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Ask the Mystery Doctor

New for June 14th/2016 - Hot as Hell Edition

New for March 20th/11 - World Instability Edition

New for December 16th/07 - Christmas Health Edition

New for July 8/07 - Summer Health Edition

Okay, we all know how expensive health care can be. Premiums, IV tubes, a box for your rotting corpse, it's ridiculous, really. So in an effort to make your remaining years as comfortable as possible, we are now offering - free of charge - the medical advice of the one, the only, The Mystery Doctor. Send questions to us and we will get them to him via horse and buggy (it's one of his rules. we don't understand or question it).
 

 

The Basics
 

Do you have a hot assistant nurse? Ďcause that would be cool.
The mystery doctor does not require a large breasted blond bimbo at his side to look cool. He doesn't need her leaning over his desk with the first six buttons of her way too tight nurse's uniform undone and telling him that the rest of the appointments for the day have been mysteriously cancelled. He doesnít need her seductively writhing all over his expensive oak desk, hiking up her ridiculously short, white skirt so she can slowly roll down her silk stockings and then fling them at him playfully. He doesnít need her slowly undoing her last few blouse buttons with a mischievous smile with one well-manicured hand while loosening his conservative blue tie with the other, whispering to him between pursed lips to Ďrelaxí.

He really, really doesnít need it.
 


Are you on crack? If so, can I have some?
As a respected member of the medical community I do not indulge in banned substances, especially those that would compromise my ability to properly diagnosis clients. But hey, if you want a couple rocks, sure, I can make it happen. Meet me out back around 7. Have the money ready. Be warned: Your friendly, neighborhood mystery doctor does not fuck around, and I am an ace with a butterfly knife (Iíve even used them in the odd appendectomy).
 


Is there a right way to amputate when you are in a moment of white hot rage?
Most doctors would say 'no, you should calm down, have a cup of coffee, do a couple deep breathing exercises, before bothering to start the chainsaw.' I do not subscribe to this theory and I think a few anecdotal examples can back me up (however for legal reasons, they shall not be explained here). You need a strong stomach to hack off a limb, you need to act fast and without worrying about the long term consequences. Focusing will just get in the way of a perfectly good swing of the axe.
A strong, wordless scream of frustration is a great way to channel the energy from all around you. Listen to the limb. Can you hear it begging to be free? Can you? Listen. Shh... listen... that's why toes wiggle...they're wiggling for sweet freedom...
 


I have a vague sense of existential dread that I just can't shake. It's making sleep difficult, I find I am having trouble breathing, but I'm afraid to talk to my wife and child about it. They may think of me as wussy baby. What can i do?
Can you hum? Humming helps digestion, impotence, and not falling off the eight fold path. Try humming some jazz standards like ĎRound About Midnightí. If that doesnít work, I would consider relaxing as much as possible. Try valium.  Or a day at the spa. Get a pedicure. Maybe buy a sexy black dress for a special night on the town. Dance the night away, understand? DANCE THE NIGHT AWAY.
And if you are worried about being emasculated, I suggest buying a gun. Make sure your family knows you own it, too. Donít threaten them, of course, but always carry it around and try to bring up its existence in casual conversation. They will be impressed, I promise.
And just to be safe, get yourself a couple pairs of adult diapers. How about a bib to stop any uncontrollable drooling? Don't worry, I'm not snickering...
 


What do you think about the bird flu? Is it a serious threat?
Fuck the birds. And fuck the disease-ridden birds that are conspiring against us. More important than anything is that we present a united front against these flying pieces of shit. Hollow boned aerial rats! A pox on them! A pox on them that cannot be transmitted to us! The only good bird is one in a KFC box.
 


I have lesions all over my skin but I am afraid to see a doctor and receive a fatal diagnosis. What should I do?
Come. We must set up an appointment. I am eager to prod at the lesions. Much can be learned by prodding. The sensitive fingertips are nature's stethoscopes. If you don't believe me you are just not touching yourself enough.

Touch and learn. (repeat repeatedly to appreciate on a higher level)


You are so wise! Where did you get your medical degree? How can I become a regular patient?

Yes, yes I am. Well observed.

Degree? I am unfamiliar with those words. A doctor hears his calling from his own bones. And to a lesser extent, his skin. And maybe his calf muscles.

I am afraid I am not taking on any more patients at the moment. However I can offer this nugget of wisdom that might come in handy when you decide to choose a doctor: When going to the doctor's office, be sure that your doctor is in fact a licensed practitioner and not a madman who happened to find a lost stethoscope at a bus stop. If he or she will not show you proof in framed certificate form or an impassioned speech extolling the virtues of the improved human condition, considered stabbing the receptionist and telling him or her to, 'get to work' while you go and pee in a cup. If they haven't stitched her up by the time you return, call the police.

 

I am recovering from a stroke and am on several types of antibiotics. Do you think I should try any alternative medicines to speed up my recovery?
There are no alternative medicines. There is just medicine (except Tylenol. Thatís a placebo scam). I recommend you try everything except perhaps paint thinner. I myself am trying a very physical regime that demands I turn my anger into exercise and my exercise into a telepathic attack signal aimed my enemies. Oh, it may not work that well, but it freaks out all the other people at gym when I try to verbally will it on all those who donít wipe their sweat off the machines:
ĒT
urn wrath into a reverse aneurysm!
Turn wrath into a reverse aneurysm!Ē

And sometimes thatís all I require as a doctor. The fear and the respect of the fellow man at the local gym. And no grab-ass in the shower, Harold. Cut that out.


 

Ask the Mystery Doctor: Christmas Edition

Itís that time of year. A busy, hectic time full of stress and disorder. Never fear, the Mystery Doctor is still here, and has donned the Santa cap and agreed to answer a couple holiday related questions. He is not responsible for any injuries or misunderstandings caused by the following advice.

 

Whatís the best way to lose those five or ten pounds Iíll gain over the holidays?

I am afraid it depends on your own personal, ideal weight. If you are morbidly obese, donít be afraid to really dig in and remove excess fat/flesh the old fashioned way. With a knife. Just a tuck in to your love handles, keep a steady hand and if youíve got enough band aids and rubbing alcohol, you can easily slice out ten pounds before getting anywhere near a vital organ. Think of your flab as just a parka without a zipper. It can be removed but it takes the right tools and the right amount of dreadfully inadequate self esteem for it to be done right.

And if you arenít so fat that people avert their eyes when they see you lumbering down the street, try getting a gym membership. Lose weight, feel great, can see how you stack up in the showers. Itís win-win-win, friends.

 

Is Santa a poor role model for children because of his girth?

Absolutely not. Santa epitomizes the Ďfat, jollyí stereotype that we need to have during this hellish War on Terror. Fat people Ė while still having to be marginalized from mainstream society, of course Ė can be useful in many ways. St. Nick shows that with just a bit of generosity, a pair of rosy cheeks and a total lack of interest in sex, fat people of any race, creed, or colour will be able to provide those healthy, affluent citizens with basic nutrients and minerals when society disintegrates. Soylent Green is our future. Embrace it. Kiss it. Become it.

 

My elderly aunt is taking several types of medication that she can no longer afford. Is it considered rude or inappropriate to offer to buy peopleís medication as a Christmas gift?

Christmas is a time of joy. A time of miracles and happiness and drunken fondling under the mistletoe. How happy will your aunt be if she hobbles over to the Christmas tree only to find her gift from you is a subsidy for her bladder control pills? Iíll tell you: Overjoyed. Her eyes will be the only thing dribbling out liquid uncontrollably that day. The only thing the elderly like more than sweet liquor and 1950ís nostalgia is ĎFREE MEDSí. Pills for bone strength, forgetfulness, heart palpitations, eroding eyesight, arthritis, and aching knee joints. You name it, they need it. And if all you can scrounge up on the Christmas Eve rush at the local drug store emporium is a couple tablets for cirrhosis of the liver, donít worry. Your old lady will need them soon enough. The liver is a wily little organ, but the sands of time get into everything, doesnít it?

Although if I could get a bit more specific, certain medications are held in higher esteem than others. Remember the three Vís: Valium, Vicodin, and Viagra. In terms of respect, thereís very little difference between buying a handful of those and a good bottle of pure malt scotch for the special geezer in your life.

 

Why do more people commit suicide at Christmas than at any other time of year?

Because no one gives each other handguns and massive guilt trips at Easter. Those two special ingredients ensure an awkward funeral at the end of December. Remember: No white, itís after labour day.

 

Are there are any hazardous toys out there that might pose a danger to my children?

All toys can be melted into a viscous liquid that can be poured down a childís throat which will begin to solidify and harden in the trachea, cutting off oxygen immediately. So in theory, I wouldnít recommend anything for a child for Christmas except perhaps a donation in their name to the Salvation Army. They may not appreciate it on Christmas Day, but years down the road, theyíll thank you.

 

Itís flu season. Should I get a flu shot?

Ah, the fabled flu shot. The annual fix for the hypochondriac junkie. Perhaps it would be a good idea for the more spineless of the spineless sheep. Here I sit in my commanding abode, hand rolling a cigarette, wondering how much a person like yourself would be willing to shell out for the privilege of receiving a literal shot in the arm. A shot full of what exactly? Do you know? Does the doctor know, beyond his incoherent babble of science words? What does this shot do? Can it really keep you from feeling Ďbadí? Because I have news for you: You keep the flu away! Not 50ccís of junk in your arm, you! Your mind! It is simply the placebo that gives your mind the comfort and strength to take the flu germs by the balls and squeeze them till they goÖpop?

 

Whatís the best way to avoid getting sick at the company Christmas party?

Donít go. That is all. Everything surrounding this social abortion meant to celebrate the year end of capitalist whoring is a powder keg of pulsating disease and decay. The food you consume that has been prepared en masse in the back by resentful cooks and served by vindictive waiters are teaming with dirt, piss, semen, and general tidings of filth and misery. The beer and wine and mixed drinks you consume is passed around and sipped on by the drunken co-workers whoíve dragged every germ and bacterium from their homes. And god forbid you randy young climbing-the-ladder-taking-out-loans-to-buy-yourself-sharp-souless-suits-up-and-comers decide to slip into the hotel or convention centre bathroom with the momentary object of your affections. If he or she or it is anything like you, your genitalia is teaming with warts and pus-filled boils. But go ahead. Fuck your coke-addled, drink dirpping brains out. I laugh at your stall humping. I giggle at your attempts to maintain your balance Ďround the toilet seat. Enjoy your stay the hospital in the new year, and donít say I didnít warn you. Besides, chances are you can get anything you catch cleared up with a couple of prescription topical creams. Itís a wonder what you can make in a Petri dish these daysÖ

 

Do you even celebrate Christmas, mystery doctor?

While my religious sentiments are rightly bound up in a haze and fog so thick that even my most ardent and loyal patients cannot see through, I do admit to enjoying a splash of egg nog and sashaying to a rousing rendition of ĎI Saw Three Shipsí. Then itís off to the track.


 

Summer Health Edition

How can I tell if the lesions on my skin are signs of cancer or just beauty marks?

Ah, the embarrassing struggles of youth! Beauty marks or melanoma? Am I dying or am I just beginning to live? Am I too hairy for my own good? Why do I bled so much? Whereís the goddamn valium? Can you buy me cigarettes?

As a doctor Iíve heard it all. Every little question. And I always say the same thing: ĎYou arenít a real person yet. You are larvae. Stop worrying about your skin and read ĎCatcher in the Ryeí. Wash my car for a dollar. Swab my deck for a nickel. Save your change for a pair of oversized novelty dice for your dream sports car, a picture of which is taped to the wall in your room that you use for your silly teenage wankathons. Now break your thumbs and give me a real problem to deal with or pull up your pants and get the fuck out of my office.í

You have to be rough on the kids nowadays. Otherwise theyíll run roughshod all over you like the Vikings did. Those majestic Norsemen taught true fear to the Romans, but the Romans were asking for it. The might of Thor shall echo through the ages, I shall see to it myself!

Rant complete. Answer: Cancerous lesions continue to grow into tumors you can see through clothing, while the growth of beauty marks tends to sputter out at about a quarter of a centimeter. Keep feeling yourself regularly to see if youíre growing where you shouldnít be. And for god sakes donít get caught in any nuclear blasts or drink tap water.

 

My friend says sunscreen doesnít make a difference. Is he crazy?

Is your friend a hideous troll? I very much doubt it, but that doesnít mean heís crazy. Hideous trolls (or somewhat attractive trolls, if there is such a species, which I doubt and I am doctor so Iím probably right about these sorts of things) have thick enough hides to repel that bastard sun, but for the rest of us a coating of chemically questionable white goo is exactly what we need when we step outside in these hot summer months. Especially young women who seem to have no problem cavorting around in next to nothing. It pains me to see these women completely unprotected. I tear up sometimes, thinking that no one has bothered to offer them a squirt of lotion and a kind hand to apply it with. Chivalry may truly be dead. Let us hold hands and quietly hum Ďtapsí as we close our eyes and think of bikini tan linesÖ

 

How did the name sunstroke come about? What does it have to do with a real stroke?

Sunstrokes are solar rays creeping through your hairs and skin and melting the top of your skull (it goes without saying that bald people and those who have been scalped by the Sioux are much more susceptible to this phenomena). While a stroke erupts from the very centre of the brain (few people know that strokes were originally called Ďbrain-canosí), the sunstroke attacks from the outside, allowing molten bone to seep into the brain, causing fatigue, headaches, spasms, nausea, paralysis, and general confusion to how the world works.

The solution: Brick hats to keep the sun out. As we all know an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, so logic therefore tells us that a pound of prevention is worth more cure than you can possible calculate without one of those computers the size of sitting rooms. I propose three pound hats made of brick that can cover the whole head. Brick and mortar are cheap, I can sell you a pair for $20 or $30. Guaranteed to stop sunstrokes in their tracks as long as you stay hydrated.

 

What is the best way to treat sunburn?

The dullest way is to simply wait the burn out. The more immediate and pre-emptive-donít-let-the-terrorists-win way is to remove the skin. Think of the burn as a wet dog that must be cleaned and dried, only instead of a towel patting the dog down, you remove a thin layer of crispy, burnt skin with a scalpel. Not too deep, of course. No sense in tampering with the muscles and bone. Just cut yourself up like you were motherís pot roast. A nice thin slice for sister because sheís on a diet. Perfect. Make sure you have plenty of gauzes. Even better: You donít have to throw the skin in the trash! You may compost it all! Organic matter forever! Feed the earth! Feed your dying mother! Give the bitch a fighting chance!

 

What are my chances of getting sick if I swam at city beach near a busy harbor?

If the Mystery Doctor was a betting man (and he is, but only on pigmy horses), he would say that as long as you have a rather strong constitution and no gaping wounds on your person and the harbor in question is not in India, you have a good chance at not contracting anything deadly or disfiguring. And really, in the end, arenít those the only two things you have to worry about in life?

Happy swimming!

 

What is the best type of lure to catch a catfish?

A spoon lure, you idiot. I laugh at the stupidity of your question. Retarded, malnourished children on the Serengeti Plain who have seen only the smallest puddles of water know that. This question makes me embarrassed to share the earth and its resources with you. Give me your address so that I may visit you and slap you upside the head.

 

Are there any nature friendly bug sprays? The mainstream media has convinced me to fear the west nile virus, but I donít want to spray any hazardous chemicals on my skin.

There are not. Short of taping hungry frogs all over your body to prevent a single mosquito from sticking itís nose in your business, you will have to bite the bullet and cover yourself with the latest chemical monstrosity cooked up in the labs of some of the worldís most questionable and evil companies.

Sure, you could use the slightly more earth-friendly Citronella Oil, but most of the stuff is made in China. And after hearing about all those tainted food products coming out of there recently, I would suggest we use our big Caucasian eyes to keep the heat on this mischievous Mr. Moto.

 

How many ice cream sandwiches do I have to eat in one sitting before I can call it a meal?

Six. Five if you eat them all with a knife and fork.


Ask the Mystery Doctor: World Disaster Edition

 

Q: I am concerned about the earthquake that just hit Japan. The scenes are just devastating and I donít know if there is anything I can do. As a certified medical practitioner, do you think we could expect more of this in the near future?

A: There is a frailty of the human mind that I spit upon and curse every chance I get. Itís the reactive nature of our mindset. How concerned were you about earthquakes and tsunamis before the Sendai earthquake and tsunami? Not much, I bet. And I bet I would win that bet. I can picture my winnings now: A whole slew of cash, diamonds, told-you-soís, and sensual massages that canít help but get taken to the next level because Iím always carrying around scented candles and exotic oils from southern India.

Worry all you want, you do not have the power to calm and sooth the restless plates of the earth. It is beyond your control. If it wiggles, it wiggles. Accept with deep breathing and a smile. So much for your baseless and unfounded concern.

As for my predictive powers, I must say, this is much more complicated than the NCAA Final Four (so far, Marquette and Ohio State). While saying Ďyes, there will be more earthquakesí could make me look like sage, it is nothing but empty rhetoric until I pin down the dates.

And that I will not do.

You belong on your toes, and I belong high above you laughing, as your ankles weaken and sprain.

 

Q:I have a problem with remembering important things after the news stops covering them. Like this nuclear radiation problem in Japan. I know I should always kind of be worried and freaked out about it in some way, but itís not really sticking, you know?

A: No, I donít know. I donít know how this isnít eating you up inside. I donít understand how this story that is glowing green on your body at all times exposing your skin to lethal doses of radioactive isotopes that metastasize in the form of all sorts of quick-acting cancers that no amount of chemo can even begin to cure isnít always simmering the back of your mind. How are you not worried that the next time you go to the can to shit out your breakfast half your digestive system Ė intestines, stomach, esophagus Ė might plop into the bowl along with it? Even at lower doses so you might die slow, slow, slow to the point where you donít know youíre sick youíve got a wonderful chance at infecting your goony little offspring with these microscopic devils that will peel off limbs in the womb, feast on the frontal lobes at six months, and replace their backbone with a fleshy slop like substance that would make a horrible thanksgiving gravy.

Itís not bothering me, of course, Iím a hard-as-nails pro-fucking-fessional.

 

Q: Is participating in politics hazardous to your health?

A: Unless youíre like me, about 38% of life involves swallowing the shit people and institutions shovel into you. After enough time, you get so used to this ritual you barely even notice it when they crack open your head and take a fresh dump into your cranial circuits.

At first glance then, one would imagine that partaking in the fashioning of the shit through the deliberative body process that is government and eventually doing the shitting onto your clearly inferiors would be the antidote and make you better (which would mean my answer would be a clear Ďnoí).

But itís just the old bait and switch, I am afraid. While free from the gargling of icky, icky pooh, you are certainly now subject to a lily-livered litany of other ailments that will do nothing but get you down as your castles burn.

Mental retardation comes in from the window as youíre sworn in and makes horrible love to your overeager brain as you try and remember the statutes and obsolete rules that need to be observed lest you do not observe them and make the ghosts of those that fashioned them cry.

Your morals will get all bow-legged. Your bank account will become grossly overweight. A bad case of lobbyists will appear around your pockets and genitals.

This analogy is beginning to bore me. No one like politicians, but someone has to be that mask. At least with child molesters you can be sure of what youíre getting. Practitioners of either of these pursuits should be sterilized for the public good. I offer this service pro bono.

 

Q: Is there any chance of all these revolutions in the Northern Africa getting in the way of your quest for the cure to cancer? Or herpes?

A: Without question definitely and unfeelingly so. My mind works in such trapezoidal ways that any disturbances to the force (not that force, the real force) make me sleep in much too late right into the afternoon which means I really donít get the pristine mental gears a clanging until around ten at night, which means Iím constantly shooting at drunks and owls in vain hopes of keeping silence alive.

So Iím there shaking vials with one eye closed holding it to the light, doing all the typical stereotypical science stuff that Einstein and Kinsey were down with Ė although Iím rocking a fedora 24/7 Ė and suddenly I hear from the TV in the other room that Mubarakís not budging or Quaddafiís hiring mercenaries from across the continent. Damn fucking straight it gets me down. Iím an epic and amazing human being, but Iím still just a human being. I hate to sound like Ringo Starr at times like this, but what about peace and love? (holding up the middle and index fingers appropriately) Is it that power thing again? Canít you just let it go for a month or two when Iím at the microscope? Think of other people for once, both your suffering citizens and your friendly neighbourhood doctorman.

And everyone knows herpes can be cured by just keeping your damn mouth shut.

 

Q: With such instability in the world, I was wondering about the stockpiles of vaccines for such diseases like smallpox and malaria. Will we have enough if thereís a sudden outbreak?

A: An excellent question. I am tickled pink and so aroused that I am already loosening my pants to answer it properly.

Here is, as the immutable they say, the deal. There is nowhere near enough of these antidotes for the good, god-fearing citizens of the world if the shit hits the proverbial fan. As for the god-denying folks, there is just enough, but it would be ridiculous to think that the god-fearing wouldnít think up some classy scheme to burn the god-denying at the stake and take the medi-cide.

The honourable and stupid thing to do would be diluting the vaccines so that they became only half/a third/a quarter as strong. We would have enough for all, but then the uber-silliness begins as we all come down with the sniffles-equivalent of those horrid ever-morphing diseases you mentioned.

Personally, to avoid having to fight for vials, I would avoid people as much as possible and get as much oxygen as you can before it becomes ultimately contaminated. Store it in some sort of airtight chamber with a McShittledick Industries Re-Purifier, and along with canned caviar and a portable espresso machine, you should be set for an isolated existence all by your lonesome as the rest of us rape and pillage outside before succumbing to sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet inevitability.

 

Q: Should I be worried about the possibility of a resource war? Does the medical community have any particular thoughts on being prepared?

A: Oh, you most certainly should be worried about the eventual resource war (I cannot stress just how often you should get on your hands and knees in thanks and let your bosom swell with appreciation for every delicious bite of bacon cheeseburger you take, because one day as you hope the grass you jam down your gullet isnít too radioactive youíll remember the time you ordered a salad instead and the poisonous tears that come to your eyes will never stop burning).

I cannot speak for the entire medical community as their insipid and trivial concerns rarely dovetail with my mindbogglingly pure and efficient insights, but I know my .44 magnum has six excellent points about proper preparation.

 

Q: Odd Future Wolf. Hype or mad dope?

A: Mad dope if they learn to trim the fat. Some mediocre material dragging down the mostly brilliant shit. Always the downside to being hella prolificÖ


Ask the Mystery Doctor 2016: Hot as Hell (and Hell is Here) Edition

 

What the fuck is going on?

I sense much anger in you (like your father?*).

I think you need to consider staring longingly into a tall, full, cold glass of water, and imagine that you were a tiny fish swimming inside said glass. Perhaps a guppy or clown fish. Maybe even a tadpole before it gets a bit too froggy for the sea's liking. Something insignificant, without question. Why? Because you really aren't different from that fish, standing on a tiny pebble in a vast airless sea that keeps expanding and expanding forever and ever. Your life is an immeasurable fraction. Your life is a barely elaborate fart in the entire timespan of the universe.

But you are here, aren't you? Breathing, walking, thinking, going to a place called work which pays you in money which can be exchanged for goods and services.

If you don't like the politics, if you don't like the poverty, if you don't like the poison we're dumping into the air, if you don't like the dead bodies piled up in mounds, then throw yourself into a volcano or do something about it.

Helplessness is a choice unless you're cursed with a degenerative bone or muscle disease (and paralysis).

(I'm occasionally working on curing curses. Not all the time, obviously, that would be ridiculous. I've interviewed some molecular biologists who have happened to be bitten by ovulating witches, and all of them say that kicker for this one has more to do with the patient's positive mental attitude rather than a combination of chemicals)

This is a semi-attempt to get you into that convocation-can-do-anything spirit that seems to be running rampant among the youth this time of year, before hot, sweaty summer reality sinks in and you realize youíve got no money, no prospects, and no practical advice.

And if this is the case, then your question might be more related to the Hyphen-Insert section of the brain, rather than the Yard-Marker region, which would mean your query is related more to a state of general confusion than genuine anger. And just like rain and puberty, you just have to wait out confusion and hope it all sorts itself out in the end.

 

Recommended dosage: 150mg of Zoloft daily, for as long as preferred symptoms exist.

 

(* - I am moderately pleased to announce that due to my never-ending lawsuit against the pharmaceutical company I started with the Enigmatic Hedge Fund Manager, I am now offering biweekly therapy sessions for fantastically wealthy and/or ridiculously interesting people ('and' preferred), provided they first provide photos in various poses, with at least one that a panel of independent, non-partisan judges would describe as 'provocative')

 

I'm a large landmass in Northwestern Europe separated from the continent by a narrow channel. I have plenty of socio-political-economic agreements with the continent, but they're really starting to harsh my buzz. Should I break it off?

No. It's like punching your neighbour's kid repeatedly after you catch him egging your house. Sure, it feels great at first, but in the end it's totally going to fuck up every part of your life.

Or maybe it's like getting a divorce after the very first argument after the intercourse-heavy honeymoon. Immediately you feel liberated and free, but not long after you're second guessing the decision when suddenly faced with the prospect of having to do all the chores yourself (including getting off) in a much emptier chateau in the south of France (we've all been there).

Or maybe it's more like doing convoluted surgery (in this case, the removal of cancerous tumours on the lung) after three martinis and winning $80,000 on the waiting room slot machine, when, after you accidentally lose a poker chip inside the patient/victim, you drop the proverbial mic and quit right then and there. Felt like a million bucks (so this clearly hypothetical person was off by only $920,000) then, but the lawsuits regarding malpractice and who you may have promised half your winnings to (we didn't shake on it, Greta, and even a deaf person would be able to tell I was being sarcastic) will forever eat away at your soul.

 

Recommended Dosage: 50,000kg of high grade MDMA, donít worry, just rent a truck, get a wire transfer set up to MDDD Enterprises, and Iíll take care of the rest.

 

Who Can I Trust?

Well first and foremost, The Mystery Doctor. But I am very busy and out of your league, so I'm certainly not someone you can rely on daily for advice, shelter, or mind-blowing orgasms (perhaps biweekly, but please send photos, medical files and an alphabetized list of your vinyl collection beforehand).

Trust should not be seen as ironclad unbreakable sort of vow, or a contract that can effortlessly be held up in the court of la-la-law.

Trust is a hot tub that you get in with other people, and you or they might get out at any time if it's overcrowded, you're overheating or someone is getting too wrinkled in the fingers and toes department. It wasn't meant to be that voluntary, but it always, always, always is. But let's say you meet a special someone in a hot tub and it's getting extra hot and super heavy and youíre rubbing each other's privates all over as the six other people lounging inside the frothing waters really just try to ignore the inevitable rounding of third base.

Iím sorry, what were we talking about?

 

Recommended dosage: 100mg of seconal for every car horn you hear after ten oíclock

 

 

Should I invest in gold or guns?

Clearly the best thing to invest right at this very moment is gold, but I have little to no doubt that after this very moment and for many, many moments afterwards, you should probably invest in guns. And not gun stock, but rather stocks of guns. Having a plethora of guns makes it rather easy to accumulate gold, thereby removing any need to actually invest in gold.

All that said, the very best thing to invest in right now is land and water, since the demand of these two things is always going to outstrip supply. And what do you know! Guns and gold are two useful tools to get both land and water.

 

Recommended dosage: 64 standard gold bars and/or three semi-automatic assault rifles and half a dozen standard issue handguns.

 

 

Will my knees or memory give out first?

Without question, your knees will cease their operations long before your cranial computer goes completely kaput. I know this because I hacked your email by guessing your password on the 68th try ('Gradual123'). I saw messages from banks and Joyce and Linda and Bryant and responded to all of them using your exact tone and diction, so of course they sent me oodles of money, thinking I was you in a terrible bind. So you're welcome for that. Enjoy the extra $3500. I recommend you spend it on some sort of creative arts class to help build a better appreciation for the world beyond the ones and zeroes of your job and sports, sports, sports.

I also saw pics of you failing miserably at fade away jump shots. Your knees are so fucked.

 

Recommended dosage: No less than five cortisone injections per day, directly into the source of the pain

 

 

Since skin cancer is so treatable, will it ever become a fad like bungee jumping or fox boxing or chess?

Clearly this is a boat you have missed, and I mean that quite literally, as only three weeks ago did I mention via town crier and ICQ that I was about to set off on the maiden voyage of my new sailing vessel, the SS Ra, an all in one luxurious cruise ship, tanning village, and cancer treatment centre.

Come for the sun, stay for the cancer, stay for the treatment, and then stay for five restaurants featuring high-class a la carte dining, two theatres full of not yet washed up soft rock bands and a Cirque du Soleil-like acrobat act, and three pools filled with a water-like substance.

The reviews have been rave-like, except from the people who neglected to mention pre-existing conditions. But as far as I can tell, those negative nellies have a vulture on both shoulders since the time they dribbled feebly out of the womb.

So please, ask your doctor/travel agent. Or book yourself if you're a whiz at filling out insurance forms. Starting in the fall we'll have a professional tattoo artist to make your (possible) scars look like ponies and skeletons and Simpsons characters and kanji characters and sexually suggestive mountains and valleys.

 

Recommended Dosage: Two pina coladas every hour on the pool deck, stopping only to gorge on several pounds of shrimp cocktails and sausage rolls

 

Have any fun stories about treating gunshot wounds?

Certainly upon certainly. And the most important thing about living a landfulfilled and wholesale life is to be certain two thirds of the time. In fact, I am now selling (to offset some legal costs, mind you) a highly sensitive handheld measuring device that can take all the trouble out knowing where your certainty percentage is currently holding at. Should you be more certain and firm up the decision making process? Are you way too close to ninety and need to take it easy for a while and bath in the randomness of the universe? It's not unreasonable to know these things. In fact, as technology improves and ruins our lives in tandem, I feel quite comfortable in saying that you very much need to know these things. Five years from now, the MDDD (Mystery Doctor Doubt Decoder) will be as common as designer air masks (oh yes, that is definitely coming, I am one hundred percent certain of that).

Anyhow, gunshot stories, gunshot stories. Well it's always amusing when we get a victim from a mass shooting with multiple wounds who survives because one bullet bumps into another bullet instead of lodging deep inside their heart which would have killed them almost instantly. It doesn't matter how doped up they are when they wake up. I always tell them, 'you were lucky you got shot just before you got shot.' That always lightens the mood in the room. Unless I have to tell them theyíre paralyzed a few seconds later.

Accidental shootings are pretty wonderful as well. I've had to try and sew a couple toes back on because a guy (always a guy) has been sitting in one of those super reclining deck chairs, trying to shoot squirrels or rabbits in his backyard while leaning much too far back and his naked toes wiggling perfectly in his sight lines. Toes are tough to put back on, though, but the guys never get too upset if I tell them it's almost certainly (!) not going to work (especially if he was using a sawed-off). 'Shooting yourself in the foot' is a term for screwing up all by your lonesome, after all.

 

 

Recommended Dosage: 0.5 grams of purple kush or death bubba every afternoon, ideally smoked from a vaporizer that costs at least $250.

 

 

 

active sabotage is bad (blowing up a building), while passive sabotage (letting a building blow up that you could have stopped) is more of a grey area, but you can definitely get your ass kicked or tossed in jail for hanging out in grey areas