I have private health insurance now. I have to go get a physical. Because my mom told me to, and plus I have a lump on my neck. I’m sure it’s just a swollen lymph node except I’m also sure it’s an octopus shaped tumor that’s already wrapped around my brain stem and I have seventeen minutes to live. Fine.
Getting the insurance was a god damn nightmare. The only time I’ve been to a doctor in the last five years was to get a cyst lanced on my calf. Blue Shield interrogated me like I was fucking Dzhokhar Tsarnaev about this. Was it a Plaximonious cyst? A Diophibenious cyst? Was any other treatment recommended? I don’t fucking remember dude, they stuck a needle in it and some pus came out. Who was the diagnosing physician? I don’t remember. It was an old black guy, looked kind of like Benson. I never went back to him for a follow up because he put the ball of my foot on his penis and he had an erection. While he was doing this he instructed the nurse to give me my next appointment for free.
Anyway, it came through and now I gotta get a physical. It’s been over ten years since I had one and in that time I’ve smoked every day, drank to intoxication every day, done about six metric tons of cocaine and various other drugs, tanned extensively, and had unprotected sex with about a hundred women, most of whom were bigger whores than me.
It’s not easy to say this, the Blue Shield Certified doctor will say. So I’m just going to come out and say it: you have cancer. Of the penis. It has spread to your brain. We will have to slice both in half, feed the offending sections to dogs. You have cancer of the face too. That one hasn’t spread from anywhere. It is unrelated to the two aforementioned cancers, you just also happened to get cancer in your face. Also your balls. That one too is unrelated. Anyway, we’ll be cutting both things off. There’s a new procedure with lasers, it’s completely painless and causes next to no scarring. That’s not what we’ll be using. Your insurance doesn’t cover it. I’ve brought in a rusty machete I use to clear brush. To tell you the truth I’ve never really cleared brush with it, it’s just been sitting next to my lawnmower. I never even go in that shed except to get away from the ole ball and chain frankly. Hah! Anyway, I’ll be using this machete to cut of your dick balls brain and face.
Also, you have AIDS. Which is fine, a lot of people have AIDS, but you must have– it’s like you went to Swaziland and participated in some ritualistic tribal orgy with prostitutes from a slum who drink out of a sewer and have to eat old plastic grocery bags for nutrition and you got AIDS from sticking your dick in their shitty ass filled with rusty heroin needles, and then you went to the witch doctor to cleanse this special African AIDS, and they showered you in blood that contained more AIDS. We have identified HIV strains “A” through “F,” and the retroviral treatments, you know, work well for these, but this is– this is like up to “J’ or maybe “L.” You are gonna be not only in medical journals, but like, National Geographic. You have AIDS like you fucked a gay junkie alligator or something. Completely incurable and you will die a slow death. But from a medical perspective, it’s fascinating. I hope this brings you some comfort.
Thank God, I will think. He didn’t say I’m going bald.