Sick!Wilson madlib results — Part 2

[geekygecko.livejournal.com]

The fun continues...

Note:  I had to post the results in three parts due to the size of the file, so I've prepared a chart to help you find your madlibs faster.  If your results aren't on this page, just click the link above your name.

Part 1 t_eyla housepiglet r0s3l992 scarletsmith moondragon_kaga k_haldane

Part 2 shortstuff8379 salvationinyou shadowstark arwydd starlingthefool daisylily

Part 3 valn willywonka3435 wihluta rnwannabe blighted_garden

 

shortstuff8379

Wilson squirmed on the gurney as House and his team assessed his injuries from the unusual accident that had landed him in Princeton-Plainboro's emergency room.  "Ow!" he hissed as House snarkily palpated his cochlea.

House winced sympathetically.  "Looks like you broke it when you tripped over that purple rusted lock in the parking lot.  You're definitely going to need a cast."

"What about my big toe?" Wilson asked.  "Is it broken, too?"

"No, just sprained.  But you'll need to stay off it for a month or so."

Chase stuffed his hands into the pockets of his lab coat pockets as he moved closer to the examination table.  "Dr. Wilson, did you feel dizzy or windy before you fell?"

Wilson regarded the diagnostic fellow with suspicion.  "Why do you ask?"

Chase shrugged rapidly.  "This is the third time in past three months that you've had to be rolled into the ER on a unicycle."

"Your point being?"

House sighed.  "There might be a medical reason why you're suddenly so quirky and accident-prone.  You might have a brain tumor, hypoglycemia, Wilson's disease, or even leprosy."

Cameron nodded as she tugged at the hem of her vest.  "Or it could be lupus."

Foreman shook his head.  "No, an environmental cause would be more likely.  Maybe he's been exposed to toxic chemicals, parched monkeys, or stethoscopes."

House thoughtfully rubbed his large intestine as he considered various possibilities.  "We need to get an MRI and a colonoscopy to rule out the chickenpox, an angiogram to rule out fibromyalgia, and a bone density scan to check for kidney stones.  Let's also run some blood work to see if there are any traces of coffee cups, broken canes, or lab coats in his system."

Wilson rolled his eyes and groaned sparingly.  "This is ridiculous.  I don't need a workup.  I'm fine."

"You idiot," House growled.  "You're NOT fine.  In addition to the fracture and the sprain, you have a Grade 2 concussion, a ruptured epiglottis, a dislocated alveoli, a lacerated right atrium, and your pancreas is extremely astonished and swollen."

"So I'm a little clumsy," Wilson protested.

"A little?!  You're going to kill yourself if we don't hurry up and get to the bottom of this."

"You're overreacting."

House slowly let out an exasperated yawn.  "I am not.  Three weeks ago, you broke your knuckle when you fell in the cafeteria..."

"That wasn't my fault," Wilson interrupted.  "Someone spilled a puddle of plasma in my path and I jumped out of control before I lost my balance.

"Oh, yeah?  What was your excuse last week when you had that accident at Starbucks?  You're damned lucky to still be alive.  It took a team of surgeons twelve hours to repair the damage to your thyroid and to remove the tape recorder from your kidney.  It was the most bizarre thing they had ever seen.  Foreman wrote up an article about it for next month's issue of Cosmo."

Cameron placed her hands on her hips and glowered at her colleague.  "You stole my article again!" she whined.

Their argument was cut short when Wilson suddenly cried out in pain.

House instinctively moved closer to his friend's bedside.  "What's the matter?"

"It feels like someone just shoved a red-hot DVD in my appendix."

House frowned as he rammed the affected area.  "Hmm.  You could be hemorrhaging."

"Or it could be lupus," Cameron reiterated helpfully.

Chase removed the credit card that he had been chewing on from his mouth.  "I'll schedule an emergency laparoscopy."

Foreman crossed his arms across his chest and rocked back on his heels.  "We should probably do a CAT scan and a CBC panel, too.  Just to be safe."

House scratched his stubbled jaw as he dictated his orders to his team.  "Start Wilson on an IV of chocolate milk, poke his bouncy ball, and then get started on all of the procedures that we've discussed."

"What do you want to give him for the pain?" Chase asked.

"I'd rather not give him anything just yet if we can avoid it.  He's still a bit disoriented, lethargic, quick, and extremely amused.

Wilson glared at House.  "You bastard.  I'm going to remember this the next time you ask for another prescription for Vicodin."

House swallowed softly.  "On second thought, give the man whatever he wants."  He might be a real bastard sometimes, but he wasn't shy.

 

salvationinyou

Wilson squirmed on the gurney as House and his team assessed his injuries from the unusual accident that had landed him in Princeton-Plainboro's emergency room.  "Ow!" he hissed as House joyfully palpated his perineal artery.

House winced sympathetically.  "Looks like you broke it when you tripped over that smushed linear algebra in the parking lot.  You're definitely going to need a cast."

"What about my amygdala?" Wilson asked.  "Is it broken, too?"

"No, just sprained.  But you'll need to stay off it for a month or so."

Chase stuffed his hands into the pockets of his lab coat pockets as he moved closer to the examination table.  "Dr. Wilson, did you feel dizzy or Australian before you fell?"

Wilson regarded the diagnostic fellow with suspicion.  "Why do you ask?"

Chase shrugged condescendingly.  "This is the third time in past three months that you've had to be rolled into the ER on a unicycle."

"Your point being?"

House sighed.  "There might be a medical reason why you're suddenly so staccato and accident-prone.  You might have a brain tumor, hypoglycemia, Turner's syndrome, or even hyperthyroidism."

Cameron nodded as she tugged at the hem of her vest.  "Or it could be lupus."

Foreman shook his head.  "No, an environmental cause would be more likely.  Maybe he's been exposed to toxic chemicals, keen asteroids, or skeletons."

House thoughtfully rubbed his liver as he considered various possibilities.  "We need to get an MRI and a DEXA scan to rule out hemochromatosis, a pregnancy test to rule out anemia, and a lumbar puncture to check for narcolepsy.  Let's also run some blood work to see if there are any traces of tiger lilies, air traffic controllers, or omelets in his system."

Wilson rolled his eyes and groaned monstrously.  "This is ridiculous.  I don't need a workup.  I'm fine."

"You idiot," House growled.  "You're NOT fine.  In addition to the fracture and the sprain, you have a Grade 2 concussion, a ruptured uterine lining, a dislocated lymph node, a lacerated urethra, and your thymus is extremely lucid and swollen."

"So I'm a little clumsy," Wilson protested.

"A little?!  You're going to kill yourself if we don't hurry up and get to the bottom of this."

"You're overreacting."

House slowly let out an exasperated hum.  "I am not.  Three weeks ago, you broke your fallopian tubes when you fell in the cafeteria..."

"That wasn't my fault," Wilson interrupted.  "Someone spilled a puddle of transmission fluid in my path and I hopscotched out of control before I lost my balance.

"Oh, yeah?  What was your excuse last week when you had that accident at the bordello?  You're damned lucky to still be alive.  It took a team of surgeons twelve hours to repair the damage to your scapula and to remove the dirty paper plate from your hyoid bone.  It was the most bizarre thing they had ever seen.  Foreman wrote up an article about it for next month's issue of Teen Beat."

Cameron placed her hands on her hips and glowered at her colleague.  "You stole my article again!" she whined.

Their argument was cut short when Wilson suddenly cried out in pain.

House instinctively moved closer to his friend's bedside.  "What's the matter?"

"It feels like someone just shoved a red-hot half-finished pad of purple post-it notes in my wisdom teeth."

House frowned as he slammed into the affected area.  "Hmm.  You could be hemorrhaging."

"Or it could be lupus," Cameron reiterated helpfully.

Chase removed the blue LEGO brick that he had been chewing on from his mouth.  "I'll schedule an emergency laparoscopy."

Foreman crossed his arms across his chest and rocked back on his heels.  "We should probably do a pancreatic biopsy and a paternity test, too.  Just to be safe."

House scratched his stubbled jaw as he dictated his orders to his team.  "Start Wilson on an IV of pond water, sharpen his cyborg, and then get started on all of the procedures that we've discussed."

"What do you want to give him for the pain?" Chase asked.

"I'd rather not give him anything just yet if we can avoid it.  He's still a bit disoriented, lethargic, colloquial, and extremely revolutionary.

Wilson glared at House.  "You bastard.  I'm going to remember this the next time you ask for another prescription for Vicodin."

House swallowed seductively.  "On second thought, give the man whatever he wants."  He might be a real bastard sometimes, but he wasn't skanky.

shadowstark

Wilson squirmed on the gurney as House and his team assessed his injuries from the unusual accident that had landed him in Princeton-Plainboro's emergency room.  "Ow!" he hissed as House quietly palpated his pinky finger.

House winced sympathetically.  "Looks like you broke it when you tripped over that broken oversized abacus in the parking lot.  You're definitely going to need a cast."

"What about my toenail?" Wilson asked.  "Is it broken, too?"

"No, just sprained.  But you'll need to stay off it for a month or so."

Chase stuffed his hands into the pockets of his lab coat pockets as he moved closer to the examination table.  "Dr. Wilson, did you feel dizzy or truthful before you fell?"

Wilson regarded the diagnostic fellow with suspicion.  "Why do you ask?"

Chase shrugged falsely.  "This is the third time in past three months that you've had to be rolled into the ER on a bicycle with training wheels."

"Your point being?"

House sighed.  "There might be a medical reason why you're suddenly so exciting and accident-prone.  You might have a brain tumor, hypoglycemia, hypothermia, or even heat stroke."

Cameron nodded as she tugged at the hem of her vest.  "Or it could be lupus."

Foreman shook his head.  "No, an environmental cause would be more likely.  Maybe he's been exposed to toxic chemicals, sunny three blind mice, or email in-boxes."

House thoughtfully rubbed his third ball as he considered various possibilities.  "We need to get an MRI and intubate to rule out hyperthermia, a colonoscopy to rule out brain death, and a vasectomy to check for tachycardia.  Let's also run some blood work to see if there are any traces of lice, origami swans, or rats of unusual size in his system."

Wilson rolled his eyes and groaned hesitantly.  "This is ridiculous.  I don't need a workup.  I'm fine."

"You idiot," House growled.  "You're NOT fine.  In addition to the fracture and the sprain, you have a Grade 2 concussion, a ruptured tongue tip, a dislocated Bowman's layer, a lacerated Descemet's membrane, and your femoral artery is extremely free and swollen."

"So I'm a little clumsy," Wilson protested.

"A little?!  You're going to kill yourself if we don't hurry up and get to the bottom of this."

"You're overreacting."

House slowly let out an exasperated queef.  "I am not.  Three weeks ago, you broke your deep external pudendal artery when you fell in the cafeteria..."

"That wasn't my fault," Wilson interrupted.  "Someone spilled a puddle of liquid nitrogen in my path and I lip-synched out of control before I lost my balance.

"Oh, yeah?  What was your excuse last week when you had that accident at the hotdog vendor?  You're damned lucky to still be alive.  It took a team of surgeons twelve hours to repair the damage to your knuckles and to remove the cellphone from your left foot.  It was the most bizarre thing they had ever seen.  Foreman wrote up an article about it for next month's issue of Elle Decor."

Cameron placed her hands on her hips and glowered at her colleague.  "You stole my article again!" she whined.

Their argument was cut short when Wilson suddenly cried out in pain.

House instinctively moved closer to his friend's bedside.  "What's the matter?"

"It feels like someone just shoved a red-hot laser pointer in my meninges."

House frowned as he slapped the affected area.  "Hmm.  You could be hemorrhaging."

"Or it could be lupus," Cameron reiterated helpfully.

Chase removed the computer mouse that he had been chewing on from his mouth.  "I'll schedule an emergency laparoscopy."

Foreman crossed his arms across his chest and rocked back on his heels.  "We should probably install a brain shunt and do a blood culture, too.  Just to be safe."

House scratched his stubbled jaw as he dictated his orders to his team.  "Start Wilson on an IV of spit, rock his cute white terrier, and then get started on all of the procedures that we've discussed."

"What do you want to give him for the pain?" Chase asked.

"I'd rather not give him anything just yet if we can avoid it.  He's still a bit disoriented, lethargic, small, and extremely obsolete.

Wilson glared at House.  "You bastard.  I'm going to remember this the next time you ask for another prescription for Vicodin."

House swallowed lowly.  "On second thought, give the man whatever he wants."  He might be a real bastard sometimes, but he wasn't high.

arwydd

Wilson squirmed on the gurney as House and his team assessed his injuries from the unusual accident that had landed him in Princeton-Plainboro's emergency room.  "Ow!" he hissed as House maniacally palpated his hypothalamus.

House winced sympathetically.  "Looks like you broke it when you tripped over that tender dictionary in the parking lot.  You're definitely going to need a cast."

"What about my buttock?" Wilson asked.  "Is it broken, too?"

"No, just sprained.  But you'll need to stay off it for a month or so."

Chase stuffed his hands into the pockets of his lab coat pockets as he moved closer to the examination table.  "Dr. Wilson, did you feel dizzy or worldly before you fell?"

Wilson regarded the diagnostic fellow with suspicion.  "Why do you ask?"

Chase shrugged hesitantly.  "This is the third time in past three months that you've had to be rolled into the ER on a scooter."

"Your point being?"

House sighed.  "There might be a medical reason why you're suddenly so feminine and accident-prone.  You might have a brain tumor, hypoglycemia, incontinence, or even a yeast infection."

Cameron nodded as she tugged at the hem of her vest.  "Or it could be lupus."

Foreman shook his head.  "No, an environmental cause would be more likely.  Maybe he's been exposed to toxic chemicals, laudatory latkes, or eunuchs."

House thoughtfully rubbed his epididymus as he considered various possibilities.  "We need to get an MRI and a fundoplication to rule out vertigo, a myringotomy to rule out constipation, and an oral cholecystogram to check for PTSD.  Let's also run some blood work to see if there are any traces of pizza boys, larcenies, or scones in his system."

Wilson rolled his eyes and groaned lasciviously.  "This is ridiculous.  I don't need a workup.  I'm fine."

"You idiot," House growled.  "You're NOT fine.  In addition to the fracture and the sprain, you have a Grade 2 concussion, a ruptured external iliac artery, a dislocated appendix, a lacerated scrotum, and your urethra is extremely ginormous and swollen."

"So I'm a little clumsy," Wilson protested.

"A little?!  You're going to kill yourself if we don't hurry up and get to the bottom of this."

"You're overreacting."

House slowly let out an exasperated splat.  "I am not.  Three weeks ago, you broke your pituitary when you fell in the cafeteria..."

"That wasn't my fault," Wilson interrupted.  "Someone spilled a puddle of apple juice in my path and I jousted out of control before I lost my balance.

"Oh, yeah?  What was your excuse last week when you had that accident at the escort service?  You're damned lucky to still be alive.  It took a team of surgeons twelve hours to repair the damage to your zona pellucida and to remove the sewing needle from your great saphenous vein.  It was the most bizarre thing they had ever seen.  Foreman wrote up an article about it for next month's issue of Dog Fancy."

Cameron placed her hands on her hips and glowered at her colleague.  "You stole my article again!" she whined.

Their argument was cut short when Wilson suddenly cried out in pain.

House instinctively moved closer to his friend's bedside.  "What's the matter?"

"It feels like someone just shoved a red-hot pencil sharpener in my seminal vesicle."

House frowned as he brushed over the affected area.  "Hmm.  You could be hemorrhaging."

"Or it could be lupus," Cameron reiterated helpfully.

Chase removed the wedding ring that he had been chewing on from his mouth.  "I'll schedule an emergency laparoscopy."

Foreman crossed his arms across his chest and rocked back on his heels.  "We should probably do an ileostomy and an autopsy, too.  Just to be safe."

House scratched his stubbled jaw as he dictated his orders to his team.  "Start Wilson on an IV of antifreeze, squeeze his launch pad, and then get started on all of the procedures that we've discussed."

"What do you want to give him for the pain?" Chase asked.

"I'd rather not give him anything just yet if we can avoid it.  He's still a bit disoriented, lethargic, jovial, and extremely quintessential.

Wilson glared at House.  "You bastard.  I'm going to remember this the next time you ask for another prescription for Vicodin."

House swallowed defiantly.  "On second thought, give the man whatever he wants."  He might be a real bastard sometimes, but he wasn't conceited.

starlingthefool

Wilson squirmed on the gurney as House and his team assessed his injuries from the unusual accident that had landed him in Princeton-Plainboro's emergency room.  "Ow!" he hissed as House femininely palpated his tonsil.

House winced sympathetically.  "Looks like you broke it when you tripped over that fuzzy stench in the parking lot.  You're definitely going to need a cast."

"What about my large intestine?" Wilson asked.  "Is it broken, too?"

"No, just sprained.  But you'll need to stay off it for a month or so."

Chase stuffed his hands into the pockets of his lab coat pockets as he moved closer to the examination table.  "Dr. Wilson, did you feel dizzy or warm before you fell?"

Wilson regarded the diagnostic fellow with suspicion.  "Why do you ask?"

Chase shrugged surreptitiously.  "This is the third time in past three months that you've had to be rolled into the ER in an old fashioned, rickety baby carriage."

"Your point being?"

House sighed.  "There might be a medical reason why you're suddenly so advantageous and accident-prone.  You might have a brain tumor, hypoglycemia, irritable bowel syndrome, or even schizophrenia."

Cameron nodded as she tugged at the hem of her vest.  "Or it could be lupus."

Foreman shook his head.  "No, an environmental cause would be more likely.  Maybe he's been exposed to toxic chemicals, smarmy bull penis canes, or pillowcases."

House thoughtfully rubbed his left eyebrow as he considered various possibilities.  "We need to get an MRI and a urinalysis to rule out sickle cell anemia, an allergen scratch test to rule out tendonitis, and a blood pressure to check for fractured vertebrae.  Let's also run some blood work to see if there are any traces of fondue recipes, toothpicks, or severed fingers in his system."

Wilson rolled his eyes and groaned quickly.  "This is ridiculous.  I don't need a workup.  I'm fine."

"You idiot," House growled.  "You're NOT fine.  In addition to the fracture and the sprain, you have a Grade 2 concussion, a ruptured toenail, a dislocated duodenum, a lacerated femur, and your left brain hemisphere is extremely anxious and swollen."

"So I'm a little clumsy," Wilson protested.

"A little?!  You're going to kill yourself if we don't hurry up and get to the bottom of this."

"You're overreacting."

House slowly let out an exasperated belch.  "I am not.  Three weeks ago, you broke your upper bicuspid when you fell in the cafeteria..."

"That wasn't my fault," Wilson interrupted.  "Someone spilled a puddle of cafeteria coffee in my path and I ate out of control before I lost my balance.

"Oh, yeah?  What was your excuse last week when you had that accident at the brothel?  You're damned lucky to still be alive.  It took a team of surgeons twelve hours to repair the damage to your optic nerve and to remove the gerbil from your Achilles tendon.  It was the most bizarre thing they had ever seen.  Foreman wrote up an article about it for next month's issue of Bust."

Cameron placed her hands on her hips and glowered at her colleague.  "You stole my article again!" she whined.

Their argument was cut short when Wilson suddenly cried out in pain.

House instinctively moved closer to his friend's bedside.  "What's the matter?"

"It feels like someone just shoved a red-hot ham sandwich in my small intestine."

House frowned as he caressed the affected area.  "Hmm.  You could be hemorrhaging."

"Or it could be lupus," Cameron reiterated helpfully.

Chase removed the egg that he had been chewing on from his mouth.  "I'll schedule an emergency laparoscopy."

Foreman crossed his arms across his chest and rocked back on his heels.  "We should probably do an audiogram and a finger prick, too.  Just to be safe."

House scratched his stubbled jaw as he dictated his orders to his team.  "Start Wilson on an IV of nitroglycerin, tickle his flamingo, and then get started on all of the procedures that we've discussed."

"What do you want to give him for the pain?" Chase asked.

"I'd rather not give him anything just yet if we can avoid it.  He's still a bit disoriented, lethargic, annoyed, and extremely integrated.

Wilson glared at House.  "You bastard.  I'm going to remember this the next time you ask for another prescription for Vicodin."

House swallowed instinctively.  "On second thought, give the man whatever he wants."  He might be a real bastard sometimes, but he wasn't retroactive.

daisylily

Wilson squirmed on the gurney as House and his team assessed his injuries from the unusual accident that had landed him in Princeton-Plainboro's emergency room.  "Ow!" he hissed as House happily palpated his eyeball.

House winced sympathetically.  "Looks like you broke it when you tripped over that purulent table in the parking lot.  You're definitely going to need a cast."

"What about my penis?" Wilson asked.  "Is it broken, too?"

"No, just sprained.  But you'll need to stay off it for a month or so."

Chase stuffed his hands into the pockets of his lab coat pockets as he moved closer to the examination table.  "Dr. Wilson, did you feel dizzy or overblown before you fell?"

Wilson regarded the diagnostic fellow with suspicion.  "Why do you ask?"

Chase shrugged gaily.  "This is the third time in past three months that you've had to be rolled into the ER on a child's ride-on tractor."

"Your point being?"

House sighed.  "There might be a medical reason why you're suddenly so bloated and accident-prone.  You might have a brain tumor, hypoglycemia, priapism, or even chicken pox."

Cameron nodded as she tugged at the hem of her vest.  "Or it could be lupus."

Foreman shook his head.  "No, an environmental cause would be more likely.  Maybe he's been exposed to toxic chemicals, virulent doctors, or nurses."

House thoughtfully rubbed his axilla as he considered various possibilities.  "We need to get an MRI and a CBC to rule out slapped cheek disease, an MRI to rule out ebola, and a colonoscopy to check for gangrene.  Let's also run some blood work to see if there are any traces of toes, pearls, or beds in his system."

Wilson rolled his eyes and groaned frenziedly.  "This is ridiculous.  I don't need a workup.  I'm fine."

"You idiot," House growled.  "You're NOT fine.  In addition to the fracture and the sprain, you have a Grade 2 concussion, a ruptured left thumb, a dislocated right thigh, a lacerated spleen, and your fingernail is extremely shiny and swollen."

"So I'm a little clumsy," Wilson protested.

"A little?!  You're going to kill yourself if we don't hurry up and get to the bottom of this."

"You're overreacting."

House slowly let out an exasperated burp.  "I am not.  Three weeks ago, you broke your pyloric sphincter when you fell in the cafeteria..."

"That wasn't my fault," Wilson interrupted.  "Someone spilled a puddle of milk in my path and I shimmied out of control before I lost my balance.

"Oh, yeah?  What was your excuse last week when you had that accident at the dairy?  You're damned lucky to still be alive.  It took a team of surgeons twelve hours to repair the damage to your pharynx and to remove the ant from your rectum.  It was the most bizarre thing they had ever seen.  Foreman wrote up an article about it for next month's issue of TV Guide."

Cameron placed her hands on her hips and glowered at her colleague.  "You stole my article again!" she whined.

Their argument was cut short when Wilson suddenly cried out in pain.

House instinctively moved closer to his friend's bedside.  "What's the matter?"

"It feels like someone just shoved a red-hot banana in my gall bladder."

House frowned as he kissed the affected area.  "Hmm.  You could be hemorrhaging."

"Or it could be lupus," Cameron reiterated helpfully.

Chase removed the tooth that he had been chewing on from his mouth.  "I'll schedule an emergency laparoscopy."

Foreman crossed his arms across his chest and rocked back on his heels.  "We should probably do a chest x-ray and electroconvulsive therapy , too.  Just to be safe."

House scratched his stubbled jaw as he dictated his orders to his team.  "Start Wilson on an IV of semen, unwind his dominatrix, and then get started on all of the procedures that we've discussed."

"What do you want to give him for the pain?" Chase asked.

"I'd rather not give him anything just yet if we can avoid it.  He's still a bit disoriented, lethargic, cheerful, and extremely unpleasant.

Wilson glared at House.  "You bastard.  I'm going to remember this the next time you ask for another prescription for Vicodin."

House swallowed sexily.  "On second thought, give the man whatever he wants."  He might be a real bastard sometimes, but he wasn't amber.

the fun continues in part 3