Where can a guy get some immune globlulin in this stinkin' town?

Jesus Christ, can’t I even ogle a few swimsuit models for ten minutes without being involved in a Hepatitis scare?

As noted in yesterday’s post, one of Wolfgang Puck’s cooks who catered the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Model party two weeks ago came down with Hepatitis A and all guests were advised to get an immune globulin shot…by TODAY. Nice warning – 24 hours.

Okay, a couple of thoughts:

1) This wouldn’t have happened if SI had Art’s Deli cater the damn affair.

2) Anyone who ate uncooked food needs a shot. How many of the models think they’re not exposed because they threw up the food within an hour?

3) Shouldn’t Wolfgang Puck reimburse everyone who needed a shot?

4) The food wasn’t even that good.

5) No newscaster could report the story last night without snickering.

6) Why couldn’t it have been the Governor’s Ball at the Oscars instead?

7) These models go to Bora Bora and all these bizarre exotic locales and are fine. One night in West Hollywood they may come down with Hepatitis.

There was another problem. Very few doctors and medical clinics even HAD immune globulin shots. There are not a lot of raging outbreaks of Hepatitis. It took me about an hour calling around until I found a place. If I wanted to score crystal meth I could probably do it easier. I saw there was a clinic in the Antelope Valley and the Public Health Center in Monrovia was lousy with the stuff. But even my GPS system couldn’t find those places. And there’s the Central Public Health Center on Figueroa. Oh yeah, I want to see all those slicksters drive their Beemers and Porsches to the heart of downtown L.A. Plenty of free street parking, guys.

So I finally found a place. Had to tell them “Lil’ MoFo” sent me but they gave me the shot (and took my $115). And now I can eat my Chinois chicken salad again without fear of yellow jaundice.

The good news was that the shot was in the arm. Didn’t used to be. Years ago I had to do this and at that time it was a horse shot in the ass. Thank God no one does that anymore, making you drop your pants. Although, if I were Beyonce’s doctor…

Next year I think I’ll skip the party and just buy the magazine. No danger of Hepatitis...or even Glaucoma.