Another Call From My Doctor’s Office

CELL PHONE NOISE

Yo.

“Hello, may I speak to Mr. on the Dead? This is Medicine calling!”

Speaking.

“I have so very many instructions for you before your multiple major medical interventions.”

Common procedures.

“Keep in mind that our staff is rather rusty after the quarantine. And that most of our nurses have self-provided bangs. Keep both of those facts in mind!”

I will.

“Have you received a covid test?”

Yes.

“What about an Ovid test?”

What?

“What does Daphne turn herself into to escape the seductions of Apollo?”

I have no–

“A tree! Your Ovid test has come back negative.”

I wish I had better insurance.

“Well, my mother used to say Wish into one hand, turn into a tree with the other, and see where the squirrels store their nuts. Her autopsy showed that she had been having micro-strokes since childhood!”

Can you just tell me the instructions?

“First, you jump to the left.”

Nope.

“And then a step to the right.”

Not correct at all.

“Put your hands on your…wait, I am reading from the wrong instructions. You don’t have to do any dancing at all! It is mostly related to cleaning out your pipes.”

Gotcha.

“On a scale of John Candy to Karen Carpenter, how bulimic are you?”

Wildly offensive scale.

“And yet clinically precise!”

I am not bulimic at all.

“I am asking because you need to polish and shine every inch of your innards. Mouth to down south!”

I understand.

“Lips to hips!”

Gotcha.

“Tongue to bung!”

Move on.

“You cannot be leaving, say, half a salami sandwich in your jejunum. That’s nasty.”

I will not do so.

“Our staff works so hard, and have such terrible-looking bangs, that they should not be forced to hack through a semi-digested breakfast burrito in order to do their jobs. They need to take a good look! Do not be obfuscating the view, Mr. on the Dead!”

Again: I am gonna follow the instructions of my prep.

“Let us begin: At 6 pm tonight, you will need to eat at least two pounds of pasta, or 18 donuts. You may choose the style of pasta or the kind of donut, as long as it is not a bear claw.”

Why would I need to do that?

“The cameras we will be inserting into you are not as small as they could be! We need to you bloat up so as to give us some elbow room in there!”

That doesn’t sound right.

“After your pasta/pastry meal, you must not eat any food whose name ends in a B. So, no carob or crab, and if you’re gonna eat corn, you cannot have it on the cob. Subs are also out, but you may eat hoagies or grinders.”

Okay.

“At midnight, you are to eat one gumquat.”

What’s a gumquat?

“It is a kumquat wrapped in Hubba-Bubba! It is not delicious!”

I think you made that up.

“Oh, I forgot to ask you: Regarding your butthole, are you an innie or an outie?”

An innie. Everyone’s an innie.

“You would be surprised! I will mark you down as having a concave cave.”

Great.

“Dawn tomorrow begins your proper prep. You must not eat anything heavy. So if your soup starts discussing particle physics, throw it right out! You need to keep your ingurgitating light and frothy.”

I can do that.

“You may not have any cereal with a mascot. Cheerios are fine, but if you eat Cap’n Crunch, you’re gonna die on the table. I am sorry to be so blunt, but I have lost too many patients.”

No kid’s cereal, got it.

“I will need you to drink at least one half-gallon of water, and I will need you to do so in a very loud manner. Over-exaggerate your gulps and swallows. The whole room should know you’re hydrating, Mr. on the Dead!”

Why?

“This is science, sir. I cannot explain it to a layperson.”

Okay.

“Beginning at lunchtime tomorrow, you should begin tapering off your mutton consumption.”

I don’t consume any mutton.

“Start now! I’ll hold!”

…

“I do not hear mastication!”

Ma’am, I don’t eat mutton. I never have.

“Well, I will discuss the matter with the doctor, but you might have to sign a waiver.”

Gladly.

“At two pm, you will be called by the General Manager of the Anaheim Angels. He will offer you slugger Mike Trout for the moon. Do not make the trade!”

The moon? Like, the one in the sky? How would that even work?

“The Angels’ GM has serious mental problems! They are an open secret in the organization!”

I won’t trade the moon for Mike Trout. I promise.

“When four o’clock rolls around, you can only eat day-old food. Which is much more difficult than you think. Most of the yummables in your kitchen are way older than a day. I would suggest you start offering tugjobs to bakers.”

Taken under advisement.

“Then it is time for the loose juice! The widening-your-hole-a cola! The asshole-explode-a soda!”

Yes, yes. The chemical roto-rooter.

“Imagine Marie Kondo entering your intestines and finding nothing that sparked joy! That is how clean you will be inside!”

I’ve heard.

“At midnight, you must stop eating entirely. And no water. Also, no bright lights.”

Those are the rules for Gremlins.

“And for your procedure! It is a coincidence that all movie-lovers enjoy!”

If you say so.

“And you must wear a mask at all times in our facility. Our staff will not be, and will be mocking you as a weak pussy for doing so, but we do require that patients weak masks.”

Done.