Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang by Chelsea Handler

misdiagnosis?). Second concern is that if there is any medical treatment actually taking place on our premises, are we covered for that from an insurance perspective.
I am checking on these specifically with outside counsel and will get back to you soon. I can tell you most definitely, that any fertility treatments raise a red flag.
    As soon as I finished reading the e-mail, I picked up the phone and called Ted. "Do you really think that I'm going to have girls in our office go down to Stage 2 on their lunch break for a quick vagina assessment?"
    "Chelsea."
    "Ted."
    "Chelsea."
    "Ted."
    "Jesus, Chelsea."
    He put his phone down and yelled, "It's a joke. There's no gynecologist. It's Chelsea being an asshole. Again."
    "Ted," I said, "did you even read that e-mail that Eva sent? It said the doctor would be available for male/female health-related questions. What gynecologist services men? Either you're a gynecologist or you aren't. You're not a man doctor for women."
    "How would I know that?"
    "Because you're a man! Have you ever been to a gynecologist?"
    "I can't believe I fall for this shit."
    "I thought I was being nice by including you in the joke, and now the joke is on you. Not the two girls on staff who have already booked their appointments."
    "Oh, my God."
    "I know."
    "Are you going to film it?"
    "I hadn't gotten that far, because there was a little bump in the road named Ted."
    "Chelsea, I don't have time for this shit. Now I have to go clear this up."
    "Ted, the e-mail also said 'individual concentration .' It's 'consultation.' What the hell is an individual concentration?"
    "Well, I don't know what you girls do in your appointments, Chelsea. That cost us money. You're paying the legal fees. We had to hire outside counsel."
    "Yes, I know. That's why I'm calling. I assumed you would know that I wouldn't be doling out fertility treatments on a fake doctor's table at the studio."
    "That is something you would do!"
    "Really?"
    "Yes, you're fucking crazy, and you would do something like that, and you're paying the legal bills."
    "I'll be happy to."
    "Good, we'll send you the bill."
    "Good. I'd like to frame it and put it in my office."
    In true Ted form, he was not in on the joke, which is basically the foundation of our relationship. No matter how much time goes by, I am still able to make him believe stories that no one who has completed high school would believe. On separate occasions I've convinced him that I paid sixteen thousand dollars for a pair of sunglasses, that I donated ten thousand dollars to a charity that helps prevent pit bulls from being forced to wear rhinestone collars, and that a pair of my shoes came with two Swiss Army knives under the soles. The jokes are never well-thought-out plans, more like happy accidents that just pop into my head when I look out the window. That is exactly what happened a few weeks later when Dudley came into our life.
    My agents at the time wanted to throw a little congratulatory party celebrating a new deal I had signed. One of them was named John, and he was a rather unusually muscular gay man who lived with an even more unusually muscular gayer man and shared with him an English bulldog named Dudley.
    Their house was in the Hollywood Hills and was decorated the exact way you would expect a couple of gay bear millionaires living in the Hollywood Hills to decorate: very masculine, very expensive, and a lot of lubrication.
    The house was filled with beautiful art and had a very modern but luxuriously comfy feel. Like a resort. A resort with a prison shower the size of a mosh pit and enough waterfalls for a stranger to slip into another stranger's asshole without a moment's notice. In other words, the kind of spa two gay bears from the Hollywood Hills would like to run.
    There were only about nine of us at the little soiree: Ted, two of my agents (John, Claire), my attorney (Jake), my partner (Tom) and his wife (Beth), and Eva, my assistant. I planted myself on the sofa and was