is a thing very easily done, after all. You have only to do so -- and then so -- so -- so -- and then so -- so -- so -- and then so -- so -- and then-

"Mon dieu! Ma'm'selle Salsafette!" here cried a dozen voices at once. "What are you about? -- forbear! -- that is sufficient! -- we see, very plainly, how it is done! -- hold! hold!" and several persons were already leaping from their seats to withhold Ma'm'selle Salsafette from putting herself upon a par with the Medicean Venus, when the point was very effectually and suddenly accomplished by a series of loud screams, or yells, from some portion of the main body of the chateau.

My nerves were very much affected, indeed, by these yells; but the rest of the company I really pitied. I never saw any set of reasonable people so thoroughly frightened in my life. They all grew as pale as so many corpses, and, shrinking within their seats, sat quivering and gibbering with terror, and listening for a repetition of the sound. It came again -- louder and seemingly nearer -- and then a third time very loud, and then a fourth time with a vigor evidently diminished. At this apparent dying away of the noise, the spirits of the company were immediately regained, and all was life and anecdote as before. I now ventured to inquire the cause of the disturbance.

"A mere bagtelle," said Monsieur Maillard. "We are used to these things, and care really very little about them. The lunatics, every now and then, get up a howl in concert; one starting another, as is sometimes the case with a bevy of dogs at night. It occasionally happens, however, that the concerto yells are succeeded by a simultaneous effort at breaking loose, when, of course, some little danger is to be apprehended."

"And how many have you in charge?"

"At present we have not more than ten, altogether."

"Principally females, I presume?"

"Oh, no -- every one of them men, and stout fellows, too, I can tell you."

"Indeed! I have always understood that the majority of lunatics were of the gentler sex."

"It is generally so, but not always. Some time ago, there were about twenty-seven patients here; and, of that number, no less than eighteen were women; but, lately, matters have changed very much, as you see."

"Yes -- have changed very much, as you see," here interrupted the gentleman who had broken the shins of Ma'm'selle Laplace.

"Yes -- have changed very much, as you see!" chimed in the whole company at once.

"Hold your tongues, every one of you!" said my host, in a great rage. Whereupon the whole company maintained a dead silence for nearly a minute. As for one lady, she obeyed Monsieur Maillard to the letter, and thrusting out her tongue, which was an excessively long one, held it very resignedly, with both hands, until the end of the entertainment.

"And this gentlewoman," said I, to Monsieur Maillard, bending over and addressing him in a whisper -- "this good lady who has just spoken, and who gives us the cock-a-doodle-de-doo -- she, I presume, is harmless -- quite harmless, eh?"

"Harmless!" ejaculated he, in unfeigned surprise, "why -- why, what can you mean?"

"Only slightly touched?" said I, touching my head. "I take it for granted that she is not particularly not dangerously affected, eh?"

"Mon dieu! what is it you imagine? This lady, my particular old friend Madame Joyeuse, is as absolutely sane as myself. She has her little eccentricities, to be sure -- but then, you know, all old women -- all very old women -- are more or less eccentric!"

"To be sure," said I, -- "to be sure -- and then the rest of these ladies and gentlemen-"

"Are my friends and keepers," interupted Monsieur Maillard, drawing himself up withhauteur, -- "my very good friends and assistants."

"What! all of them?" I asked, -- "the women and all?"

"Assuredly," he said, -- "we could not do at all without the women; they are the best lunatic nurses in the world; they have a way of their own, you know; their bright eyes have a marvellous effect; -- something like the fascination of the snake, you know."

"To be sure," said I, -- "to be sure! They behave a little odd, eh? -- they are a little queer, eh? -- don't you think so?"

"Odd! -- queer! -- why, do you really think so? We are not very prudish, to be sure, here in the South -- do pretty much as we please -- enjoy life, and all that sort of thing, you know-"

"To be sure," said I, -- "to be sure."

And then, perhaps, this Clos de Vougeot is a little heady, you know -- a little strong -- you understand, eh?"

"To be sure," said I, -- "to be sure. By the bye, Monsieur, did I understand you to say that the system you have adopted, in place of the celebrated soothing system, was one of very rigorous severity?"

"By no means. Our confinement is necessarily close; but the treatment -- the medical treatment, I mean -- is rather agreeable to the patients than otherwise."

"And the new system is one of your own invention?"

"Not altogether. Some portions of it are referable to Professor Tarr, of whom you have, necessarily, heard; and, again, there are modifications in my plan which I am happy to acknowledge as belonging of right to the celebrated Fether, with whom, if I mistake not, you have the honor of an intimate acquaintance."

"I am quite ashamed to confess," I replied, "that I have never even heard the names of either gentleman before."

"Good heavens!" ejaculated my host, drawing back his chair abruptly, and uplifting his hands. "I surely do not hear you aright! You did not intend to say, eh? that you had never heard either of the learned Doctor Tarr, or of the celebrated Professor Fether?"

"I am forced to acknowledge my ignorance," I replied; "but the truth should be held inviolate above all things. Nevertheless, I feel humbled to the dust, not to be acquainted with the works of these, no doubt, extraordinary men. I will seek out their writings forthwith, and peruse them with deliberate care. Monsieur Maillard, you have really -- I must confess it -- you have really -- made me ashamed of myself!"

And this was the fact.

"Say no more, my good young friend," he said kindly, pressing my hand, -- "join me now in a glass of Sauterne."

We drank. The company followed our example without stint. They chatted -- they jested -- they laughed -- they perpetrated a thousand absurdities -- the fiddles shrieked -- the drum row-de-dowed -- the trombones bellowed like so many brazen bulls of Phalaris -- and the whole scene, growing gradually worse and worse, as the wines gained the ascendancy, became at length a sort of pandemonium in petto. In the meantime, Monsieur Maillard and myself, with some bottles of Sauterne and Vougeot between us, continued our conversation at the top of the voice. A word spoken in an ordinary key stood no more chance of being heard than the voice of a fish from the bottom of Niagra Falls.

"And, sir," said I, screaming in his ear, "you mentioned something before dinner about the danger incurred in the old system of soothing. How is that?"

"Yes," he replied, "there was, occasionally, very great danger indeed. There is no accounting for the caprices of madmen; and, in my opinion as well as in that of Dr. Tarr and Professor Fether, it is never safe to permit them to run at large unattended. A lunatic may be 'soothed,' as it is called, for a time, but, in the end, he is very apt to become obstreperous. His cunning, too, is proverbial and great. If he has a project in view, he conceals his design with a marvellous wisdom; and the dexterity with which he counterfeits sanity, presents, to the metaphysician, one of the most singular problems in the study of mind. When a madman appears thoroughly sane, indeed, it is high time to put him in a straitjacket."

"But the danger, my dear sir, of which you were speaking, in your own experience -- during your control of this house -- have you had practical reason to think liberty hazardous in the case of a lunatic?"

"Here? -- in my own experience? -- why, I may say, yes. For example: -- no very long while ago, a singular circumstance occurred in this very house. The 'soothing system,' you know, was then in operation, and the patients were at large. They behaved remarkably well-especially so, any one of sense might have known that some devilish scheme was brewing from that particular fact, that the fellows behaved so remarkably well. And, sure enough, one fine morning the keepers found themselves pinioned hand and foot, and thrown into the cells, where they were attended, as if they were the lunatics, by the lunatics themselves, who had usurped the offices of the keepers."

"You don't tell me so! I never heard of any thing so absurd in my life!"

"Fact -- it all came to pass by means of a stupid fellow -- a lunatic -- who, by some means, had taken it into his head that he had invented a better system of government than any ever heard of before -- of lunatic government, I mean. He wished to give his invention a trial, I suppose, and so he persuaded the rest of the patients to join him in a conspiracy for the overthrow of the reigning powers."

"And he really succeeded?"

"No doubt of it. The keepers and kept were soon made to exchange places. Not that exactly either -- for the madmen had been free, but the keepers were shut up in cells forthwith, and treated, I am sorry to say, in a very cavalier manner."

"But I presume a counter-revolution was soon effected. This condition of things could not have long existed. The country people in the neighborhood-visitors coming to see the establishment -- would have given the alarm."

"There you are out. The head rebel was too cunning for that. He admitted no visitors at all -- with the exception, one day, of a very stupid-looking young gentleman of whom he had no reason to be afraid. He let him in to see the place -- just by way of variety, -- to have a little fun with him. As soon as he had gammoned him sufficiently, he let him out, and sent him about his business."

"And how long, then, did the madmen reign?"

"Oh, a very long time, indeed -- a month certainly -- how much longer I can't precisely say. In the meantime, the lunatics had a jolly season of it -- that you may swear. They doffed their own shabby clothes, and made free with the family wardrobe and jewels. The cellars of the chateau were well stocked with wine; and these madmen are just the devils that know how to drink it. They lived well, I can tell you."

"And the treatment -- what was the particular species of treatment which the leader of the rebels put into operation?"

"Why, as for that, a madman is not necessarily a fool, as I have already observed; and it is my honest opinion that his treatment was a much better treatment than that which it superseded. It was a very capital system indeed -- simple -- neat -- no trouble at all -- in fact it was delicious it was

Here my host's observations were cut short by another series of yells, of the same character as those which had previously disconcerted us. This time, however, they seemed to proceed from persons rapidly approaching.

"Gracious heavens!" I ejaculated -- "the lunatics have most undoubtedly broken loose."

"I very much fear it is so," replied Monsieur Maillard, now becoming excessively pale. He had scarcely finished the sentence, before loud shouts and imprecations were heard beneath the windows; and, immediately afterward, it became evident that some persons outside were endeavoring to gain entrance into the room. The door was beaten with what appeared to be a sledge-hammer, and the shutters were wrenched and shaken with prodigious violence.

A scene of the most terrible confusion ensued. Monsieur Maillard, to my excessive astonishment threw himself under the side-board. I had expected more resolution at his hands. The members of the orchestra, who, for the last fifteen minutes, had been seemingly too much intoxicated to do duty, now sprang all at once to their feet and to their instruments, and, scrambling upon their table, broke out, with one accord, into, "Yankee Doodle," which they performed, if not exactly in tune, at least with an energy superhuman, during the whole of the uproar.

Meantime, upon the main dining-table, among the bottles and glasses, leaped the gentleman who, with such difficulty, had been restrained from leaping there before. As soon as he fairly settled himself, he commenced an oration, which, no doubt, was a very capital one, if it could only have been heard. At the same moment, the man with the teetotum predilection, set himself to spinning around the apartment, with immense energy, and with arms outstretched at right angles with his body; so that he had all the air of a tee-totum in fact, and knocked everybody down that happened to get in his way. And now, too, hearing an incredible popping and fizzing of champagne, I discovered at length, that it proceeded from the person who performed the bottle of that delicate drink during dinner. And then, again, the frog-man croaked away as if the salvation of his soul depended upon every note that he uttered. And, in the midst of all this, the continuous braying of a donkey arose over all. As for my old friend, Madame Joyeuse, I really could have wept for the poor lady, she appeared so terribly perplexed. All she did, however, was to stand up in a corner, by the fireplace, and sing out incessantly at the top of her voice, "Cock-a-doodle-de-dooooooh!"

And now came the climax -- the catastrophe of the drama. As no resistance, beyond whooping and yelling and cock-a-doodling, was offered to the encroachments of the party without, the ten windows were very speedily, and almost simultaneously, broken in. But I shall never forget the emotions of wonder and horror with which I gazed, when, leaping through these windows, and down among us pele-mele, fighting, stamping, scratching, and howling, there rushed a perfect army of what I took to be Chimpanzees, Ourang-Outangs, or big black baboons of the Cape of Good Hope.

I received a terrible beating -- after which I rolled under a sofa and lay still. After lying there some fifteen minutes, during which time I listened with all my ears to what was going on in the room, I came to same satisfactory denouement of this tragedy. Monsieur Maillard, it appeared, in giving me the account of the lunatic who had excited his fellows to rebellion, had been merely relating his own exploits. This gentleman had, indeed, some two or three years before, been the superintendent of the establishment, but grew crazy himself, and so became a patient. This fact was unknown to the travelling companion who introduced me. The keepers, ten in number, having been suddenly overpowered, were first well tarred, then -- carefully feathered, and then shut up in underground cells. They had been so imprisoned for more than a month, during which period Monsieur Maillard had generously allowed them not only the tar and feathers (which constituted his "system"), but some bread and abundance of water. The latter was pumped on them daily. At length, one escaping through a sewer, gave freedom to all the rest.

The "soothing system," with important modifications, has been resumed at the chateau; yet I cannot help agreeing with Monsieur Maillard, that his own "treatment" was a very capital one of its kind. As he justly observed, it was "simple -- neat -- and gave no trouble at all -- not the least."

I have only to add that, although I have searched every library in Europe for the works of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether, I have, up to the present day, utterly failed in my endeavors at procuring an edition.


poestories.com/read/systemoftarr
(The System of) Dr. Tarr and Professor Fether (_Tales of Mystery and Imagination_) - The Alan Parsons Project


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## daeman (Jun 22, 2014)

...
Καινούργια ζάλη (Ο χρόνος ο χειρότερος γιατρός) - Τρύπες








Spoiler



Ο χρόνος είναι ο χειρότερος γιατρός
Σε καίει, σε σκορπάει και σε παγώνει
Μα εσύ σε λίγο δε θα βρίσκεσαι εδώ
Κάποιοι άλλοι θα παλεύουν με τη σκόνη

Θέλεις ξανά ν’ αποτελειώσεις μοναχός
Ένα ταξίδι που ποτέ δεν τελειώνει
Κάτω απ’ τα ρούχα σου ξυπνάει ο πιο παλιός θεός
Μες τις βαλίτσες σου στριμώχνονται όλοι οι δρόμοι

Ποιοι χάρτες σού ζεστάνανε ξανά το μυαλό
Ποιες θάλασσες στεγνώνουν στο μικρό σου κεφάλι
Ποιος άνεμος σε παίρνει πιο μακριά από δω
Πες μου ποιο φόβο αγάπησες πάλι

Σε ποιο όνειρο σε ξύπνησαν βρεμένο, λειψό
Ποιοι δαίμονες ποτίζουν την καινούργια σου ζάλη
Ποιος έρωτας σε σπρώχνει πιο μακριά από δω
Πες μου ποιο φόβο αγάπησες πάλι

Το όνειρο που σ’ έφερε μια μέρα ως εδώ
Σήμερα καίγεται, σκουριάζει και σε διώχνει
Μια σε κρατάει στη γη, μια σε ξερνάει στον ουρανό
Το ίδιο όνειρο σε τρώει και σε γλιτώνει

Θέλεις ξανά ν’ αποτελειώσεις μοναχός
Ένα ταξίδι που ποτέ δεν τελειώνει
Κάτω απ’ τα ρούχα σου ξυπνάει ο πιο παλιός θεός
Μες τις βαλίτσες σου στριμώχνονται όλοι οι δρόμοι

Ποια νήματα σ’ ενώνουν με μια άλλη θηλιά
Ποια κύματα σε διώχνουν απ’ αυτό το λιμάνι
Ποια μοίρα σε φωνάζει από την άλλη μεριά
Πες μου ποιο φόβο αγάπησες πάλι

Ποια σύννεφα σκεπάσαν τη στεγνή σου καρδιά
Ποια αστέρια τραγουδάνε τη καινούργια σου ζάλη
Ποιο ψέμα σε κρατάει στην αλήθεια κοντά
Πες μου ποιο φόβο αγάπησες πάλι

Ποιες λέξεις μέσα σου σαπίζουν και δε θέλουν να βγουν
Ποια ελπίδα σ’ οδηγεί στην πιο γλυκιά αυταπάτη
Ποια θλίψη σε κλωτσάει πιο μακριά από παντού
Πες μου ποιος φόβος σε νίκησε πάλι


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## daeman (Jun 23, 2014)

...
Ο γιατρός της πείνας 







Ο γιατρός της πείνας, Νο 2






Γιατρικό είναι, παιδιά, γιατρικό, βάλσαμο!
Τέτοιο έφαγε η Μαντόνα κι έκανε κορμί κολόνα.


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## daeman (Jun 23, 2014)

...
—Ποιος;
—Ο Μιμίκος ο γιατρός.


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## daeman (Jun 24, 2014)

...
Η κυρά μας η μαμή (1958) του Αλέκου Σακελλάριου






Σε αυτήν την ασπρόμαυρη κωμωδία, ένας συνταξιούχος γιατρός αποφασίζει να εγκατασταθεί οικογενειακά στο χωριό της γυναίκας του και ανοίγει ιατρείο. Έρχεται όμως σιγά σιγά σε σύγκρουση με την μαμή του χωριού και τις ‘’ανορθόδοξες’’ ιατρικές πρακτικές της, δηλαδή ξεματιάσματα και φυλακτά. Ο γιος της μαμής, σπουδαστής ιατρικής στην Αθήνα, έρχεται για διακοπές στο χωριό, ερωτεύεται την κόρη του γιατρού που προσπαθεί να μειώσει την επιρροή της στους χωριάτες.


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## dominotheory (Jun 25, 2014)

dominotheory said:


> Και ο _γύψος_ πότε θα βγει, γιατρέ μου;



Have no fear, Dr. Rock is here!!! :cool1: :up: 






Ween - Doctor Rock - Live in Chicago


_edit: περάσαμε και στους 16 - Τυχαίο; Δε νομίζω..._


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## daeman (Jun 25, 2014)

dominotheory said:


> ...
> _edit: περάσαμε και στους 16 - Τυχαίο; Δε νομίζω..._



_*MASH*_: the motion picture that raises some important moral questions. And then, it drops them. 
Στο 0':53", έχει σημασία.






Major Margaret "Hotlips" O'Houlihan: This isn't a hospital a thread! It's an insane asylum!


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## dominotheory (Jun 26, 2014)

daeman said:


> This isn't a hospital a thread! It's an insane asylum!



Have no fear, Dr. Rock John is here!!! 






Dr John - Such A Night (with Jools Holland and his Rhythm & Blues Orchestra and Eric Clapton)







Johnny Winter & Dr. John - In Session 1984


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## daeman (Jun 26, 2014)

...
Doctor Doctor Blues - Memphis Minnie






Doctor stopped me from drinking, boys, I can't smoke no more 
Doctor stopped me from drinking, boys, I can't smoke no more 
And I can't see no peace, seem like nowhere I go 

αδικοπραξία :-\


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## daeman (Jun 26, 2014)

...
Doctor Worm - They Might Be Giants


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## daeman (Jun 27, 2014)

...
Not the doctor - Alanis Morissette






I don't want to be a bandage if the wound is not mine
Lend me some fresh air
I don't want to be your babysitter
You're a very big boy now
I don't want to be your mother
I didn't carry you in my womb for nine months
Show me the back door
I don't want to be the sweeper of the egg shells that you walk upon
You see it's too much to ask for and I am not the doctor


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## daeman (Jul 1, 2014)

...
The Gunner Song (a Thrift Shop parody) - Harvard Medical School





This video was created for Harvard Medical School and Harvard School of Dental Medicine Revisit 2013 by HMS/HSDM class of 2016. For the lyrics, turn on closed captioning (cc).

[Kid]
Hey, Gunner Kid, how do you do it?



Spoiler



[Hook]
I never skip a class, got my Netter's cards in my pocket
I-I-I'm gunning, Don't you think I'm stunning?
Yes you know I'm awesome

[Gunner 1]
Walk into the class like "What up, I'ma be a sweet doc"
So ahead on reading man I'm done with the next block
Harvard on my chest, it's so damn stunnin'
That people like, "Damn! That's some Ivy League gunnin'"

Rollin' in, on the dot, headin' to the frontest row 
Stayed in Friday night, date with Linda....Costanzo
Gotta be the best, no one sittin' next to me
They probably shoulda studied more renal physiology
(Pissssssssssssssssss)
But hey -- I got 99%!

[Gunner 2]
Schmoozin' it, rockin' it, 'bout to go and get some compliments
Raise my hand in class to show everyone I know my sh--
But my thoughts are so complex I'm talkin' and chalkin' and
flow-chartin' just like a boss for their benefit,
I'ma be an orthopod, I'ma be an orthopod
No for real - ask your mama - hands like a demigod.

Fall first year and studying for boards
Tutoring the second years like I'm an overlord
Have a bunch of interest clubs, joined a bunch of interest clubs
President of three, and I think I'll start a Gunner Club

[Gunner 3]
Hello, hello, my ace man, Professo
Always seeking my advice, I'm consultin' while I shadow
Doesn't matter if it's pulm, GI, or cardio
So buff in my scrubs, I'm like "Welcome to the gun show."

[Hook X2]

[Gunner 3]
What you know about cranial nerves in your noggin?
What you knowin' about connecting weird symptoms?
I'm searching, I'm searching, I'm searching right through that PubMed
One man's night off, that's another man's gunning

Thank your med school for accepting the best ever doctor
Cause right now I'm doctorin' to all
At the physical, you can find me first in line
I'm not, I'm not sick of searchin' in that rectum

[Gunner 1]
Your grammy, your aunty, your momma, your mammy
I take their BPs and their pulses, all by hand, I rock that phys exam!
They'll be in hypovolemic shock now, give fluids man!
I have the history on lock now, you know it man!

They be like "Oh, my chest feels hella tight"
I'm like, "Yo, that's some angina pectoris"
Lack of oxygen, let's give some nitroglycerin
Learning angina pectoris--that's advanced knowledge (Yeeep)
I called that when we all got pimped (Yeeeep)
I called that because I knew my business

[Gunner 2]
It's not easy though
I'm skipping meals while you waste time at lunch talks, bro.
Big brain, come and take a look through my microscope
Trying to out-gun me 
Man you hella won't

[Gunner 1 & 3]
Man you hella won't

[Kid]
Gunner Kid! Running Class! Yeah!

[Hook]

[Bridge X2]
I wear my clean white coat
I look incredible
Put on my stethoscope
My doctor skills are good as gold

[Hook]


[Kid]
You're not a doctor yet!

Does it get nerdier than this? :laugh:

Το γλωσσικό τριβίδι: "I'm gonna be an orthopod"... 
Αλλά πάλι θ' αρχίσουμε: ορθοποδικός ή ορθοπωδικός.


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## dominotheory (Jul 3, 2014)

daeman said:


> The Gunner Song
> This video was created for Harvard Medical School
> Hey, Gunner Kid, how do you do it?
> 
> ...



So I see you're a Gunner, kid... :devil: :devil: :devil:






SLASH - Doctor Alibi (feat Lemmy Kilmister)







Slash ft.Myles Kennedy & The Conspirators - Doctor Alibi | Live in Sydney | Moshcam


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## daeman (Jul 3, 2014)

...
Medical Love Song (_Monty Python's Contractual Obligation Album_) - Graham Chapman, Eric Idle & André Jacquemin





music & lyrics: Eric Idle, John Du Prez / medical terminology: Graham Chapman, MD

Inflammation of the foreskin
Reminds me of your smile
I've had balanital chancroids
For quite a little while
I gave my heart to NSU
That lovely night in June
I ache for you, my darling,
And I hope you'll get well soon



Spoiler



My penile warts, your herpes,
My syphilitic sores,
Your moenelial infection
How I miss you more and more
Your dobies itch my scrum-pox
Ah, lovely gonorrhea
At least we both were lying
When we said that we were clear

Our syphilitic kisses
Sealed the secret of our tryst
You gave me scrotal pustules,
With a quick flick of your wrist
Your trichovaginitis
Sent shivers down my spine
I got snailtracks in my anus
When your spirochetes met mine

Gonococcal urethritis
Streptococcal balanitis
Meningomyelitis
Diplococcal catholitis
Epidydimitis
Interstitial keratitis
Syphilitic coronitis
And anterior ureitis.

My clapped-out genitalia
Is not so bad for me
As the complete and utter failure
Every time I try to pee
My doctor says my buboes
Are the worst he's ever seen
My scrotums painted orange
And my balls are turning green
My heart is very tender
But my parts are awful raw
You might have been infected
But you never were a bore
I'm dying from your love, my love,
I'm your spirochetal clown
I've left my body to science,
But I'm afraid they've turned it down


Gonococcal urethritis
Streptococcal balanitis
Meningomyelitis
Diplococcal catholitis
Epidydimitis
Interstitial keratitis
Syphilitic coronitis
And anterior ureitis.

www.montypython.net/scripts/medical.php

Sexual Ailments in Monty Python's 'Medical Love Song' @ h2g2


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## dharvatis (Jul 3, 2014)

Ας μην ξεχνάμε και την κορυφαία σκηνή:


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## daeman (Jul 3, 2014)

...
Δεν την ξεχνάμε, άλλωστε την έχουμε σε τρεις μεριές: εδώ από πάνω, εδώ στην αρχή, και εκεί (δις). 
Επανεπανεπανάληψις μημήτηρ μαμαθήσεως.
Πανξουτόνι γιατροκτόνοι. 

Από σένα πάντως περίμενα σχόλιο ορολογικό για τη μοντιπαϊθονόρροια και τον τσαπμανόκοκκο πιο πάνω.


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## dharvatis (Jul 4, 2014)

Μα έψαξα - πώς μου ξέφυγε; 



daeman said:


> Από σένα πάντως περίμενα σχόλιο ορολογικό για τη μοντιπαϊθονόρροια και τον τσαπμανόκοκκο πιο πάνω.



Ποιος είμαι εγώ που θα σχολιάσω τους θεούς; :-D :-D


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## dominotheory (Jul 4, 2014)

daeman said:


> ...
> Doctor Doctor Blues - Memphis Minnie



If you have the Doctor Blues, just call the Blues Doctor 






Muddy Waters - I'm Your Doctor


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## daeman (Jul 4, 2014)

dominotheory said:


> If you have the Doctor Blues, just call the Blues Doctor
> ...



That's the Hoochie Coochie Doctor, according to the seventh doctor (or the council of the seven doctors). :up:
That's two hoochies now; still got some hoodoo medicine to do until we get to the seventh.


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## daeman (Oct 30, 2014)

...
Mister Moonlight - Dr. Feelgood (aka Piano Red) & the Interns


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## daeman (Jan 31, 2015)

...
Doctor Cassandra - Mighty Gaby


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## crystal (Feb 1, 2015)

Δεν γίνεται να μας λείπει αυτό:






Μου αρέσει περισσότερο αυτή η ενορχήστρωση, αλλά προσωπικά δεν μπορώ να ξεπεράσω τον David Tennant - ούτε σαν χαρακτήρα ούτε σαν ηθοποιό.


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## dominotheory (Feb 13, 2015)

.....
Παρατηρείται κίνηση σ' αυτό το νήμα τελευταία, κι έτσι θυμήθηκα κι εγώ κάμποσα σχετικά τραγουδάκια (για -και από- διάφορους δόκτορες) που είχα βάλει στην άκρη για να τ' ανεβάσω εδώ κάποια στιγμή, οπότε, πάμε σιγά σιγά:







Dr Hook & The Medicine Show - Cover Of The Rolling Stone







Dr Hook & The Medicine Show - Cover Of The Rolling Stone (live)







Dr Hook & The Medicine Show - Everybody's Makin' It Big But Me


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## daeman (Apr 8, 2015)

...
Cat's Squirrel (1961) - Doctor Ross, the harmonica boss


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## dharvatis (Apr 8, 2015)

Διάβασα "Doctor Ross" και το μυαλό μου πήγε σ' αυτό: :-D


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## daeman (Jun 8, 2015)

daeman said:


> ...
> Επειδή έναν δόχτορα τον έχουμε και μάλιστα εφτάδιπλο,
> 
> Γνέθω το νήμα τούτο δω
> ...


Το νήμα είναι περσινό
μα δεν πολυκαιρίζει
στο Δόχτορά μας τον τρανό
χρόνια πολλά ας χαρίζει

Επειδή φέτος δε χρειαζόμαστε μόνο γιατρικά, θέλουμε και μαγικά, an assortment of 7 witch doctors:

Witch Doctor (1953) - Miles Davis & Chet Baker with The LightHouse All Stars







The Purple People Eater Meets The Witch Doctor (1958) - Joe South







Witch Doctor (1981) - Sha Na Na








I'm your witchdoctor (1965) - John Mayall's Bluesbreakers with Eric Clapton


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## daeman (Jun 8, 2015)

...
Witch Doctor (1979) - Instant Funk







Birdseye Anthem (2007) - Witchdoctor Wise







And the _*Bush Doctor*_ (1978) by Peter Tosh






Όπως τραγουδάει ο Τος μαζί με τον Τζάγκερ στο πρώτο κομμάτι:

We're gonna leave all our troubles behind
We're gonna walk and don't look back



Μπόνους, για το όγδοο δοχτοράτο του, Honey Dripper :inno: - Doctor John:


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## daeman (Oct 28, 2015)

...
Κάφτε, γιατροί, τις συνταγές - Κώστας Ρούκουνας


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## daeman (Dec 10, 2015)

...
Me doctor - Monty Python


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## daeman (Jan 18, 2016)

...
Rock & Roll Doctor - Little Feat


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## dominotheory (Jan 29, 2016)

daeman said:


> ...
> Rock & Roll Doctor - Little Feat



Καλά που μου το θύμισες αυτό το νήμα, γιατί έχω δοχτορικά μπόλικα μαζεμένα. :up:






Black Sabbath - Rock 'N' Roll Doctor


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## daeman (May 27, 2016)

...
Dr Long John (Long John Blues, _Burlesque_) - Kristen Bell performs, Megan Mullally sings


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## daeman (May 30, 2016)

...
The Witch Doctor Life - Captain Beefheart & the Magic Band


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## daeman (Jan 14, 2017)

...
(They Call Me) Dr. Professor Longhair - Professor Longhair






You know I know I'm not a doctor, baby
But I wouldn't advise you to try to prove I'm not a doctor, son
Well, I'll stay right here, that is until the doctor comes


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## dominotheory (Jan 15, 2017)

.....
Λοιπόν, αυτού του γιατρού (του Λεξιλογικού ), του 'χω πολλά (βίντεο) μαζεμένα!!! ;)
Για ν' αρχίσω να ξεφορτώνω, σιγά σιγά!!!






Root Doctor live at Buddy Guy's Legends - I'm Ready







Doktu Rhute Muuzic Live (formerly Roy Hytower) - Hoochie Coochie Man


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## daeman (May 27, 2017)

...
Ο ντόκτορ - Δημήτρης Μυστακίδης


----------

