Written for my friend Nora based on the keywords "pirates, music, sarcasm."
"What the? House, that's ridiculous. You do not have forty-six thousand songs on your iPod."
"Of course not. I can only fit about twenty thousand. The other twenty-six are on my computer."
"You have twelve albums."
"I have over four hundred albums."
"You can't put vinyl on your computer," Wilson replied.
"That's where my good friend Limewire comes in."
"You illegally downloaded almost fifty thousand songs? You know what would happen if they arrested you for that?"
"You would come bail me out." House shrugged and rolled his eyes. "So you can save the lecture until then. I know I'm a terrible person for pirating music and I make the baby Jesus cry, just like you learned about in Catholic school."
"You know I'm Jewish."
"So you don't care if the baby Jesus cries? I thought you liked children."
"I'm not going to argue that with you, House," Wilson said. "How do you fit forty-six thousand songs on your computer anyway? With all that porn already taking up most of the memory?"
"Transferred it to DVD," House replied matter-of-factly, ruining Wilson's attempt at sarcasm. "Anyway, I don't need it with around," he continued, smirking. Wilson blushed and rubbed his forehead in an embarrassed way.
House turned to the fellows, who had given up on pretending that they weren't listening intently and instead had been trying to figure out whether or not House was joking about his relations with Wilson. "So," he asked. "Have you got a case for me or do you just like to spend your free time hanging out in my office?"
"Twenty year old female, Lola Sutton, collapsed at work. When she regained consciousness, she had a fit of rage and then a seizure," replied Doctor Cameron.
"Is she pretty?" House questioned.
"Umm… sure," Cameron answered.
"Check for cancer. Remember that other girl? Or should I say…"
"She's not that pretty," Chase interrupted.
"And anyway," Foreman added. "Not every attractive woman is a transvestite."
"Her name's Lola," House said.
"Wilson sighed with an air of long-suffering and left the room. House started to follow him.
"House," Foreman said. "We're in the middle of a differential."
"He's still holding my iPod."
"Why do you need your iPod for a differential diagnosis?" Foreman asked.
"So I can tune you out."
A few minutes later, House returned to the office. "There," he said, placing the earbuds in their proper positions and cranking up the volume. "Now, where were we?"
