Monday Massacres: Doctoring

Today’s stuff is brought to you by:

Nike. Just do it. All of it. Come on, don’t hold back. Do it. Now. Now onto the massacares. Good reading.

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I’m not feeling dandy today. My usual walking-around-town-skipping-a-rope-and-singing-pretty-songs routine just isn’t coming naturally. I think I’m coming down with something. I walk to a nearby hospital. Fifteen minutes pass and I’m still waiting on them. Do they want me to type a complete post before they actually see…ah, there she is. The Doctor. Now why did I expect a man? Yes, madam…

(Shuffle shuffle as she leads me into a private room to discuss private things)

(In hushed tones…private things…private things…Yes, I do that at least once a week when I find someone willing…more private things… Private thin…oh yes, I last did that this morning, twice…she’s amazed. We high five)

She then directs me to a lab. I get there and there’s a man. And he pricks me. (That’s for you Normzo). And I get up and I head back to the waiting room.

My extensive interaction with Dr. Gregory House (Of that super dooper series) has led my medical gonad to grow. I’m told there are no such things as medical brains, only gonads, true story. So, after much soul-searching, I present possible causes of my ill condition:

Possible infection one:

I could be the temporary host for LINKTUS, a semi intelligent life-form from a long-deserted galaxy come to take over all the female brains on earth. From what I read, LINKTUS has a penchant for women and also for dogs. We are not sure ‘why dogs’ but Professor Klang, an insanely learned fellow, believes that the life-form wants women…to eat them. Apparently, all the magazines that get to his planet show lovely fleshy mammals suitable for a feast. I guess the jokes on him.

Possible infection two:

Brown bread disease. I tell you, it was a normal day. I woke up and I took a gulp of the fresh air that was all around me. I looked next to me. A SHE. I considered saying hi. Then I stopped considering. I walked out and went to the kitchen. There, atop the small-fridge-that-doubles-as-a-table-and-as-’other’-things-sometimes sat what looked like bread. My brain broke into a war.

Einstein side: It looks, feels and probably tastes like bread. Eat it, you’ll be fine

Wilde side: Dude, if that’s bread then it was probably made with livestock in mind. Don’t go anywhere within 5 meters of that thing, it’s probably emitting invisible, radioactive badness right now.

Einstein side: Do you want to live your life in fear? Take my word for it, your housemate bought that bread. It’s probably fine. See, it’s even bitten. Someone else ate a bit of it. No one’s dead.

So I fell for that story. And I took some bites. And now I’m in hospital.

Possible infection three:

I have a multiple-heart-disorder. See, my heart has multiple personalities. In the left ventricle (if I get too technical for you Nev, please skip this part), yes in the left ventricle lies the Mother Theresa heart. Very kind. Very giving. In the right ventricle lies the heart of a knight. I’m not sure which one but my guess is King Arthur. So brave. So valiant. Noble. In the right auricle, I have a Superman heart. Always out to rescue someone. Beating up bad guys. I’ve writ about this heart before. And the left auricle, that one is empty. It is where love, lust and all those things are stored temporarily on their way out of the system. Now, so why am I sick you ask? Well, the hearts are at war. A battle is on to decide which heart my system is going to use for the rest of my life. GULP! For the rest of my life? Yes, for the rest of my life.

So, after my ordeal, I’ll either become overly kind and giving (bless you Mother Theresa), or very brave and gallant, walking around town swinging my sword for all to see (King Arthur, pronounced with a heavy ‘r’), or I’ll spend the rest of my days saving damsels in distress and never getting any (Superman, the man who never saves guys. What’s with that? Sexist punk).

There is also the remote possibility that the empty auricle would take over. My guess is I’d become very very loving, like those guys in the French movies. I’d kneel at ladies’ feet and say things like, “Por favor mademoiselle, tu es tres magnifique. Couchez avec moi maintenant”. And I’d walk around with a flower in my back pocket, just in case I need to fall at someone’s feet in the park. And whisper sweet things.

Possible infection four:

There is the rather remote possibility that I have malaria. Or some such disease that attacks the innocent writer in the third world. There I was living my life, giving to society, taking from society, and then this happened.