California Health Insurance Quotes and Blog

Jonathan Messier was all set to attend an early morning Neuro Linguistic Programming seminar and finally change his life. Unfortunately, he’d failed to figure in the time change on the morrow. This failure led to a series of mishaps that might have proved financially fatal if it hadn’t been for a California Health Insurance agent.

He’d wanted to be normal since he’d been a boy. At 34, his bedroom was still littered with a menagerie of stuffed animals that provoked snide comments from his girlfriends – all the wrong kind of women anyway because they tended to be mother figures. He had to break these childhood patterns once and for all, and he’d settled on Neuro Linguistic Programming (NLP) as a cure.

His first mistake was going to bed, as usual in the shadow of Tony the Tiger and Gisele the Giraffe, each towering above his head on each side of his pillow, propped up in their verticality by the bed’s antique oaken headboard, without bothering to turn his alarm clock an hour ahead for the first day of Daylight Savings Time.  He had to arrive promptly at 8 a.m. at the Escondido NLP center to begin his life-changing all day seminar, centered upon combating the subjectivity that had so far made life without such imaginative creatures as Tony, Gisele, and their assorted brethren unthinkable.

The trouble began at 7:55 a.m. Daylight Savings Time when Maybelline, a matronly woman of 49 who loved to dote on “her Jonny,” called and roused him from a last minute half-asleep reverie. Jonathan was going to get up anyway in five minutes, as his alarm was set for 7:00 a.m. standard time.

“Hi May,” he said drowsily, “How come you’re calling so early?”

“Early,” she said, “It’s five minutes before eight. Don’t you have to be in Escondido at eight? It’s Daylight Savings, don’t you know?”

“Damn!” Jonathan exclaimed, “You’re right! I got to go!” Within ten minutes he’d completed his morning ablutions and was out the door without so much as a goodbye for Tony or Gisele.  

But he drove too fast. The accident happened just a mile from the center, a lamp post he didn’t see in time, a gouged radiator, a sprained ankle, an attempt to run, a collapse … he woke up in a hospital bed, a semi-private room.  A doctor was asking about whether he was covered, Jonathan answered in the affirmative, mumbled something about a California Health Insurance agent.

Suddenly, he saw them. Opening his eyes fully, he knew that he wasn’t alone. Somebody had brought Tony & Gisele and also a big stuffed dog, to keep him company.

A group of college students, after having imbibed a goodly number of “green beers” at Paddy’s, their local pub, decided to head back to their dorm and eat whatever looked green inside their refrigerator. Luckily their parents had contacted a California Health Insurance agent in the event of such eventualities.

Jack, John, Jerry, and Jim weren’t the brightest bulbs in the room even when they were sober. But to celebrate Saint Patrick’s Day, they crossed the line from merely asinine to outright stupidity. At 21, they were legal adults. They headed first to Paddy’s, a local pub. “Paddy’s has a lot of different beers – some of them are really green, and if they sell it in a green bottle, that counts too,” Jerry asserted. The decision had been to “go green” to celebrate the Irish saint’s feast day, even if none of the young men actually hailed from the Emerald Isle. On the way back to their dorm, Jack had the bright idea to search for “green food” amid the leftovers inhabiting their communal refrigerator. All moderately inebriated, the idea was soon seconded by the other three. “I’m sure we’ll find something that qualifies,” opined Jim, “I’m starved.”

The cooler contained a bounty of green foodstuffs, mostly inedible to sane & sober folk. But Jack, John, Jerry, and Jim were neither.  Jack found a plastic cup that had once contained fresh orange juice; orange was no longer visible as a layer of green mold had grown there. He dared John to drink it.

“Okay,” John declared while grabbing the cup from Jack and swallowing the contents. Oblivious to the taste, John noticed a container of mashed potatoes. He couldn’t remember how long the potatoes had been there.

“Alright Jerry, I dare you to eat the rest of these potatoes,” John said.

Jerry opened the container and gagged from the smell. “A dare is a dare,” he solemnly stated, beginning to shovel the bacteria-laden root vegetable into his gob.

Jim spied some guacamole dip that looked ancient enough. He was only able to get down three bites before he himself turned green and began to vomit.  John and Jerry were nauseous too, and soon were puking copiously alongside Jim. Jack, so far abstaining from the “green food,” grabbed a phone to call a cab, destination, the nearest ER. All four young men had coverage, courtesy of parental prudence and a California Health Insurance agent. Enroute to the hospital, the “boys” made a mess of the taxi’s interior, and caused quite a stink.  “You are disgusting” screamed the cabbie, but Jack tipped him an extra buck.

When Memorial Day came, Jack, John, Jerry, and Jim decided to make it really memorable. “Let’s go down to Paddy’s!” Jim suggested. This time, they just got good and drunk.

Using the intermediary of a California Health Insurance agent, California’s foremost “critter-catcher” prepared for his son’s college education – the ING money back term life insurance way. 

Irwin Steeve was known for “catching critters” – the deadliest and most poisonous found in California. He used a grabstick to capture rattlers, a gloved hand to garner black widows, and his bare tongue to entice the feared California purple glow worm, visible only in the glow of an expensive $5 purple beam flashlight – out of its secluded burrow. He knew that he couldn’t keep on tempting fate forever, one of these days a California-indigenous critter would rear up and he’d end up like that Australian, what was his name?   

But Irwin had a son. He’d watched his son Irwin Jr. grow up — a day at a time. Except most of the time, the phenomenon known as Irwin Steeve was never home, and so Junior, as he was called, grew up pretty much alone, except for his own beloved critters and also his mother. He preferred his pets, a circus of fleas that the boy was training for the big time. Junior had named most of them, all but the most talented one, and the tiny fleas practiced death-defying stunts under the boy’s paternal-like supervision, until finally … Irwin Steeve’s kid was a junior in high school, sweet sixteen. 

Irwin the critter catcher began thinking about his only child anew, what about college, he pondered, and what if God forbid, something were to happen to me? So he visited a California Health Insurance agent one fine sunny day, and bought a policy, available via ING Financial Services, money back term life insurance, like a one-way ticket to financial security for the boy and his fleas, and for the first time in many a year, Irwin Steve the original knew, if not bliss due to looking a glow worm in the eye, then a certain peace of mind just in case of the unthinkable.

A few months afterwards, the unthinkable was brought to bear by the God who plans such things, or if you’re an atheist, by a certain Mr. Fate, that peculiar name which Junior had bestowed upon the most talented flea, the star of his miniature circus, an aerialist extraordinaire able to leap tall toys in a single bound, and in any case, Irwin was attacked by an enraged harbor seal, bitten on his posterior, the wound became infected, and the rest is Golden State history.

As for Junior, he went to college on his ING money back term life insurance, with an assist from a California Health Insurance agent, and his late father, dead, just like the Australian, what was his name? Junior majored in animal husbandry, minored in the flea business, and as for Mr. Fate – he’s still talked about.