Paging Dr. Kildare!

On Thursday night, I ended up slaving away at work until 11 p.m. (I know! Shocking!) Naturally, I hadn't packed for Vegas yet, so I finally hit the sack around 1 or so...and, suddenly, from across the room, I hear a b-r-r-ring (y'know, like when a text message arrives?). Hm, I think. WHO could be texting me at this ungodly hour??

So I get up to check.

And here is what I found:
















Yep. And the caption read: "Marty in ER."

Furious texting ensued. Bottom line: we're politely referring to this episode as a "gastrointestinal problem."

And he's fine. Outta the ER by 3 a.m. and in Vegas by 2 that afternoon.

Which is where I'm posting this from. (Hey, you thought a little eight-hour trip to the ER was gonna interfere with a gambling soujourn? Think again.)