As mentioned earlier, I finally had that appointment with Doc Steinbrau this morning. You know, to get some boils lanced on my ass and to ensure that my prostate isn’t cancer-ridden. It went about as well as can be expected, given that I weigh 350 pounds and subsist on a near-exclusive diet of red meat and liquor.
“So what’s the diagnosis, Doc?” I asked as he pored over my test results.
“Well, you continue to defy everything I know about medicine, Oz. And I’ve told you before — don’t call me ‘Doc.'”
“At the rates you charge? I’ll call you whatever I damn well please.”
Steinbrau groaned and lit another cigarette. Sure it’s strange for a doctor in this day and age to smoke at all, much less while seeing patients, but that’s part of his allure as far as I’m concerned.
“Whatever,” he said, following a brief, violent coughing spasm. “You know you should be dead, right?”
“Nonsense. My heart feels like it’s Keith Moon’s personal bass drum.”
“That’s part of the problem. Not to mention the fact that you might as well have redwood roots for arteries. Don’t get me started on your veins, either. I’ve seen copper wiring with better circulation.”
“And when was the last time you ate a goddamn green vegetable, you fat tub of goo?”
“…didn’t come here for insults. Just tell me what new pills I need to start popping and I’ll be on my way.”
“Jesus, you rich bastards and your idiotic belief in your own invincibility,” he said, scrawling out a dozen or so prescriptions. “Here, take these. And don’t call me in the morning! I’d rather spend my time with patients who actually care about their health.”
“If they cared about that, they wouldn’t be seeing the Joe Camel of the medical world.”
He glared balefully, stubbed out his cigarette and lit another.
“You might have a point there,” he conceded. “Still, get the fuck out. We’re done.”
“Hold on — what about my prostate?”
“It’s as fine as can be expected. Stop drinking so much and maybe you’ll stop pissing yourself. Or not. What do I care?”
“Okay, I… wait just a second. What are you trying to pull here?”
“Jesus. What now?”
“I don’t see the usual script for my ‘back pain medication’ in this stack. Are you holding out on me, Steinbrau?”
“Holy shit. It never ends with you, does it?”
“No. And don’t forget the zeroes at the end of that Oxy order, either. I’m in a lot of pain, you know. Might as well throw in some of those boner pills while you’re at it, too.”
After paying his exorbitant bill and saying a number of very crude things to his secretary, I sped off to find the nearest pharmacy, nearly running over a homeless woman in the process. Good thing for her that she was spry enough to jump out of the way in time; there would’ve been no witnesses, and I’m not the type to leave a note in such situations.