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Zokrom

by Ian Wolff

I’m having a hard time getting over the disclaimers used in prescription drug advertisements, these days. Who would buy this stuff after listening to these commercials?

“For allergy relief you can depend upon, try new Zokrom! Of course, Zokrom isn’t for everyone, so please check with your doctor first. Side effects may include one or more of the following: Brain hemorrhage, exploding colon, massive kidney failure, complete renal shutdown, exploding pituitary glands, alien abduction, rapid growth of a second set of sexual organs, tremors, nightmares, hallucinations, and an overwhelming desire to be addressed as June Lockhart, Bob Newhart, or flip Wilson.”

Most of these commercials don’t stop there, oh no, they actually have a secondary list of potential dangers.

“Other side effects may include: Borrowing babies without parental permission, performing unlicensed gynecological exams, throwing a dog and asking your stick to fetch, getting homicidal when someone interrupts your counting of every grain in a bag of rice, pushing down children who are flying kites, and prefacing everything you say with “Pretty girl says.”

Then comes phase three, this is where they vaguely describe the type of people who should not use their product.

“People who should not take Zokrom, include: Women who are pregnant, women who think they may be pregnant, women who know someone who thinks they may be pregnant, women who are lactating, menstruating, ovulating or parasailing. Women who are on the pill, women who have social security numbers that end in an odd number, women who are odd, women who know odd women who parasail while attempting to get pregnant, women named Beatrice, and most especially, women who utilize oxygen more than two or three times daily.”

“Men who should not take Zokrom, include: Men with high, medium, or low blood pressure. The men who got the women who can’t take Zokrom pregnant, men named Beatrice, men who would not welcome growing a uterus on the roof of their mouth, and men who are fussy about not having their private parts turn lime-green and fall off.”

It’s almost like an afterthought with these people.

“Try new Zokrom and breathe easy! Oh yeah, you may suffer a Stroke, heart attack, kidney failure, liver damage, seizures, or coma. But hey, either way, at least you won’t have to blow your nose anymore. Yech!”

They always have that 800-number at the end of these commercials, for anyone who needs advice on dealing with side effects. This must be a strange job.

“Hello, Zokrom hotline, how may I help you?”

“Yeah, I had a runny nose and my doctor gave me Zokrom, and now my sphincter won’t pass anything that’s unwilling to help itself, so I’ve taken to eating live tadpoles. Can you help me?”

“Yes, get a Lilly pad, and next time, read the label.”

“Hello, Zokrom hotline, how may I help you?”

“Yes, I had a slight bout with hay fever and my doctor gave me Zokrom. My breathing is much better, but I hallucinated the entire ’56 Hungarian revolt and mistaking my family for the occupying Soviet forces, I murdered them all. Can you help me?”

“I suggest you dispose of them immediately, sir.”

“The pills?”

“No, silly, the bodies, decomposing flesh can be an allergy sufferers worst nightmare.”

“Hello, Zokrom hotline, how may I help you?”

“Yes, my private parts are turning lime-green, what does that mean?”

“Jump.”

“Pardon me?”

“Put down the phone and jump.”

“Ok … oh my God!”

“That’s what it means.”

I just hope these people don’t branch out into pediatric medicine. I’d hate to see them in the maternity ward traumatizing newborns by shouting all the possible side effects of life into their poor little faces just as they’re exiting their mother’s womb.

“Welcome to life, Horace! Possible side effects of your particular life may include one or more of the following: Growing up to look like your parents. Being beaten my schoolmates for having the name, Horace. Killing your parents for giving you the name Horace. Marrying your cellmate, getting released after twenty four years and being forced to live in Tulsa, Oklahoma, where you'll spend the rest of your life being featured on countless episodes of Cops, while subsisting on cling peaches and Thunderbird wine, until the day you're ultimately found frozen to death in an abandoned vehicle because you blew your rent money on that toothless hooker from Stinky Ray's Tavern. Goochy-goochy-goo!”

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I loved this...